Disappearing Acts

Meat backed out of the rest room. The door clanged shut behind him, the word “Guys” passed unseen before his fixed gaze. Slowly he began to back his way down the dim hall.

Something seemed to be stuck in his throat. It felt like a rock, but Meat knew it was something worse. Meat knew that it was a scream and that it wouldn’t go down, and he hoped it wouldn’t come up.

He heard something, a noise that seemed to come from inside the rest room. Footsteps? If Herculeah had been there, she would have rushed forward to investigate, but he was no Herculeah.

He didn’t have the strength to move forward and open the door when all he would see would be a dead body. Or maybe he would see something worse. Maybe the footsteps belonged to the killer. Could the killer have been in the bathroom with him and the body? The thought caused him to shudder. Anyway, he told himself, maybe the noise had come from Guy-ettes instead.

He glanced hopefully at that door. He would have given a lot to see it burst open and an armed police-woman step out.

Meat continued his slow backward steps. He heard laughter behind him. He turned, as surprised as if he had never heard the sound before.

Then he realized that the comedy class had started. He continued his long walk, concentrating on putting one foot directly behind the other, on not fainting. He took deep breaths, forgetting that the air was scented with disinfectant and urine.

He paused at the telephone, wanting to call someone, but he couldn’t even think of Herculeah’s number, the number he had dialed at least three times a day since they had met. He continued with slow heavy steps, helping himself along by touching the wall first on one side and then the other.

The distance from the men’s room to the club room where his fellow classmates laughed seemed to be hundreds of miles away, instead of a few feet. He could not remember anything taking him so long.

He came to the end of the hall. Mike had started without him. “Listen, gang, being funny is no joke.”

Mike went on, “The key to being funny is to find out what is interestingly funny about yourself. That’s what we’re going to start with. What sets you apart. We’ll listen to your voice and help you develop your own style. Individuality is the key. The world of comedy rewards originals big-time.”

The teacher said, “I’m going to help you. That’s what we’re here for. What’s funny about you—what works for you.”

Meat progressed into the room. He found he was standing on the stage, in what was probably the comedy spotlight. He cleared his throat.

The class looked at him. The teacher turned too, his eyebrows raised in a quizzical way.

There must have been something comical about him—even though he had never felt less funny in his life—because their faces brightened. They were obviously ready to laugh.

It was as if they thought he’d gone into the men’s room to work up a routine, and now he’d done it. Now he was ready to start his routine, to crack them up. He shook his head.

Yes, he had stage fright and every other kind of fright there was in the world.

Meat swallowed. He didn’t think he could speak because of the rock in his throat—it might have to be removed surgically.

He finally got out the first half of his sentence. “There’s a girl in the men’s bathroom ...”

Their faces grew even brighter. Their smiles widened. Meat knew how it would be to be a stand-up comic, to have the entire room waiting for the punch line.