Funny Feelings (64)

And then, the pièce de résistance: At recess one day, while Hazel happily jumped rope on her own, minding her own business, I heard it. I heard this little girl mimic a Deaf voice. Heard her snickering to some other little sweater-toothed, snot-licking gremlins, mocking some of the Deaf students’ sounds.

Now, in stand-up, you have to be willing to offend people at times. You have to make your peace with it and draw your personal boundaries, but ultimately you will get under someone’s skin occasionally if you’re pushing the conversation correctly. I don’t mess with race or say anything that will promote ableism, and I keep it light when it comes to religion. I try not to take up space where I don’t need to.

Myself and my own lunacy, the patriarchy, and asshole kids, though? All free game.

I don’t think this joke breaks my vow.

So, I distinctly register when this particular woman’s expression pinches into one of disgust and loathing tonight, because it’s also the moment that I tell everyone how I completely snapped to Meyer (in the joke, to a teacher) later and called this little girl “—an evil little cunt creature who will grow up into some equally mean-spirited boss babe twat who produces another crotch goblin that she acts like is Jesus incarnate.”

The woman in the audience refuses to crack at any of the stuff that follows, too, and I become hung up on it. I find myself growing louder when I near her side of the stage. Looking directly at her, over and over again.

When I finish the portion of the set focused on sex stuff and the things that really blow my dress up these days, I find her again, only to see her scowl clenching harder. It drives me crazy, because all I’ve done here is joke about a mean-spirited little girl and myself. And yet, her nasty looks are all I can focus on. Her eye rolls. Every other face in here is having a beautiful night and all I see is this one.

So I decide to do something I’ve never once done in my stand-up career. I call her out.

“I have got to tell everyone. There’s a woman right over there who just is getting more and more visibly angry with each word that comes out of my mouth. And I have to tell you ma’am—” I locate her eyes. “—the more angry you get, the funnier I find it.” I smile cruelly.

The place roars as she kicks up out of her chair and storms out.

It’s victorious.

I might feel a twinge of guilt, later, but for now on this stage there is something violent within me, clawing through a layer with everything I say. I’m swinging from my own wrecking ball and screaming weeeeeeeeee, practically gleeful with it.

The audience in this overheated, dingy club gives me a standing ovation when I finish, and I tear up like it’s The Greek on a Summer night. Like it’s a packed stadium under a sky full of stars.

And yes, it’s not as if I don’t easily cry as it is. But I think I’ve often felt like my success is held up by Meyer. That he somehow justifies it, I suppose. So I’m proud that I didn’t actually need my steady, respectable man as my foundation to feel confident or worthy, tonight.

Still, my walk to the side stage feels a little more unsteady, my legs wobbling down the stairs to go meet Kara and Shauna. I feel a bit out of control, trying to remind myself that even though that was a little outside my brand, I’ve seen and heard so much worse. It is—I’m okay. The joke was not bad. Singling out that woman was not something I’d ever thought of myself doing, but… it’s not as if she was having a good time anyway…

I don’t fully register the movement in my peripheral before hot, liquid pain cascades down the side of my face, sears against my collarbone, my hand, another splash against my shoulder on the same side.

A guttural screech wrenches its way through me before I gasp, trying to paw it it off my face.

“Farley?!” “Security!” I think Kara and Shauna yell.

The seconds come into focus along with the face in front of me. The woman I dismissed, and what appears to be an empty coffee cup in her hand. Red, bloodshot eyes and a constellation of popped blood vessels on each of her cheeks. The same putrid scowl. She jabs a trembling finger at me.

“I’ll tell you one thing you have right. The idea of you ever becoming someone’s mother is terrifying. I pray it never happens.”

A security guard smacks the cup out of her hand and a high laugh whistles out of me. Too late, I’ve been burned, I think, idly. The other guard wraps her up and hauls her out of view as Kara and Shauna swoop my way.

Did I walk down these steps ten seconds ago or ten hours ago? The moments balloon together.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll get a cool towel.”

Shauna is helping wipe and cool down my arm and my face, while Kara presumably talks to security elsewhere. The skin is hot and bruised, bright pink, like when Hazel and I tried to dye Easter eggs red last year but could only ever get them to turn pinker. It’s nothing I need to have seen at a hospital, though. Still, I can’t stop staring at it.

No one says anything for a long while. I was asked if I wish to press charges, and I don’t. Then, they argue with me. I don’t care.

I meet Shauna’s sympathetic gaze. “You can’t tell Meyer,” I say.

“Can’t tell me what?”

Shauna whips around and Meyer’s there, looking harried and exhausted and confused. Perfect.

My chin begins to tremble and I clench my jaw as firmly as I can to halt it.