Page 79 of My Own Kind of Person

“So it’s hard for me to trust someone else, especially someone who was just dating a girl.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure if I’m supposed to defend myself. “I see.”

Mostly, my feeling is simply that I want to know everything about Elijah. I want to ask about his mother. I want to ask about wanting to be a dancer, about how he imagines his future, and if he ever makes fun of himself for wanting it. I want to know his favorite food. How do I not know his favorite food?

When I look over, his eyes are waiting for me.

“I would like to kiss you,” I say. “But you just told me about your awful friend and how it’s hard for you to trust me.”

“I take it back.”

I laugh. “I feel a little overwhelmed, though. I feel like a lot is happening in my life right now.”

“Well.” Elijah gives a gentle smile but his eyebrows flick with sass. “I like hanging out with you. If that means making out? Fun. And if not? Totally okay.”

I exhale.

“The good news,” he says, holding out his hand, “is that there are no armrests in this field.”

His fingers are long and square. I draw my fingers along them, and he turns his hand to face the gold streetlight, and I trace the lines on his palm. He reaches his other hand over and touches my hand that’s touching his, tracing his thumb along the side of my thumb. I bring my fingers up his wrist, the skin softer here. He pulls back for a second because I accidentally tickled him, and so when he brings his arm back I press more firmly. I feel his rough elbows and the tight muscles of his upper arms. The cotton of his T-shirt is so soft it’s like nothing I’ve ever touched, it’s a type of T-shirt I could’ve never imagined. I move closer to him and I run a hand along his clavicle, his head turning away to reveal his taut neck. His stubble scratches lightly against my thumb. He closes his eyes and leans into my hand as I touch his face, as I move my fingers up to his temple and across his eyebrow. I slowly move my thumb along his nose, the ridge above his lips and along the side to his chin. I close my eyes as he moves closer and I feel his soft hand touch my neck. I lean into him and press my face into his palm and breathe deeply the smell of his skin. When I feel his lips on mine, I sink into them and let his tongue open my mouth, and I lose myself entirely.

Chapter 25

How do I describe it? I don’t know how.

Chapter 26

Captain’s Comedy Club is ten times bigger than McGuinn’s and smells half as bad. The red curtain hangs without wrinkles. The square tables run in neat rows. The patrons walking through the door look like alternate reality versions of the ones at McGuinn’s, like their more attractive cousins. It’s a Thursday but everyone is acting like it’s Friday. They’re ordering wine and seafood, and no one is asking about the required minimum. From a stool at the end of the bar, Sal gives me a nod.

Andi, buzzed head shining, chats with Elijah at the center table. I half expected Tony to come but he’s not here. I picked him up for school like usual this morning, but we barely spoke. During lunch, he went for extra math help. I scan the room for Joe Johnson. I’d been holding out hope he’d come too, but I don’t see him.

It’s the empty seat next to Elijah that I keep staring at, though.

Show is starting soon! I text Mom, but she doesn’t reply, and I suddenly worry there isn’t enough parking, or I didn’t tell her the location enough times, or it’s too hard for her to drive this far west. She still wasn’t awake for work by the time I left this morning, and I’m kicking myself for not waking her.

The overhead lights flash to signal the show is about to start, and my lungs freeze. I remind myself that my set is in the middle of the show, so I won’t go up for a while, but I can still barely breathe.

I stand at the back wall and open my phone to the story about Christy. I can’t get past the part where I told myself to be a man and do it. Every time I try to think about what happened next, my brain goes blank. This morning at school I asked Christy for permission to talk about that night and she said she trusts me. I guess I still don’t trust myself.

I type, I have this habit where I see women as perfect and men as awful, but I know the truth is more complicated.

Tony would say to include a punchline.

I write, The truth is that everyone is awful.

I delete this. Tony should be here. He should be scoping out the venue as research for his garage. He should be surreptitiously recording so he can tell me, in exacting detail, the places I could have been funnier.

I walk out of the main room and down a dark hallway. At the end is the greenroom where all the other comics are chatting. I stop at the bathroom door and write, The truth is that gender is a fantasy we cling to in an attempt to find meaning in an indifferent universe.

I delete this.

I message Tony, I’m sorry I was rude to you yesterday

I wish I hadn’t been

I’m telling a story tonight and I don’t know if other people will find it funny or not but I know it will be true and that means it includes humor. I don’t know if it’s what Sal or Joe Johnson or anyone else might like, but I know it’s something only I can do. You were right that I might not be a stand-up comic, and maybe that means you might not want to be my manager

But I wish you were here as my friend