Welcome to texas.
The Lone Star State flag greets us from a highway sign as we cross the border. Yee-freaking-haw.
“Home sweet home, huh?” Nick says as Bruce Springsteen sings “I’m on Fire” on the stereo.
“Something like that,” I say, staring out at the long stretch of two-lane highway in front of us. No matter how this place makes me feel, Texas is my home. Sure, I had my reasons for staying away so long. But driving in this Jeep on I-20, I’m not sure if they were good ones anymore.
I take a deep breath as we ease into the state. That’s when I spot the real welcome sign. “Oh my god, did you see that?” I practically jump out of my seat.
“See what?”
“The sign for Whataburger.”
“Whata-what?” Nick spits out.
“What-A-Bur-Ger.” Maybe he’ll understand that. “I told you about it. Best burger in the world. Can we go? Pleeeeaaassse!” I bounce in my seat like a little kid who’s just seen the sign for Disney World.
Nick chuckles, watching me wiggle with excitement. “Okay, water burger it is.”
“You make fun of the name now but soon you’ll be singing a different tune, my friend.”
“You are the burger queen.”
“That I am.”
Seeing the orange-and-white w sign when we pull into the parking lot almost brings tears to my eyes. Almost. It’s been too long.
“So this is it, huh?” Nick asks, underwhelmed.
“C’mon, lunch is on me.” Nick’s been uber generous this trip. Now it’s my turn to treat him to a real Texas burger. The smell of those delicious grilled patties brings me back as I saunter up to the counter.
“Welcome to Whataburger, what can I get you?” the cashier in a bright orange polo asks.
“Yeah, can I get a double meat, a bacon and cheese, fries, an order of onion rings, and two chocolate milkshakes?”
“Yes, ma’am! Will that be all?”
“Throw in a sweet tea.” We’re in Texas, after all. The cashier tallies up the order and I hand over the cash.
“You’re ordering for me?” Nick asks.
“Trust me, this is my burgerhood, okay? I know best.” We take our table number and find a booth along the window.
I look out over the trees across the parking lot to that open blue sky. It’s funny, even though we’re in a tiny town outside of Longview, somehow I feel like I’m around the corner from my dad’s neighborhood. Like he’s just a few blocks away and I can see him anytime. Ask him anything I want.
Too bad that isn’t true. And it’ll never be true again.
“So what part of Texas are you from?” he asks.
“Someplace you’ve never heard of.” Why start with all the geography questions when it doesn’t actually matter.
“Is it near here?”
I shake my head. “No, but we’ll pass it on the way to El Paso.”
“Well, maybe we’ll drop in and have a little burger visit there if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Part of me desperately wants to be there in Midland and the other part of me wonders if I’ll be able to breathe when we pass through.
“Here you go!” A staff member slides a full tray between us. My mind completely shifts focus to the feast in front of me. Wide-eyed and salivating, I’m dying to dive in, but I gesture for Nick to unwrap his burger first. He takes a big bite, and I watch him the way he watched me last night with the beignet.
“Eh?” I ask, encouragingly.
With a full mouth, he manages a smile. “Oh, yeah. That’s good. Really good.”
“Yeah, take that, Shake Shack.”
“Whoa, let’s not go that far, Texas.”
Now it’s my turn. I’ve waited long enough. Feeling the weight of all those gorgeous ingredients in my bacon cheeseburger, I ease it into my mouth. Not too fast, not too slow, wetting my lips before I take the first bite. First bite in forever.
“Oh, God, I missed this,” I say.
Nick wipes a little mustard from the corner of his mouth and sets his burger down. “So if you could have a burger with any comedian, dead or alive, who would it be?”
I want to say my dad. Even if he took the mic for only one night, I’d count him as a fellow stand-up. But that’s not what Nick’s asking, so I say the closest thing to it. “Eddie Murphy.”
“Good choice. I bet he’d be a blast to have a burger with.”
I let out a small laugh thinking about the McDowell’s scene in Coming to America. “Yeah.”
“Why Eddie?” Nick asks.
“He was my dad’s favorite,” I say, keeping my eyes on the bacon. “What about you?”
“I’ll go with Bill Hicks. He grew up in Texas so he’d probably enjoy a Whata . . . whatever kinda burger this is.”
I raise my milkshake, thinking of the late, great comedian. “To Bill Hicks.”
Touching his paper cup to mine, he adds, “To your dad.” Tears threaten again but I swallow them back with another burger bite, stuffing in an onion ring for good measure.
Nick sets his meal down and dusts his hands. “Okay, let’s talk shop. Last night’s performance was a good start. Now, I want you to take that playful energy into tonight, but I also want you to think about a few other things.”
“Like what?” I manage with a mouth filled to the brim.
“For instance, I’ve noticed you don’t allow a lot of silence during your sets.” That makes sense. I’m not big on silence. Too high a risk of my mind running away. Nick continues. “But it’s good to have some. Start by sitting in it a second longer than you want to. It helps build the anticipation. It works great on late-night TV.”
“You’re the expert. I’ll give it a try. Anything else?” I ask.
“Yeah, remember when you told me about watching Margaret Cho for the first time?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Between now and showtime, I want you to find a way to reconnect with when you fell in love with comedy in the first place.”
“Okay . . .” I can’t say there was one moment when I fell in love with stand-up, it was many little moments—listening to comedy records with my dad, watching stand-up on cable, seeing live comedy for the first time. “What about you? When did you fall for stand-up?”
Nick leans back in the booth, his eyes on the ceiling as he rubs his stubbled chin. “Man, I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” he says with a chuckle, and allows an extra second of silence. I lean forward, stuffing a fry in my mouth. “For me it was when I was sixteen, I think. My uncle was in his twenties, living in the city, and somehow snagged us tickets to see Jerry Seinfeld live.”
“Wow! What was that like?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed that hard in my life. He was just so effortlessly funny. And seeing him live was so much better than any televised special I watched. That was a tough time in my life but for the hour that Jerry was onstage, I forgot about all my bullshit and just enjoyed life for a bit. Sometimes I forget that’s what this is really about.”
Funny, eating burgers with Nick does for me what Jerry did for him that day. For just a bit, I forget about my precarious career situation, Imani’s across-the-world move, the Late Night Show audition, and all the other details that have been nagging me on this tour. It’s nice to be in the moment. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with comedy too. Because when something’s really funny, and you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts, there’s no better place to be.
Back on the road with the sun bright overhead, gentler rock music on the radio, and the steady rhythm of the road, I pass out. Next thing I know, the Jeep comes to a stop and a hot, smoky breeze wafts over my face. And where there’s smoke, there’s Nick burning up his lungs. I drag in a deep, polluted breath and take in the city stoplight ahead.
“Are we in Dallas?” I ask, sliding my fingers behind my lenses, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
Nick extinguishes his cigarette and exhales what’s left out the window. “Yep, just a few blocks from the club. We have to stop by and get the condo keys from Bob.”
“Damn, I was really out,” I say, recognizing the soft melody on the radio—“The Flame” by Cheap Trick. “Was I snoring?”
Nick smirks. “What do you think?”
“I bet you’ll be glad to have your Jeep all to yourself again next week.”
“Eh, I kinda like having you around.” He takes his eyes off the road and smiles at me. My heart flutters and I can’t help but respond with my own dopey smile. It’ll be weird not to see him so much. Will our friendly Jerry-and-Elaine relationship continue in New York? Will we be more? Then again, he’s a road warrior and surely within a few weeks he’ll be traveling with a new feature. But, he did just say he likes when I’m around. So I ask, “Does that mean you want me on your next tour?”
His gaze returns to the highway. “Actually, I decided to take some time off the road for a while.”
“Really?” Not at all the answer I was expecting. I want to ask if that means he’s planning to hang out with me in the city. Does he like the idea of going to farmers’ markets together on Saturday mornings and playing Funnies on Saturday nights as much as I do? I might be brave enough to make a fool of myself onstage in front of strangers every night but I’m not quite brave enough to ask Nick if he feels the same about me.
“Oh, hey, it’s right up here.” Nick points ahead, turning the corner toward Classics Comedy Nightclub. “You’re gonna love this place. Bob is a class act. Super nice guy. He opened this place back in 1985, I think.”
“Wow, this place is older than I am. How many times have you performed here?”
“I think this is number six.”
“Damn, you drove all the way from New York to Dallas six times?” No wonder he wants some time off.
“Not exactly. I’ll usually fly out. Do some shows here, Houston, a couple in El Paso . . . Wait. What the hell!” Nick and I gawk at the scene from the Classics Comedy Nightclub parking lot.
I gasp. “Oh my god.”
Red-and-yellow flashing lights flicker atop fire trucks and other service vehicles. What I imagine was once a lone brick building is now charred around the edges. The melted marquee is hardly recognizable with the roof partially caved in. Wispy clouds of black smoke smolder out the openings like a poor man’s chimney. Our gig gone up in flames.
A total disaster.
So much for my reprieve.