Vicissitude

As I got ready for the event, I felt like a ballon without oxygen. Instead I was filled with nitrogen. In total, I have been to 15 comedy shows this summer; I wish my nose grew longer by that sentiment, but there is no fabrication there. I counted. Some of the comedy shows were funny; some made me feel like exterminating myself; others were conventional. Although this one, I was incredibly not excited about going to. I mean, a comedy show based around the comedians getting unacceptably high? Worst yet, I could not fathom being surrounded by avid potheads. I knew the resentment that I was carrying was poisonous enough to kill a bus load of children, but I simply refused to share an interest.

The last time I got high, I ate 2 edibles. I started hearing voices, seeing visual hallucinations and belly-flopped in my vomit. Realizing that you do not know how to mop befittingly as you lay prone in your own bodily fluids should never cross your mind at 2 am. After that episode, I vowed never to get high again. I am going strong, but it would also be an understatement to say that I did not seriously consider attending the show inebriated myself. At the moment, it sounded like a great idea. That night, I was devoted to feeling anything outside of emptiness. I still had possession of the chewables that isolated me to another dimension. They are just buried in my panty drawer somewhere.

Ultimately, I decided against it and went high off a Red Bull. The familiar heart palpitations kicked in halfway through the drive to the aged theater; until I realized I could not taste anything and had difficulty breathing. For the past couple of weeks, I attributed the tightness of my chest to the change of the season and hay fever. Despite fall being the righteously best season; the allergies that accompanies it will have you severely contemplate clubbing your face into a bricked wall to alleviate the pricklingness in your nose. As selfish as it was, I did not contemplate turning around and returning home to isolate myself from further infecting anyone else. I did not bat single eye. In fact, I turned the music up louder.

The comedy show was held at an outdated theater on the south side of town. When I got to the receptionist, I was complimented by a blonde-haired-blue-eyed naivety. She told me I looked really pretty, and I remember smiling at her. My smiles always felt more authentic when I was at my lowest. I wish I could tell her I wanted to lynch myself right before her, but I think she would have retracted her flattery. At that moment, I needed the praise more than I needed my life. She informed me that my seat was on the left side of the theater due to my lack of getting VIP tickets, and I proceeded in. On top of her compliment, I smelled my childhood favorite snack, movie theater popcorn.

Interestingly enough, I did not stop in line to get popcorn or a shot of tequila. There were numerous considerable crowds hovering by the concessions that I did not want any part of. At least I knew that if I died that night, I would be gratified knowing that the smell of popcorn melted inside of my nose one last time. As I found my seat in the theater, I noticed the back of the head of someone I had seen at previous comedy shows before around town. Ultimately, I was here to make friends, but the sight of her initially inverted my emotions for logic unexplored.

Instead of sitting near her to initiate a conversation, I sat about three rows ahead. Eventually, I realized I was sitting in the sponsored companies' designated spot and began to feel self-conscious. I contemplated just staying where I was, but I finally decided to move when the preppy sponsors were all talking near me. I did not want to be within earshot of bliss or elation.

As I relocated to the row right in front of hers, I briefly commented to her and proceeded to people-watch. I was low on content and knew that hallucinating about the way the stranger sitting six rows beside me was drinking their lager would give me the content for a lifetime. Understand that the way this man sipped his beer and scrolled through his phone inattentively was quite hypnotic. I yearned to thank him for allowing me to dissociate and helping speed the time faster due to these shows never starting when they said they would. However, while I was people-watching, I was swamped by emotion. I needed a distraction regardless of me feigning for alcohol or even an orgasm.

Eventually, I got bored in my "what ifs" and "why me's" thoughts and sparked a conversation with the lady I had observed many times before at previous events around the city. She asked if I was expecting anyone else and if she could sit beside me. It felt like I was dating. The dopamine that began to weather was surreal. Her name was Lily, and she got out of a 12-year-long cancerous relationship. I was quite envious of her. Perhaps because she was out unaccompanied by choice, and I was out unaccompanied because I had nothing better to do. She was utterly beautiful, actually. Perfectly Latina. Shaved head. Gentle. She had a certain glimmer to her that I had not been exposed to in a while, and by default, I was intimidated. I was also self-conscious, knowing I did not wholeheartedly scrap my tongue. I can taste the stale end-of-the-day breath acclimating in the back of my throat, and to meet someone for the first time and knowing that you have putrid breath is always a bummer. Despite meeting people being the ultimate goal of my social outings, I did not think it would ever come to fruition. Little did I know, I was about to reach my peak.

At the end of the event, Lily and I parted ways and expressed gratitudes and "See you soons". We did not exchange phone numbers or make plans to see each other after the event. We both knew that we would see each other soon. In fact, we saw each other the following Friday. We sat next to each other again at another local comedy show and gabbed about superficial things. This time, I had more to discuss because my devotion to life had exponentiated.

She got up and smoked in the middle of the event while simultaneously enjoying the show. I could tell her cannabis-induced- paranoia had commenced because I whispered a witty comment to her in response to the comedian, and she excruciatingly giggled at the sentiment. The giggle prolonged for too long, and she did it in an increment of three. Each laugh had a reason outside of the other, but I cannot help but feel that the third giggle had a hint of sinisterness. I got uncomfortable and sat quietly for the rest of the night. Who do I think I am to whisper buffoonery in the ear of a stranger that I rarely know?

Once the event was over, I lingered a little bit but did not know how to properly wrap up our conversation. As I got up prepping myself to ask her if she would like to get dinner sometime, she got up and went to the restroom. Thereafter, I returned back home in silence, where my life returned back to utter blackness. I lay in my bed and pondered whether I should continue to pursue writing or if I am instincitvely repellent to amity.

I spent all night waiting for her to text me.