Page 70 of My Own Kind of Person

“It is,” I say.

He smiles. “Well, I thought that went great.”

“Comedy requires succinct punchlines,” Tony says, looking at me. “Joe Johnson memorizes every line.”

“And this is Sean O’Brien,” Andi says.

Tony looks from Andi to Elijah. He’s become outnumbered.

“Elijah might be right,” I tell Tony. “If I deliver the greatest hits line by line, I’ll do well. But someone tomorrow night is going to do incredible. It might be a smarter risk to use the greatest hits as a starting point, then talk off the top of my head to allow for surprise. There’s a chance it’ll be a disaster, a very real chance. But it’s the only way to allow space for miracles too. Which is the only way I could possibly win.”

Tony grits his teeth. He sets his face and takes a long, heavy breath. Then he stands and begins a slow clap.

“Please sit down,” Andi says.

Tony does not sit. “Yes, Sean O’Brien! Yes!” He throws a fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He claps louder. “Woo!”

Andi turns to Elijah. “I’d say he’s not normally like this, but this is exactly what he’s like.”

Elijah lifts his legs and hugs them to his chest. “You’re all sweet. I’m very happy to be here.”

“Aw.” Andi smiles, I think genuinely.

A wave of panic rises up. My oldest friend, my formerly new friend, and my first and still-not-announced-as-such boyfriend are all sitting together. Their bulk knowledge of me is unsettling.

I plant my feet at the microphone and deliver the first line from THE GREATEST HITS: “When I was in elementary school, a girl would tell a guy she liked him by beating him up. And let’s just say the girls loved me.” But something in my voice doesn’t communicate it as a joke. I say it like it depresses me, which, I realize now, it does. It’s not the way I would use humor anymore. Tony’s face goes white.

I tell myself to say something funny, but I can’t help but say what I’m actually thinking and feeling. I talk about the girl who pushed me in the sandbox, Lauren, and how she came out soon afterwards. How we never became friends but whenever we passed each other in the hall we’d give each other a serious nod like we were old war buddies. It only made me feel lonely, though, because I didn’t understand it, and it felt like there’d always be this distance between me and others.

I tell myself to end with some kind of punchline, but I say, “I fear that’s still the way I am, even talking to the three people I’m closest to—like I’ll never let myself feel less alone.”

My chest cracks open and I hold on to the microphone stand.

Tony, Andi, and Elijah all look at me with blank faces.

“I think I’ve lost the ability to be funny.”

Andi cackles. I look out of the garage and see, next to Tony’s house, the first real house Mom and I lived in. I see Mom laughing as she played tag with me on the front lawn.

“I’m reverse-rehearsing.”

Elijah laughs. I see Mom silent as she packed the car for us to move away.

“Every comic bombs!” Tony says. “You’re getting all your bombs out right now.”

I close my eyes. “Comforting.”

“You’re subverting what we expect,” Elijah says, and I tell myself to hear him. “We expect you’re going to make us laugh, but instead you’re making us feel. It causes us to listen closer.”

My mind clears. “Like they’re still punchlines, but they’re punches to the heart.”

“Exactly.”

I try to let myself take comfort in this. “I like that idea.”

Elijah smiles.

“Is this even comedy anymore?” Tony says quietly, and stands. “Rehearsal’s over.”