This Might Hurt(39)

I asked the crowd to give Bifocals a hand, then sent him back to his seat. Once the group had settled, I spoke in a hushed tone. “Close your eyes.”

Rousing music played from the theater’s loudspeakers. I boomed over it. “I want every one of you to envision the person you are. Watch yourself move through a typical day: you wake up in the morning, go to work, gather with friends or family or whatever it is you do in your free time.” I paused, let them conjure the vision. “Now picture the person you want to become. What would be different? Would you seek a new job? Spend more time with your spouse? Find a new partner altogether? Run that marathon you always swore you would?”

I waited again. The silences were as crucial as the address. “Visualize what’s been holding you back. Focus on the parts of your minds and bodies in pain. Has an achy knee stopped you from running? Shyness prevented you from pursuing new love? What is the obstacle that stands in your way?

“Helplessness is self-invented, a matter of perspective. Internal organs and tissues are insensitive to pain. Your brain is telling you the pain is there. I am telling you that if you can change your mind about the pain, then you can change the pain itself.”

I knew it to be true, had experienced such a transformation. How else could you explain all the glass I’d swallowed without so much as a scratch? How else could I have severed my father’s grip? Pain was an illusion, a crutch.

“When you open your eyes, I will release you from the hold of that pain. You will be ready to start a new life. A life of fearlessness.”

Naturally this speech would not cure what ailed every audience member. Hypnosis worked only if you wanted to be hypnotized. The skeptics would claim haughty immunity to my sorcery. Then again, they’d return home with the same hip pain and crushing anxiety they’d hobbled along with for years. Who had been outsmarted?

The music stopped. “Open your eyes.” The audience obeyed, blinking slowly, dazed. “Roll your head from side to side. Stretch your arms and legs.” I paused. “If your pain is gone, please stand.”

Goose bumps sprouted on the back of my neck. This was my favorite part of the show.

As one, as if I’d summoned the dead—and hadn’t I, in a way?—hundreds rose from their seats. The audience exploded with joy when they recognized the number of Lazaruses among them. This was why I suffered the nomadic lifestyle of the performer: gas station hot dogs and untoward motel owners and inevitable relationship fizzles. Yes, it was fun to play God, to see how far I could push an individual, but the real reason I kept showing up night after night was to help, to teach people how to lessen their pain, so they might put on a tougher face when next they had to brave the world. I have been where you are, I wanted to shout. If you can be a little stronger for a little while longer . . .

The cameraperson turned his lens from the stage to the throng of dazzled faces. It wouldn’t be long before I was commanding the stage at Madison Square Garden. No, what was I thinking? MSG was much too small, with its measly capacity of twenty thousand. The football stadium at the University of Michigan seated 107,000. That was more like it. I beamed.

The projection screen overhead displayed the crowd’s delight up close before fading to black. I bowed deeply at center stage. “Thank you.”

On the dark screen flashed a single word in bold white letters.

    FEARLESS



The crowd roared. The curtain fell.

I am goddamn invincible.





16





Kit


JULY 2019


GEORGINA GRIMACED AT the bowl of puffed rice in front of her. She glanced up at me. “Nervous?”

After breakfast was my first one-on-one with Rebecca. “Mostly excited.”

“You should be,” April said. “She’s wonderful.” She had had her first session yesterday and hadn’t stopped raving about Rebecca since.

I fiddled with my bowl. “What should I talk to her about?”

“Your mom?” Georgina said.

What would I say? That I’d lost my only parent and best friend in one day? That the guilt of not being there when she passed was eating me alive? That seemed intense for a first meeting. Then again, I was tired of putting on a happy face. I’d always had to be the fun one. Even when I was miserable, I’d sing or invent silly dances to cheer up my mom and sister. I fulfilled my role as the family clown, keeping up the charade until Mom was dead and I was exhausted, no magic tricks left up my sleeve. These days I wanted to cry in peace—violently, unapologetically. I was sick to death of silver linings.

“You think?” I said.

April took a bite of cereal, mulling it over. “She’s the issue you’re struggling with most. Right?”

I nodded. I had told no one here about Mom besides April and Georgina. Even with them, I shared only an overview, none of the details that made her sparkle. I hadn’t told them about her ice-cream challenges. We’d chase the ice-cream truck down the block, scarf our cones, and whoever got brain freeze first won. I hadn’t told them that while other kids got quarters from the tooth fairy, I’d gotten a stuffed elephant toy, like the one Nat had. I hadn’t told them about Puzzle Tuesdays. No matter how low she was feeling, Mom never missed a Puzzle Tuesday. We’d invite Nat to help, but she always refused. She didn’t understand how I could want nothing more from Mom than to sit by her side.