Page 82 of My Own Kind of Person

Everyone is silent. They’re waiting for the punchline.

“I say, ‘I don’t know why I can’t let myself cry.’ ”

Someone makes a quiet sound.

“And she takes me in her arms and places my head on her shoulder and says, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.’ And I feel safe.”

My face gets soft. My breath catches.

“And I say, ‘I thought I’d at least prematurely ejaculate.’ ”

The tension breaks and the audience bursts into laughter.

I hold up a hand. “Thank you so much! My name is Sean O’Brien.”

I leave the stage and people keep applauding. They shout and whistle and clap long after I make it to the back corner. Elijah turns around and holds up his still-clapping hands. Andi doesn’t look, but—and now I really must be losing it—I feel close to them.

I get a text from Tony that says, Your best set yet

He’s at a faraway table tapping on his phone, almost definitely backing up a recording.

I’m so glad you’re here, I write. And I’m so sorry again for yesterday

The next comic goes up, and the next comic, and I replay my set in my head. I don’t even care about “winning” anymore. I already did what I came here to do.

The host returns to the stage and says, “And now, let’s bring all the comics back onstage.”

Maybe I care a little.

We line up in the order that we performed, and the host holds a hand over our heads as the audience applauds. It gets louder with each comic. I realize that the final comic will be the winner. The crowd enjoyed the show more and more as it went on, and the last comic will be their favorite.

The host holds his hand over my head and the room claps the loudest yet. Tony stands from a table in the back and cheers. From the end of the bar comes an enthusiastic howl. I look to see if it’s Joe, but it’s Sal. He has his hands cupped at the side of his mouth to make himself louder.

The host moves to the next comic and the next, and it sounds like the audience’s reaction may become more subdued, but it’s hard for me to tell because I keep looking for Joe.

Soon, the applause reaches a crescendo, and I realize the host is holding his hand over my head again.

“Sean O’Brien wins!” he calls.

The room erupts with cheers. I think I feel good. I hold a hand to my heart as I look at the room. Why would I not feel good?

The host turns away from the mic and says to me, “You want to get in some practice for Saturday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Introduce the surprise headliner.”

Joe Johnson waves to me from the side of the stage behind a curtain.

I wave back.

My hands tremble as I place them on the microphone. “We have some exciting news. I’d like to welcome to the stage someone we haven’t seen perform in years, who is the reason I fell in love with comedy. I’m shocked to be asking you all to welcome to the stage…Joe Johnson!”

The cheering is so loud I think I might never hear again.

Joe stops on his way to the mic and places a hand on my arm. He says in my ear, “Thank you for your story. I needed that.”

I give a dazed nod and I move to the spot behind the curtain.