Dark Day Dreams, page 5
I mostly talked about things that had happened to me since coming to California so I could keep the lying to a minimum. I figured the less stuff I made up, the less chance I’d contradict myself later.
It felt good to take things slow for once. The human part of me had been feeling hungry for real contact with someone. We exchanged phone numbers and she promised to let me know the next time she was going to perform at a comedy club.
About a week later, she called and said to come down to a place called Laffer’s. It was a Monday night and those were always set aside for amateurs who wanted to go up on stage and test the waters. When I got there, she gave me a hug and we sat down to watch the folks who had signed up to perform before her. A heavy set white guy did a bit about how neurotic his dogs were. A young Asian man talked about the difficulties inherent in dealing with his parents now that they were getting older. A black woman made observations about Bill Clinton’s sex scandals. None of them exactly set the room on fire but they all generated a reasonable amount of laughter.
When the emcee introduced Janet, she mouthed “wish me luck” and went up on stage. I could tell she was nervous so I gave her the thumbs up for encouragement.
She was funny. She talked about odd habits some of her previous boyfriends had, everything from wearing Captain America underpants to eating peanut butter and salsa sandwiches. Of course, she had no idea her strangest male companion (by far) was sitting in the audience rooting her on.
Janet was almost finished when a couple of drunk guys started heckling her. One yelled, “They had to be fucked up if they were with you!” and the other was loudly saying she wasn’t funny and needed to quit boring everybody.
I don’t know why they just started acting up when she took the stage…maybe they just weren’t loaded enough yet when the others were performing. But now their blood alcohol had clearly reached asshole level. This ruined what up to that point had been a really good experience for her.
I could tell she was shook up and after a couple more jokes she came down off the stage. The emcee repeated her name and there was a reasonable amount of applause. I think people were feeling both uncomfortable and sad she’d been treated so badly.
I patted her on the shoulder and told her she did great. She said, “I think I’m going to go. Those guys put me in kind of a bad mood.”
I asked her if she wanted me to come over. She wiped away a tear and said, “No, I think I just want to be alone right now. But thanks for coming out to watch me.”
She left and I just sat there, getting angrier and angrier. I hate it when people try to achieve something and get mocked by other people who never, ever risk dipping a toe outside their own comfort zones.
Around midnight, the two hecklers got up and walked out of the club. They’d given a few other performers a bad time before they were done. I followed them out into the large parking lot. My anger had been building and building and suddenly I knew I was headed over the edge. My muscles were swelling and my teeth were getting sharper. The sounds and smells of the night were amplified in my brain and my focus was becoming razor sharp.
I said, “Hey, can I talk to you guys for a second?” I don’t know if a growl can be considered an accent but that’s what came out of my mouth.
One was a skinny black guy in his twenties wearing a backwards Lakers baseball cap. The other was a heavier white dude around the same age. The black guy glared at me and replied, “What the fuck you want?”
His overweight friend said, “Maybe he’s some kind of faggot…”
I could feel my rage continue to rise. I said, “Just wanted to say I didn’t appreciate how you treated my lady friend. You know, the redhead.”
The black one laughed and said, “Tough shit, dude.”
I smiled and replied, “Tough shit, indeed.” Then I grabbed him by the shirt and yanked his heart out. His friend had a look of utter shock on his face. I grabbed him and threw him down so hard on the asphalt his head more or less exploded.
************
Okay, I know I said earlier I follow a moral code of sorts. Guess I should have been clearer… in my family’s version, the gray area is much smaller. When you mess with someone we care about, the penalty can be pretty harsh.
In my defense, it’s mostly about biology. When we beasts “see red” as pure humans like to put it, our whole physiology changes. We don’t turn into werewolves exactly but there is a sudden burst of superhuman strength, temporary canine teeth growth and a desire to maim, dismember and kill that’s pretty much impossible to control…which is why it’s rare that one of us comes down off the mountain and tries to make a go of living in what’s considered the civilized pure human society.
I saw Janet a few more times and we even slept together once. She seemed to have a hard time getting over the heckling she took at the comedy club and said maybe she wasn’t cut out to be an entertainer. She was even thinking about moving back to Arizona.
Maybe she wasn’t cut out for living in a city this big. It’s not a good sign if you have PTSD just because somebody said something mean to you. Having to deal with those kind of people is just a standard part of the comedy life.
I never know what to say in situations where the person I’m with is pondering whether or not to make big life changes. I know it sounds odd to hear a beast say something so Doctor Phil-ish, but I would feel bad if I knew I helped persuade somebody to take a particular path and they ended up being truly unhappy.
So I just acted sympathetic and agreed that it was a tough business and there were certainly a lot of jerks out there.
I don’t think she ever heard her abusers were found the next morning in the club’s garbage dumpster. She’s a sensitive soul and actually said one time she hardly ever watched the local news because it seemed like all they did was report one murder after another.
The funny thing is (other than the unfortunate business with Janet) I really liked the whole comedy club vibe that night. It just seemed so simple. An individual writes their own material and goes up on stage…succeed or fail, it’s all about them. I thought it might be a part of show business well suited for (no pun intended) a lone wolf like me.
I wondered what Old Rachel would think of these latest developments. I assumed she’d probably want to break my neck or at the very least scratch my eyes out. She has a very low tolerance for anything she considers foolishness. I wasn’t sure what Sasha would think…she’s younger and a bit more open to new ideas.
I was still working construction but in my spare time I wrote up some jokes. I also spent a lot of time watching the late night talk shows, checkingthe styles of the hosts and various guest comics. They all had their own unique styles and that was something I too would need to develop over time. I especially loved the manic energy of Robin Williams and the druggy, slightly metaphysical ramblings of Steven Wright.
Laffer’s seemed like a good place to lose my standup virginity. I was feeling nervous and figured it might help a little if I was at least familiar with the surroundings.
When I got there, I put my name on the list, ordered a beer and settled in to watch the other performers. A heavy set black man reminisced about the family Sunday dinners of his childhood. A very thin white woman riffed about how neurotic she was and the side effects of the many medications she’d been prescribed over the years. A young man who’d immigrated to America from India told stories about what a hard time his parents had getting used to the culture of their new country.
My name finally got called and the emcee introduced me to the audience. The place was about half full, not really surprising since was amateur night. I nervously walked up onto the stage and adjusted the microphone (the previous guy was on the short side). I cleared my throat and said, “Hi, good to see you all here tonight. I’ve been living down here a few years now and like it a lot…though I have to admit that one day in January when it got down below fifty degrees was awful tough.”
That line generated a few eye rolls and hardly any laughs. I should have known there are few things more tired in this world than jokes about how mild southern California weather is most of the time.
“I grew up on a mountain in Montana. Way up where you’re more likely to run into a mountain lion than you are another human being. You might say we didn’t have a lot…heck, we didn’t even have clothes or silverware but I was always proud of our cave. There was plenty of room for the whole family and the bats were really good about leaving us alone.”
A few people in the audience were chuckling. More had puzzled looks on their faces. I sensed they were trying to figure out if I was trying to be funny or just somebody who’d stopped taking their meds and accidentally wandered into a comedy club.
“A lot of people get us mixed up with werewolves and that’s just silly. When somebody changes into a werewolf, they get all hairy and develop a bad attitude. When I change into a beast, I believe I become even more charming than usual. Of course, that is if you’re willing to overlook all the carnage I can cause…and I have to say, a lot of people can be a bit closed minded on that subject.”
The audience seemed to be warming up to me. I did a few more minutes, sharing anecdotes about some of the “folks” in our family and their various eccentricities. Old Gobbler’s inordinate fear of regular humans, Sasha’s volcanic temper, Jed’s springtime allergies and the way they caused him to stay in beast form for weeks on end.
When I finished, I got a nice round of applause and a pat on the back from the club’s emcee. I walked back to my seat and took a swallow of my beer. My heart was pounding but I was happy. My little foray into the world of comedy had gone so much smoother than I thought it would. Of course, it was also possible I had just lucked into a crowd that happened to like weird humor…
Five more comics took the stage after me. When everybody had taken their turn, I left the club and drove home to my apartment. I parked on the street and when I was getting out of my car I felt a gun in my back. A male voice said, “Give me your wallet and keys.”
I was still in a good mood so I decided to give him a chance. I said, “Walk away and you get to live. It’s just that simple.”
He laughed and replied, “What are you supposed to be…Batman?”
I answered, “Close enough.”
I turned almost quicker than any human can see and took hold of his pistol, throwing it ten feet away from us. Then I grabbed his head and twisted, breaking his neck in one smooth motion.
I picked the gun up off the ground and put the body in the trunk of my car. I had previously scouted out a few remote spots here and there I knew would come in handy when situations like this arose. I drove to one of those places and buried my assailant and his weapon in a deep hole, knowing I had definitely given him a fair chance to live and he turned me down. Like we say up on the mountain, “Life is nothing more than a series of important questions. Choose your answers wisely.”
************
I kept going to open mic nights after that, at least once or twice a week. Fortunately, it seemed like it was easy to come up with new material. For the most part, I was just reminiscing about my pre-California life and adding a few zingers here and there.
“You think you grew up in a tough neighborhood? We had neighbors who literally wanted to eat us. Sure, you had Crips and Bloods but we had grizzlies and cougars. And I don’t mean the kind that want to sleep with their pool boy.”
One middle-aged lady came up to me at a place called Noogie’s after I performed and gave me what I considered a very strange compliment. “You’re like the love child of Garrison Keillor and Stephen King!”
I was hoping she was referring to my material and delivery, not the way I looked. Things kept going well and eventually I was getting paid to make pure humans laugh. I quit my day job and got an agent. That was sometime in the year two thousand, I think.
I hooked up with women every so often. It was easy once I started getting a bit of press and my name on the various club marquees. Another male comic told me these comedy groupies were often referred to as chuckle fuckers. I tended to take advantage of these ladies exclusively when I was performing out of town. At this point in my career, I was just looking to keep all that stuff very casual.
My first trip to New York was exciting, though it was hard for me to concentrate at times. The smells of the city (especially urine) often hit me in brutal waves. And the traffic noise sometimes set me on edge. My agent asked me why I kept making growly noises under my breath.
I could tell there was an army of really big rats scurrying here and there where the humans couldn’t see or hear them. It was like another whole separate civilization hidden away out of sight.
There were so many people and yet they all seemed to somehow move quickly and safely on the sidewalks, for the most part. I decided it was just another survival skill pure humans had to develop if they wanted to live there.
The success was great but I began to feel a bit lonely and depressed at times. Here I was, talking about life back on the mountain and everybody in the audience just thought it was an act. I began feeling a stronger and stronger desire to take off the disguise and be with someone who truly understood my nature.
Despite her volatile nature, I had to admit I was really missing Sasha.
************
That feeling gnawed at me for a few years. During the summer of two thousand six, I decided to take a little time off and go back up on the mountain.
I felt like a road trip would do me good so I drove to Montana instead of flying. When I got to Flettsville, I stopped in and said hello to Jerry. A couple hours after that I was headed up the trail, wondering what kind of reception the family would give their prodigal child.
It felt wonderful to be high up in the fresh air. I took deep breaths and felt like part of my soul was being restored.
When I got about fifty yards from the cave, my uncle Jeremiah came out to meet me. He looked at my hiking outfit and said, “Well, look what the wildcat dragged in.” We hugged and he sniffed me. “You better get those pure human clothes off or Old Rachel will absolutely throw a fit.”
A younger male named Arnie approached us. I could tell he was tense…he was growling, his muscles were twitching and it was obvious he was right on the edge of going full beast. He looked at my uncle and said, “Are you really going to let this traitor come back here?”
I said, “Arnie, just chill out. I only came back for a visit. I won’t be staying long.”
“Chill out? Is that some kind of stupid human talk?”
“It’s just another way of saying relax, my brother.”
I took off my clothes and backpack and laid them by a tree. Jeremiah led me into the cave and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw my family coming out of the shadows and I hugged several of them. A few held back, obviously feeling conflicted about my foray into the larger world.
Old Rachel took my hand and smiled at me. She said, “You stink, boy. But it sure is nice to see you.” I hugged her and said I felt the same way (except I left out the stinking part).
I asked her how the family was doing these days. She said most of them were happy and healthy. The deer crop that year had been good and there had also been plenty of wild berries. I sort of missed the simplicity of that diet…living among the humans I had found myself getting caught up in the insanity of trying to keep up on what’s supposed to be good for you. And Los Angeles is the national headquarters for that particular kind of insanity.
I visited with everybody for a while and then Sasha finally showed up. She growled and then said, “Look who decided to grace us with his magnificent presence.”
I wasn’t surprised she said something like that…even when she’s in a really good mood, she tends to come across semi-hostile. And I’m weird because that tone always turns me on.
She looked really fine, at least for somebody who lives in a cave in the woods. She’d stayed in good shape while I was gone.
Later after we’d eaten the evening meal, I asked her to go for a walk with me out to a spot where we used to sit and look up at the stars. After we sat down, she asked me questions about the pure human world. Some things were hard to explain, especially when you consider my people’s technology was more or less limited to fire and sharpened stones.
I asked her who she’d been with during my absence. She laughed and replied, “Oh, three or four of the boys and I don’t want to name names because I know how jealous you can be.”
She asked me about the women I’d been with in the pure human world. I said, “They’re pretty and nice and smell good but none of them really understands me, Sasha. In other words, none of them is you.”
She smiled and replied, “Does that mean you’ve come back here to stay?”
“No, but I have an even better idea. Why don’t you come back to L.A. with me?”
“Karl, that’s crazy. I don’t know how to act in their world.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t at first either but it all worked out. I can teach you everything you need to know.”
We talked for a while longer and then made love. I think the passion and pleasure we shared swept away her last remaining concerns about going with me. She confessed that she’d been truly miserable most of the time I’d been gone. Apparently our connection was much stronger than anything she felt when she was with other young male members of the family.
Early the next morning, she put on one of my shirts and a pair of shorts from the family’s clothing collection. We said goodbye to a few of our loved ones and headed down the mountain. Later that day I helped her buy some better clothes and other feminine necessities.
I had always found her attractive but now that she was cleaned up and wearing a little makeup, I began to realize just how beautiful she looked. It was kind of a fierce beauty, full of beastly power and confidence.
