Funny Feelings (63)

Clay’s fine. Nice. Attentive. A little pedantic with the way he speaks about everything. But this is the first (first!!!) prequel to the biggest career opportunity I’ve ever had and his persistent efforts are having the opposite of their intended effect.

“Farley?”

“What?!” I snipe. And now I’m more irritated that I have to apologize for that, as well.

“Sorry, Clay.”

“It’s alright. I get it. I won’t hover. I’ll just give you your time,” he nods graciously and leaves the green room.

I lurch up from the sofa and begin pacing, taking stock of my feelings.

I’m tired and wired. My first night on the tour bus, in the tiny single bunk was far from peaceful. I don’t know why I thought the bus would have a room with a normal-sized bed. We’re comedians, not pop stars, after all. There’s only a hallway lined with four bunks, plus a fold out sofa, and a single bathroom at the rear. It won’t be too uncomfortable to manage, since it’s only in between towns and then we’ll have hotels lined up.

But up until we all scattered for bed, I’d simply not allowed myself to consider the worst. I’d stayed distracted; laughing with Kara, Shauna, Clay, and our driver Sven, assuming Meyer would make it and meet us here.

Now that it’s here and he’s not, I feel wholly unprepared again.

“But you’re not,” I say out loud, turning to my reflection in the vanity. “Oh, you again,” I laugh on a breath before I let my face harden.

“You are prepared. You love this shit because it scares you. Because you’re damn good on your toes and you’re even better when you work from your mind. You defied every ounce of logic getting here. You’ve made it because you’re not afraid to do scary, uncomfortable things so that you can take part in something that you love. You are fucking funny, Farley. Fuck, that’s a lot of F’s. What they lack knowing, you make up for in showing. Just wait until you blow their minds.”

I shove open the door and march out into the hallway.

I didn’t grow up playing sports— at least not very competitively, but this hallway is my stadium tunnel tonight. This isn’t some big arena—it’s a small club, so there’s no walk-out song to announce me aside from the roaring sound in my brain and the echos of my thoughts. Thoughts that are shaded in angry defiance: for every time someone made me feel strange, crazy, overly emotional, or too much of too many things. Even more so for all the times I was made to feel insignificant and unimportant. For anyone who ever felt they were too good for me, or better than me. For the ones who made me feel lesser than.

I’ll take this microphone and I’ll shout into it, into their fucking faces. And I’ll get them. Because they will laugh. They won’t be able to stop themselves. Because I will shirk my pride, my self-esteem, and every ounce of self-preservation down to my marrow, and I’ll lay it all at their feet until they laugh in utter disbelief.

I don’t want to just entertain, tonight. I want to evoke emotion. I want my jokes circulating through their thoughts, making them laugh into their coffee tomorrow.

I want to channel my inner Hazel. I want to be someone who can dance without music. Someone who can make art with my frame of understanding.

“You ready?” Clay looks up from his phone, his eyes shifting and going wide when they meet mine.

“I’ll kick ass, Dad.”

“What?”

I walk out onto the stage with a smile.





My set becomes a a singeing, burning thing.

It’s not the largest club I’ve gigged at— it might even be on the smaller end of the spectrum. But people are yelping in laughter. Kara and Shauna more loudly than anyone. There are tears being wiped. Drinks being choked on. I see it when someone’s beverage shoots out of their nose, their friends crying in agonized fits for minutes after.

Every single face in the room that I can see is losing it, and when they’re not clutching their middles they’ve got astonished smiles tacked into the corners of their lips.

All those faces, except for one.

It started when I went off path with a lead-up story I’ve been playing with that crosses over into the PTA bit. It’s based on another true tale which only Meyer has heard. It’s one he begged me not to tell on stage, simply because of the punchline. But I’m fearless tonight because I have given myself no choice otherwise, and I want their gasps and I crave the sight of them hiding their expressions in their palms, embarrassed for how hard they laugh at such an inappropriate line.

I begin by telling them that I fear becoming a parent one day, because the pressure put on parenting as a whole, nowadays, seems insurmountable. The only real goal I’d have is to raise someone not terrible to other people. Yet, I can only imagine that this is harder than I understand, and I use this story to explain why.

I change the kids’ names, but I tell everyone about a meangirl(sic) in Hazel’s class that I had interactions with while I covered Meyer’s volunteer hours at school (a gift for his birthday that he was more stoked for than when his show got an Emmy nod). I explain to them how this little girl pretended to be Hazel’s friend; volunteering to help or making sure to smile and sign happily when the teacher was looking. How she’d pretend not to see Hazel sign, or attempt to communicate with her when the teacher wasn’t. How condescending the girl was when she would interact. I watched her eye Hazel’s artwork patronizingly, and then rearrange their art displays so that her own work was only next to her hearing friends’, as if she didn’t want to be associated with Hazel, or something. I share how Hazel would excitedly show her a beautiful drawing or a perfect spelling test score and her response was something like “That’s… exciting for you,” or just “Wow.” Never actually would tell her anything she did was good, never would pay her a true compliment, or show support. She was eight, yet knew how to be so intentional as to manipulate her words so that she was withholding.