Page 74 of My Own Kind of Person

They reply, Still with Elijah

You should come hang!

I should probably keep working, I write back.

I tap my foot and look at the blank paper. Why was this special so disappointing?

From the back of my head comes a whispered reply, but it’s too quiet to hear. My subconscious is telling me something. I snap my fingers beside my ear as though this might help discern the words.

It’s moments like these when I’m unsure of the line between mental illness and artistic inspiration.

“I saw this girl tell a story the other day,” I call to Mom.

“Okay,” she calls back.

And now I speak faster than my brain can follow. “It showed how the truth includes both humor and emotion, but I think it also showed that the form of the story is the most effective way to carry that truth. More than the amorphous blob of stand-up.” My face twitches and my mouth keeps moving. “I think I have to tell a story at Captain’s. A new story.”

Mom comes back with a box of cookies. “Whatever you do is going to be great.”

I open a blank document. It’s like there are sparks in the corners of my eyes and I’m trying to catch them.

My phone buzzes.

Leaving Andi’s, Elijah writes. They said you’re working but do you want to go for a drive?

My whole body surges with energy. I think, for a second, that panic and excitement are the same thing. I’m terrified of life and I want it.

YES, I tell him.

On my way, he replies.

My chest pangs and I look around, blinking. I want to start doing push-ups. I want to tidy my room even though he’s not coming in. It’s like a feeling flashback.

As though controlled by some force outside of myself, I turn to the blank document on my phone and write: The night of my seventeenth birthday, I message Christy and tell her I’m ready to have sex.

I reread the line. It’s the kind of story that doesn’t feel like it’s allowed anywhere. I don’t even want to allow it inside myself. Although maybe that means I have to let it out. I write what happened next, how I got down on the floor and did three and a half push-ups. When I reread the line, I laugh.

“Mom,” I say, almost frightened. “I think I have a good idea for Captain’s.”

“That’s fun,” she says with her mouth full.

I stand up. “I think I’m excited.”

“Really?”

“Usually I’m only nervous. This is a very strange feeling.”

She puts the cookies down. “Can I come? I’ve never seen you perform.”

I hesitate. “It’s about sex.”

“Are you having sex?”

“It’s about failing to have sex. Intercourse.”

She looks disturbed. “When is the show?”

“It’s tomorrow night. I think you should come. Wow, it’s really bizarre to feel this confident.”