Free In A Snowy Cage

The makeup room mirror felt a cold breeze blow on its glamourous face. The stairs felt the awkward thudding, creaking and squeaking, trying not to give up under the weight of the 60 kilo man treading those steps. The curtains felt the brush on his messy hair as the lights started to move around willy nilly, shining in all their glory. The destitute comedy club with its cracked tiles and cheap dining went crazy with anticipation. The previous act was such a bore that they were willing to cheer for a blind cat meowing at the mic if that were the case. Fortunately, the mic was picked up by a rather safe hand, promising a good time to the ones who stuck around for the final act of the day. Mic felt a quick prayer, quiet enough to not echo yet it spoke volumes. He had been murmuring the same prayer since the day he joined the staff, 4 tiring years ago. Finally, it was time for the show to begin…

“Hello and welcome to the conclusive act of today’s show at our dying comedy club!” he was received with a highly scattered applause. “Usually, you’d see the announcer grace you all with his tired and drained voice but eh. To hell with it, I say. You all know me. You all have had to sit through this act for 4 long and boring years isn’t that right fellas?” his perked up ears caught a couple of “No”s and a few chuckles. “Now, usually, we would do the same old routine. I’d come up here, scream into the mic, force you all to look up from your phones once in a while, maybe have a few camera flashes pointed directly at my eyes. Looking at you, table 12, you’re making me feel like Ray Charles up here.” the room was filled with a chaotic energy, as if his own aura was seeping into his surroundings. The 9 O’clock strike did not hamper the energy and liveliness of the room. “However, I have one story that is very close to my heart. A story that deserves to be shared before the megalomaniacs that govern our city come crashing down on our roof with a naked Miley Cyrus and end this diner once and for all. And the story……well, it’ll be lost forever, Without an audience. Except myself of course.” He looked around the room, catching the skeptical murmuring. “I bet you’re all tired of the same act. Me sharing a funny little anecdote, you laughing, having a good time and just going back home and waiting for next Saturday, living out your bland lives without the soothing voice of Yours Truly. Today, we change that boring old schedule of ours. Today, I share a genuine story with you all.” He turned around, looking to grab his chair but he twisted his back like a ragdoll and continued while slowly reaching towards his trusty seat with a missing leg. “And that last word was important. All. You all are woven into these stories. Connected to these tales. As much as I am. So, I would appreciate you all making some noise how about that? Huh?” He was met with a frankly excited crowd, something he did not anticipate at all. He was celebrated within the confines of the raggedy club but it wasn’t for his earnestness, it was because he was entertaining. That’s the tragic element hidden within the decorated career of a comedian. It was nice and fulfilling for him to notice this wave of excitement amongst the scattered crowd even when they hadn’t been promised a hearty laugh by the end.

He thrusted his arms quickly before him, the fingers pretending to be a frame as he winked at the audience through the narrow aperture of the make-shift frame. “Let me paint you all a picture.” He walked slowly, full of intent towards the crowd. “What do you all know me as?” he bent over and extended the mic towards the crowd. The people in the front row were almost intimidated by the tall stature of the man performing for them. That’s what they thought, but he did not perform for others. He performed to put his own mind, his own soul, his own stories to rest as they slept in the minds and hearts of others; sharing the weight of these experiences with his audience, extensions of himself, his people. “Ray Ray.” One of them spoke out loud. “Raydio” another continued to the chain. “Just…..Raheem.” said another. The sheer nervousness in the kid’s voice made Raheem chuckle as he covered his eyes with the sweaty palm of his left hand. He returned to maintaining his intimidatory height and spoke, “See? I know you guys have a ton of even more colourful names but when the Sun hits my face, which is exponentially earlier compared to you lot by the way…” his innocent face and caring voice made the comment seem like a compliment as he was met with decent reception. “…..I am just dull and old driver 792. As a college student, you need to learn how to make a quick buck to keep the lights on. While by mentally stable peers went to work at McDonalds or Subway, I made the horrendous decision of working for…….hold on I wonder if I can get sued over this.” He drew in a deep breath. “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuteer? Uter. Uter Us. Yes that’s where I worked and you know what? A pat on the back for me for coming with that masterpiece of a name. Hold on. Actually. A pat on the back for all of you for witnessing this revolutionary creation. UTER US IS THE FUTURE!” he laughed to himself at the idea of it while he noticed a few lads around the back, patting themselves on the back, huge bright smiles spread across their cheeks. “You guys know the funniest part?” the room fell dead silent as his expression changed, displaying a critical and shrewd look. “It was a summer job.” The couple seated at table 4 winced in unison. He didn’t need to get into the details to make them understand the pain hidden behind those brown eyes. Yet, he felt encouraged to find the humour in it, and the audience, like puppets on a string, reciprocated. Strings woven by his charming behaviour and piercing relatability.

“Day in day out, it was the same old routine. Wake up early, finish a few pickups, attend your classes, gut through your friends video calling you with booze and women in their spacious apartments, try not to be petulant towards customers who keep screaming in your ear when you’re stuck in traffic LIKE WOMAN PLEASE! I NEED THIS PICKUP MORE THAN YOU DO! JEEZ! Whatever happened to basic decency, it’s just like slavery got more diverse and racially inclusive.” Somewhere inside his brain, he felt that he had dipped his toes into perilous waters but the audience didn’t seem to mind. You have to put on so many filters when you follow the lifestyle of a comedian that you tend to forget what your heart wants to communicate at times, whether it be through genuine interactions or risky jabs at our current state of being. Raheem was like a metronome in this scenario. “Now, summer ended, so did my suffering as it seemed. No more driving a literal oven through traffic for what? 14 hours a day? Just to drop a rich spoilt brat with an IPhone 10, unnecessary sass and attitude and LOADS of upcoming attachment issues like if you’re travelling alone at the age of 10, there’s something going on within those decorated walls, my guy.” He paused for a second. “You know what customers were even more annoying than the horror film screaming aspirants? The phone public. And I don’t mean the ‘raging on business calls’ public because hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. No. I mean the social media public. Look, I distance myself from the whole ‘read books, dummies’ idea. It’s just an undeniable fact that phones and social media have had an unparalleled cultural impact on us, like it or not. No, my problem is when you make me feel like a stranger in my own car.” the audience applauded. “Like, dude. This is already a pretty cramped Ford Aspire with Chick Fil-A cartons for a navigator’s seat, you don’t have to make me feel more distant. I CAN SMELL THE GODDAMN LETTUCE SANDWICH THAT YOU HAD FOR BREAKFAST, I ALREADY KNOW UNCOMFORTABLE THINGS ABOUT YOU.” The audience couldn’t contain their laughter to mere chuckles at this point. It was almost deafening. So deafening that it always interrupted Raheem’s train of thought as he stood stuttering for a solid thirty seconds, giving the audience a chance to catch their breaths as an excuse. “It’s funny because, man I took this job to not feel lonely up here. To talk to people. Just basic stuff like ‘What’s your name? How you doin? How’s your day been’ things like that go a long way in my opinion. Not just for me but my customer too but yes, you probably shouldn’t go around leaking your IP address to drivers, we already have those in our pockets. What you thought Uter Us gonna give us enough money to make a living? Come on now.” The crowd resumed their uncontrollable fits of laughter yet again. Once you’ve reached the point of making your audience laugh, not chuckle or giggle, genuine have a hearty laugh, your job is done. From then on, it’s just a matter of maintaining that spirit and then….. “Man, I love this crowd.”….just sprinkle a little flattery in. Half a decade of this routine made Raheem as fluent in it as a high schooler learning Japanese because his crush is into anime. “So, anyways, I was glad that phase ended as fast as possible because I swear to god I was starting to feel like giving my keys to the passengers at one point, like you know what?” he pulled out his house keys. “Here you go. Live my life. Attend my classes while you’re at it. Keep that limited edition Dora The Explorer keychain too it don’t belong to me no more.” He paused, waiting for the audience to cease clapping over his voice. “Like shit dude just put down your phone for a second it’s not that hard. Talk to me. Now, of course don’t INITIATE the conversation. You’re in my territory. I’m the main character here. But y’all just silly at this point, I feel like the comic reliefs who get told to shut up every single time they appear on screen. Give me some credit here, man this is my movie. My idea. I’m the Tesla here, you got no right stealing my spotlight like an Edison!” he could feel some of the audience was a little confused by the context but it was best to brush it off and keep moving while the applauses are still roaring. “Now that THAT NIGHTMARE was over. I could finally go back to my cramped apartment and return to my normal life, focusing on some well needed education…..except, it just simply wasn’t to be.”

“’EVICTED!’ The words screamed at me, echoed, made the hairs on my skin stand up like they just heard the beats of the national anthem. It’s worse when you don’t quite understand what the hell just happened. What do these words even mean? How did I not think about this? Truth is, it’s a cruel world. And sometimes, everyone’s gonna be against you. So, there I was, sleeping on my friend’s couch, smelling like rotten cucumbers I don’t even know if that’s possible. People say that being monotonous is worse than getting increasingly worse every second. Those people have never experienced the latter. Roommates! Tell me something. How hard is it to tell your friend that he’s an absolute mess and needs to pack up soon? Because my roommate didn’t say a word, he just gave me this look of sheer disappointment and annoyance and I swear to God I would wake up with tears in my eyes somedays. It’s like when your parents just look at you when you when you mess up royally. Like, okay Mom tell me I’m an idiot, at least I’ll know that I have to cry now. Like, what do I do with myself in this situation? I’m trying my best but it’s just not enough and all I can ever see are his judgmental eyes piercing through my soul……I knew it was time. I hated that realization, but I knew it was time.”

“Oh, I did not miss this feeling let me tell you. The winters are awful. Note this down, it’ll help you some day. Driving in the winter, with snow covering every street, every orifice of your car and of your body, you’ll be lucky to even survive by the end of the night. And you see, talking, keeps your body occupied right? It distracts you from the sheer pain that your calves are being subjected to. Well, I hope you know how that worked out for me.” Chuckles with a hint of a few winces met with Raheem’s eardrums. “Now, it was a particularly cold night. Yes, emphasis on night. I had just finished my college classes, exhausted out of my mind, coughing raggedly yet, my car keys were my best friend then. Now in the winters, my car looks completely different. How you may ask? I’m a college student. So, obviously, I came up with the most impractical solutions to my issues. I stuffed handkerchiefs and towels into the open areas of my car to keep me warm. Yeah, it was that bad. It’s all fun and games until you go home and find a homeless person using your towels to create a king sized bed.” The audience laughed. “No. No. Don’t laugh. This was a dishonest joke. A low blow. I shouldn’t have made fun of homeless people like that…..considering I may be their dumpster neighbour the very next day.” “Risky.” He thought to himself as he winced as soon as the words left his mouth. No going back, mistakes are often repeated in this line. “Give me a break.” He thinks as he quickly switches subjects. “Anyways, as I was saying. Particularly cold night, right? Absolutely snowed in. Very few cars running around. Not me. No, sir. I have tuitions to pay for and I feel like I have asked my friend for his liver every time I crash on his couch. This needs to end. So, I set out on a journey, trying to keep the car running, trying to find some poor soul who would tour the city in this frigid climate. Not a single soul in sight and understandably so. You’d have to be real stupid to- PING!” Raheem imitated himself pulling out his phone from his back pocket. He paused and whispered into the mic. “Huh. Odd surprise but a welcome one.”

“Miranda Isaacson. That was her name. First thing through my mind wasn’t the obvious concern, what is she doing outside so late? She’s all alone too? Damn, it isn’t safe out here. No no no. None of that bullcrap. All I could think of was ‘heh. Isaacson. Funny name. I’m going to exploit you for funny points some day.’ Capitalism is a wonderful thing let me tell you.” “Now, this woman you see. She told me to pick her up at the Sommerville nightclub. Fine by me. I am your servant after all. Then, she told me to drop her at Five Prime Junction. For those who are bad with geography or just haven’t left their room since the dawn of time. THE FPJ IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY! A part of me almost whispered ‘oh hold on now ma’am what the hell are you talking about?’ I barely get paid, dude. I don’t think I can survive this romantic long drive that you got planned out for us. But then again, what other choice do I got?”

“So, reluctantly, I pull up to the nightclub and I see a lovely lady just sitting by the side of the road. I honk once. I honk twice. No response. So, I sit. Maybe, my customer is still inside? I called her up and I saw the woman in front of me answer her phone. I have never felt so frustrated in my entire life. DO YOU THINK IM HONKING AT YOU BECAUSE I WANT TO DRIVE ON THE FOOTPATH? But of course, I can’t let that out of my system. The stuff a man does for 5 stars. Maybe I’m being a little harsh actually, she was a very lovely woman, not even drunk just…….lonely. Like me. Remember when I told you all about the loneliness I feel in my own car? Yeah, once you get a customer as lonely as you, all that talk about ‘communication’ flies out the window and frankly, I was way too busy thinking about the drive ahead of me anyways. “OTP?” I said coldly and she gave me this blank stare. Well, would you look at that? I asked God for my own waifu, yes but I didn’t say I wanted Komi-San! Now, I am an awkward person and I mean I don’t want to come off as rude to her and repeat my question, my money depends on her reviews. But, then again, do I just sit here awkwardly and pretend like I don’t have a passenger? I know it’s not a relatable situation, I mean look at you guys, you’re clearly doing well for yourselves! Table 16? Not so much.” Table 16 was wearing a pair of khaki shorts with the most animalistic leg you would ever see. But hey, he knew it too apparently as he didn’t pay much heed to the jab, chalking it up to comedy and just having a good time. “Maybe this story wasn’t a good choice afterall.” Raheem thought to himself as he gripped his mic tighter. It was a heartfelt story, a story that left a genuine impression on him, and he was a comedian. “We waited 2 minutes, she kept texting, I kept focusing the rear view mirror on myself to figure out a deep and troubling question….. Will I be recognized by the police if I shave after I take this woman’s life BECAUSE HOLY SMOKES DO YOU WANT ME TO FALL ASLEEP ON THE WHEEL AND DRIVE US BOTH OF THE HIGHWAY? I HAVE PLAYED A LOT OF GTA AND I WILL NOT HESITATE TO MYTHBUST ITS HEALTH BARS!” Raheem drew in a deep breath, feeling like he was slowly losing grip of his audience. “Eventually, she looked up, tapped my shoulder and said “3569” and I was so loopy, so tired, so exhausted that I said “hehehe 69.” No, let me repeat it. I didn’t think this. I SAID it. I didn’t even realise what had happened till I entered the code and realized, “oh shit. There goes my food for the week.” Miranda however, she took it like a champ, reciprocated with a reassuring chuckle and I solemnly swear that it was the best pity laugh that I have ever come across, or maybe I was just desperate for the money who knows? I’ll leave that up to you.” Finally, a barrage of applause, but Raheem couldn’t celebrate it. He knew it was getting boring. He knew it was getting late. He knew that his story is way too long. What he didn’t know was whether he had the patience to tell it, to be honest with himself, or put up a façade for the audience. “So, I turned the ignition key to drown out the sound of any “weirdo”s or “Hello? 911?”s and maintain whatever I had left of my ever-deflating self-confidence.

“A good chunk of the drive was rather quiet, and hey, I was in no position to complain about it. We did have fitful conversations but that’s about it. They began and they concluded. Like first time sex. I don’t what I was expecting though, she’s probably a wasted woman in the back of my car, barely hanging onto consciousness for her own sake in this merciless world. Not trying to be funny here. It’s just the harsh truth. A truth that doesn’t deserve to be diluted by my antics. I drive, we talk, she tries to figure out how to call the police, yada yada yada. I wasn’t big on the conversations either like I shit you not, this woman asked me “So, what do you do for a living?”” The audience burst into a fit of laughter as Raheem stands quietly, holding his smile back. “THE URGE, I TELL YOU. The urge to say something snarky and honestly, I had every right to, but, I’m a nice guy. So, like a nice guy, I hit her with the” Raheem paused awkwardly and kept imitating himself driving his car, throwing a judgmental stare at his passenger through the rear-view mirror as the audience clapped. “Man, what did I do to deserve this question? Is it because of the one time I put glue in my friend’s oreos? Probably. Come to think of it, I may have lost God’s goodwill a loooooooong time ago.”

“Most of the ride was quiet as I told you. Apart from the occasional frustrated impudence shown to a rather slow elderly driver, both of us stayed quiet, weary, tired, a little wasted with the underlying paranoic question “Is she going to throw up in this mess of a vehicle?” it’s like an episode of Mythbusters.” Raheem pulled out his notepad and pen from his back pocket and scribbled something as he started to walk off stage. “Anyways, here’s my conclusion for this experiment. Can you read what I have written, sir?” he handed his notepad to one of the audience members and he said it out loud. “My hypothesis was incorrect?” “No. No. No question marks. You read that right. Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that I have made a ground breaking discovery. Hear me properly, now. Everyone just huddle closer to the stage, this is very important.” A fraction of the audience members obeyed. “The rest of you, don’t want in on this secret? I swear it is life changing. Completely wrenched open my third eye, let me tell you. The secret is…..not every person who visits a bar gets shit-faced drunk!”

“Have any of you heard of this medical condition where you don’t really feel like drinking and aren’t prone to getting peer pressured into it by your messy friends venting about their 74th boyfriend leaving them over the usual snapchat incidents? Yeah, it’s like sobriety. Mind boggling right? Anyways, so, I, being the mess of a person that I am, broke the first rule of Uter club. Never ask your customer about their day. It leads to an unnecessarily cold one word answer that just leaves you feeling like you just got called a slur by a Mormon.” Raheem let out an internal scream when most of the audience remained silent while the minority let out a pity laugh. “What did I just tell myself about risk?” he thought to himself as he stuttered and tried not to concentrate on the predominantly religious crowd seated before him, after all, when did he last see the younger open-minded crowd enter a comedy club when Netflix keeps churning out a comedy special for every other unfunny person? …..That’s a lie. They were all talented. Raheem knew it too but he found it better to curse his luck and the colour of his skin over his own comedic prowess. It makes the cruelty of life much easier to face when you trick yourself into believing that you’re not the one causing and/or amplifying it in the first place. Parts of him would feel like a slave at times. He did love entertaining people, even if it is through mediocrity. He loved to see people’s faces brighten up with smiles. It is the most rewarding feeling in the world even if it only works on one person in an audience of a thousand. But, for how long can a man simply love his passion and enjoy the effects of his passionate work on other people, and not think about fame, success and everything that would bring respect to his name? How long can one’s love for an art form remain pure when it becomes their career? “It took me…” Raheem counted something with his fingers and raised it up to the audience, “…six words. Just six words to hear a sob coming from my backseat. It was like leaving the cage restraining a hungry lion open, you don’t really care about what happens to you at that point of time, you know you’re doomed. The question that will always remain in your mind is: “How will I go out?” A 1-star review? Another failed job? Sleeping on the streets? Or actually having a conversation? Different paths opened up for me at that moment with just six words. No one could have ever convinced me that six words would end up holding me by the throat. A combination of six simple words, with a simple inquisitive meaning, but with unparalleled power. The words? “So, how did your night go?””

“A concoction of all sorts of smells produced by an uncontrollable flow of snot and tears enveloped my car to the point that I had to crank open the windows. A few prickly pieces of snow stabbing me at unimaginable velocities seemed to be a better alternative than gutting through the wretched smell that this woman had created…….along with the constant layer of Cheeto dust floating through the air for which I have no one to blame but myself but THAT’S NOT THE POINT! Neither is talking smack about this lovely girl who was clearly going through something so terrible that she couldn’t form the words that she wanted to speak…..but hey I gotta monetize SOMETHING right?” a chuckle from the audience at last. “Man! I love capitalism” his thoughts echoed through his head, trying to drown out the rabid thought that had entered his head minutes earlier. “Jokes aside, I understand fully what this girl was going through. Speaking in bits and pieces, not because you’re #emo #mysterious #wattpadwriter, but because you genuinely know the words, you know how to phrase them too, but you cannot force them out of your throat for some reason. Shit’s excruciating! It’s one thing just being plain dumb, and another being smart but giving off a dumb impression you feel me? I know everyone in this room has gone through something similar at least once, whether it is during science class or in the bedroom. I know you will be stuttering tonight.” Raheem pointed at a young couple, making the audience laugh, the couple blush. “I just know that dude gonna be in the bedroom tonight….” The audience “ooooo”’ed like children. “…..laying down in his bed….” The “oooo”s continued. “…..Only to say “M-m-m-m-“ like yeah dude I know that you know that the mitrochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. I gotchu!” It took a while for the audience to catch up with all the contrasting layers but when they did, they laughed while simultaneously feeling bad for the boy amongst them. “Nah. I’m just kidding I’m sure things will go well for you too……” Raheem stopped. “….wait hold on.” He quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the audience. “You are one gorgeous individual.” The girl chuckled in confusion, contrasting emotions fighting over the steering wheel of expressions. “Oh! You too, ma’am but LOOK AT HIM! HE’S AS RED AS A ROSE!” The boy blushed further as the neighbouring audience members patted his back. “Yeah. You can paypal me later for that compliment, unfortunately, it’s hard to do things for free.” Raheem knew he had made this lad’s day. In a confusing manner but he knew that he gave him something to smile back at in the future, but the thoughts kept breaking loose. The voice grew stronger. It chanted. “Is it enough? Is it enough? Is it enough?”

“You know why I chose to be a driver instead of some normal part-time job like a Subway worker or a waiter? See, a waiter or anyone working in a fast-food joint would tell you great stories, fantastical ones, like the one where someone committed homicide by using the one sub that he made. Stuff like that. But, a driver, will never tell you fantastical stories or exaggerated events, all he can possibly tell you are about the day-to-day interactions that he has with people and how those interactions shaped the kind of person that they are. Intentionally or subconsciously, we do change ourselves a little after every interaction. That’s the natural process of growth. That is why I chose to be a driver even with this worn-out car that looks like it could be used in one of those daredevil shows where they somehow fit a whole bike through the open window of my car which is also on fire in a lake of hungry crocodiles. So, imagine my sheer dismay when I realised that the only interaction that I will be having with people would be them telling a personalised set of numbers. Now, imagine the awkward mixture emotions that any person would go through when they are faced with a surprisingly deep conversation that just spawned in the unlikeliest of places. It’s a back handed gift. It makes me feel things that I love but don’t want to feel. You know, how you talk to this REALLY annoying person and out of nowhere they show this genuine appreciation for something that you enjoy. You know how they put a smile on your face by doing that, but also put a migraine in your head?” the audience understood the sentiment and chuckled along. “Like, imagine telling this to someone though. Imagine me just stopping the car, unbuckling my seat belt, turning back and making intimate eye contact just to say “You make my heart whole, full of shotgun shrapnel.” Because that’s exactly what I wanted to do. THE FIRST CONVERSATION THAT I HAVE WITH A PASSENGER AND IT’S HER DROWNING IN HER OWN TEARS AND SNOT! Now, a normal person would just ignore, you know? They’d just say “Ooooooh! My bad, cuh!” and pretend none of this ever happened. Knowing me, you know that I’m everything but normal don’t you?” the audience cheered and Raheem threw a sarcastically shocked expression. “WOW! The audience is really merciless tonight huh? I expected like a “Oh man it’s ok, Raheem. You’re normal to me.” Oh boy! I expected way too much.” The audience continued laughing, unbothered by the nature of Raheem’s statement. “See that? They’re not laughing WITH you. They’re laughing AT you! ISN’T THAT HILARIOUS?” Raheem flinched, trying to find the source of the voice but he knew it was in vain. He knew even better that he was the only one acknowledging the existence of it. We cannot have a better time to have a quarter-life crisis can we?

“After a solid minute or two of trying to find the right words, I finally mustered up enough courage to ask the million-dollar question. I don’t know what response I expected. I don’t know how severe the situation was or could be. I thought I was being insensitive just by asking. That’s just what lack of human communication had done to me. I cannot explain to you whether I felt glad or sorry about the response that I received. I know most of you would find this to be a petty reason but-“ “Oh c’mon at least TRY to be funny. We know you can’t do that properly either but this sob story isn’t fooling anyone!” Raheem paused as the words echoed in his head as he tried to steam them out of his ears. His heart ached. Was this story even worth it? Will it ever see the light of day with the respect that it deserves? Will his life remain just a tragic comedy? The audience maintained silence, he knew it was out of pity, he knew that those people were trying extremely hard to supress their yawns, or at least that’s the story that his mind had fed to him. The truth? No one will ever know the truth and Raheem knew that searching for the truth would only mean one thing- losing respect for his story, as if he hadn’t already lost respect for himself. All these troubling thoughts rushed into him in a split second as his dry throat and weary eyes forced the words to keep flowing while he subconsciously tried his best to filter the urge to crack an untimely joke. Untimely not for the audience, but for the story.

“She was….pretty much kicked out. Not directly, of course, people are way too distracted nowadays to say it themselves, but their behaviour makes it apparent when you’re wanted and when you aren’t. She went out with a group of friends, not that I can relate.” He had to force something comedic in to keep the voices at bay. “And had a good time from what it seemed. Lot of drinking involved, actually and quite a dose of dancing and all that fun stuff. The only problem was that THEY were not involved in that. No, sir. You go to the club and what do you do? Have a couple of drinks, dance your worries away, maybe flirt with a couple of women and if you’re REALLY lucky, take a man back home and just play FIFA till the sun comes up, isn’t that right?” He put a fake yet encouraging smile for his audience, forcefully showing all of thirty-two of his pearly teeth. “Basically, you go to the club to feel excitement. To feel alive. To feel euphoric. Instead, what happened was her pleading her friends to join her on the dance floor or be her wing-woman and I cannot explain the sheer relatability that I felt when she said that they kind of just forgot about her, abandoned her. Now, you know I don’t mean to preach but all these girls were OBSESSED with their snapchats, instagrams, facebooks…..sorry,..” he enacted a couple of seconds of jazz hands for his audience, “…metas. So, she begged them to look up, give her attention and it’s not a bad thing. She wasn’t being an attention seeker, she was simply trying to feel acknowledged but much to her misfortune, there was no budging them. She stormed out, all dramatically, wanting them to come apologise and guide her back in. She sat on the pavement for almost an hour before contacting me, waiting and waiting and waiting. An apology was a far-fetched idea, because we both met grounds at one conclusion, a very depressing yet needed conclusion. She simply wasn’t welcome in the first place. I wish I would’ve let HER reach that conclusion before me because it took quite a ride to meet common ground, but also a ride that I don’t entirely regret.”

“It was nice knowing that I wasn’t alone for once. It was nice to have an actual conversation with someone regardless of the topic. We talked and talked the entire ride and it felt like time kept flowing faster and smoother than usual. I don’t remember all the specifics but I remember her smile and the fire burning inside of me. “Ooooooh. He’s in love.” You might say and you won’t be entirely wrong. I did fall in love that night, not with a person but with the sheer power of our voices. Of words. Of forgoing the necessity of having to talk to myself just to keep the walls from closing in on me. I felt so powerful and humble at the same time. Can you imagine the bliss of seeing someone distraught and just using your words to make them smile and believe again? It’s beautiful. It’s fascinating and it’s a humane quality that is so underappreciated that I have to convince these tiny, prickly voices in my head that……it will still be entertaining.” Raheem’s voice broke as the audience maintained their piercing silence. Some of them moved, some still processing and the rest complaining amongst themselves about the 15% compulsory tip. “It’s not. It’s not entertaining and I am sincerely sorry if I have turned your magnificent night into a platform for my own sob story but I felt this weight crashing down on me and-“ “That’s enough.” The manager of the club walked on stage, his existence unbeknownst to Raheem as he was fully absorbed and crumbling under the weight of his promise to entertain. He pushed Raheem aside who was continuing to shake and sob under his breath. “Thank you all for visiting tonight and I truly apologise for the experience. On your way out, you can help yourselves to some coupons for your next visit. Thank you and good night.” The displeased manager stormed off the stage as the audience murmured and started crowding near the exit. As for Raheem, his story remained unheard. The voices had abandoned him too, banishing him to the realm of shame and guilt. Exiled to the realm of all those “failed” artists who dared to channel their emotions into their work. Who dared to look out for themselves, once in a while.

Beaten and broken by the unfair bit of humiliation that he had to endure, Raheem pulled his coat over his shoulders, almost crammed his seemingly battered notebook into his pocket and walked wearily outside, heartbroken, wondering if it was the right thing to do. “Excuse me?” the inquisitive voice shattered his self-detrimental bubble. “Oh! I’m sorry. I guess I was just lost…” he looked up at the night sky before realising that he was having an active conversation with someone. “…..Sorry again! I just spaced out. How can I help you?” he asked with a heartbroken smile. “Actually, I wanted to thank you.” Raheem was taken aback before realising who he was talking to, it was the young lad he had singled out during his performance, the one on a date! “Hey! I know you. I should’ve recognised you earlier, man! Silly me haha…..” he laughed sadly to himself. “….anyways, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a date with that lovely woman?” “Yeah, I just booked her a….Uter” “Ha! Nice. Clever. I like you.” “Yeah yeah. Well, listen man I-“ “No. Don’t you dare thank me for what I did in there. You being handsome is your own credit!” “No, not that. Thanks for the story, actually. It was really inspiring. I know I came here expecting a comedy but I feel like I’m going home with something much more valuable. Something more genuine.” Raheem was at a loss of words. His hand instinctively shot out towards the boy who gripped it firmly. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.” His pain became more and more apparent to the boy. “Listen. Do you need a ride or?” “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll just walk home.” The boy gave him an acknowledging nod as he strolled towards his car, Raheem’s gaze following him. He reached for his notebook and clicked the pain hanging from his coat pocket. He flipped through the pages, pages full of his darkest thoughts, his funniest jokes and his most performative concepts. All of them were scribbled over, barely recognizable, the words “Was it worth it?” written in bold letters with tear drops having softened the paper around it. Raheem equipped himself with his trusty pen and scribbled something in the book before tearing the page and leaving the rest of the book atop a pile of garbage bringing its concrete scenic beauty to the club. He held the page tightly in his hands as the paper was softened yet again with his salty tears as he tried his best to believe what he had written. When the words had begun to echo in his mind and resonate with his heart, he tucked it away safely. He thought about what he said about the power of words, the power of communication so he whispered the words under his breath, once, twice, before unleashing it in a broken but ironically triumphant note, “Yes. It was worth it.” The words echoed through the deserted streets as the dream of a performer was recognised by them. The subconscious oath that all budding artists take before they are thrown into the harshness of the world. An oath to dream and create. An oath to inspire over entertain.