Comedy Girl by Ellen Schreiber Read Free Book Online

dark faces—all staring back at me. And not a Snoopy or Hello Kitty among them. No mirror to check myself in. No laugh track to spur me on.
    The spotlight made me squint, but I also felt its warm glow. And with a sudden burst of confidence, I thought: This is the moment. I wasn’t going to blow it—rather I was going to blow the audience away. Bring down the house, be the best performer Talent Night had ever seen. Show the snobs what I had dreamed offor so long—show the world.
    When my eyes adjusted to the glare, I noticed a smiling Sergeant in the third row, her program clenched tightly in her hand. I saw Dad and Aunt Sylvia, beaming. And then I saw Sid—grinning at me just as I had imagined. I started to perspire. I looked toward the aisle and saw my Algebra 2 teacher, Mr. Benchley, staring right at me. I could barely make out cheerleaders still dressed from the game scattered around the theater, glaring. I fingered my hair with my free hand. Eddie was in the first row, left section, sitting with some of his friends from American History class. I started to gnaw on my bottom lip. I spotted Sam Chapman in an aisle seat reading his program. And then I saw Gavin. My hands began to shake and I tried to cover my nervous tension with a Cheshire cat grin.
    Why was everyone I knew sitting so close to the stage? Why couldn’t they have been farther back, blocked by the glare of the spotlight?
    I felt like I had been standing up there forever.
    Speak, you moron! Do it. Do it now! Get it over with. They’ll laugh and you’ll be able to get outa here. They can’t see your shaking hands.
    I took a deep breath.
    Nothing. Blank. My brain was empty. The monologue, all the jokes I’d been practicing all my life weregone. Vanished. Sucked into a dark abyss.
    If I could just remember one joke, it would bring the rest back.
    I gazed at the balcony, as if my words were written on banners like “Go Mustangs” at a Mason High football game. I wrinkled my forehead, hoping to force my material out. My palms were so sweaty, the mike slipped in my hand. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t remember a thing. I was dying in front of my family and the whole school. I looked at Sergeant.
    Anything funny about Sergeant? I rattled my brain.
    All of a sudden there wasn’t anything funny about the woman whose smile was now turning into a nervous grin.
    Dad! But Dad never says anything. I couldn’t remember anything he had ever said!
    Sid? He was no longer the only one in the family to suffer blackouts. Something about drugs…but what? What! I bit my fingernails. I felt like I was stuck in Jell-O.
    If I could remember one joke anyone has ever told me…
    Nothing.
    My very first joke.
    Emptiness.
    One from a comedy album.
    Blank.
    A dirty limerick.
    Nada.
    Students were fanning themselves with their programs, shifting in their seats. I was really beginning to panic.
    Okay, forget comedy!
    Recite a nursery rhyme.
    Zero.
    If I could remember the song about the lamb that follows that girl…Maggie…Millie?
    I could hear sounds of boredom in the audience—sighs, yawns, coughing.
    Sing the national anthem. How does it go again?
    A bumper sticker?
    Nothing.
    A license plate number.
    Nothing.
    My name—no, that’s the one thing I wanted to forget.
    Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead. I noticed students glancing around, heard programs rustling, audience members whispering. Were my five minutes up? I felt I’d been onstage for five years! I stared out into the audience. I melted from the heat of the spotlight. I squeezed the microphone, shaking and slipping in my sweaty hands and finally brought it up to my mouth.
    â€œI have to go and throw up now! I forgot I was supposed to do that before I came onstage.”
    The crowd paused awkwardly for a second, then roared with laughter as I desperately escaped offstage.

BROKEN DREAMS
    S id found me hiding in