Chapter Twenty
Driving to Porter Township for the contest, I sat in the backseat of Quinn’s SUV with Jason on my right. That entire side of my body was happy because all the bumps and turns made our shoulders, knees, and hips touch. I was barely able to keep up with the conversations because I was focused on the sensations connecting us.
Owen sat up front next to Quinn, while Hana was in the back with us. Jason smelled so crazy good my brain function was failing. I opened the window to breath in the crisp fall air. The changing leaves of the trees created a kaleidoscope effect as we zipped by.
My hand rested on my right leg, lined up with Jason’s hand, our pinky-electrons leaping back and forth, sharing space for fractions of seconds at a time. My heartbeat was so loud and fast it was all Edgar-Allen-Poe-obvious in my head.
Everything was intense tonight.
Next week would be an entirely different world for me. If Mom and I liked the surgeon, we might stay in New York City, and then who knew how long it would be before I’d see Jason again? Either way, here or there, surgery was imminent. And what would my body be like after that happened?
When we rolled to a stop, I turned to Jason, and our eyes held like we’d shared something, even though it had been only in my head. Softly, he said, “We’re here.” Those two little words were like a caress, and in response my chest puffed up and my left hand stroked the side of my neck, as if I needed proof I was still in my physical body.
“We’re going to drop you here so you don’t have to walk too far,” Owen said as he got out and came around to open my door.
“Thanks. So chivalrous,” I said as he gave me his goofy grin and took my hand to help me down.
Jason slid out after me and called to Hana. “You coming?”
She was busy texting. “Yeah, but I’m going ahead of you guys. ’Cause, ya know, if I go at the invalid’s pace, Craig and Luke’s dinners will get cold.” We’d dropped off all our stuff for the show earlier in the evening and then ran out to get a quick bite, but our music boys stayed to run sound cues.
“Hey. This invalid has a name, thank you.”
She batted her eyelashes at me, grabbed the bag of takeout, jumped out of the SUV, and headed inside.
“We’ll meet you guys in there,” Jason said as Owen and Quinn drove off to park.
Students and parents walked past us, filing into the school while we stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other. Now I was sure the energy built up between us was real and not just me.
Jason’s eyebrow spiked. “Maybe we skip the contest?”
He’d leaned down to kiss me when Mom’s voice echoed out, “Ellie? Jason? What are you two doing out here? Shouldn’t you be warming up backstage?”
He wants to kiss me, Mom. Go away!
Oblivious, Mom carried on. “I’m excited. You all have worked so hard, I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to.”
Right now, kissing is all I’d like to get up to.
Instead of the smaller theater space where we’d had the two Mash-Ups, the Comedy Hub contest was being held in Porter Township High School’s large auditorium, which had been decorated with ComedyHub.com banners and balloons everywhere. It was a sold-out show with fifteen hundred people—students, parents, teachers from Porter and Northglenn, and people from the community all around the Chicagoland area. The theater buzzed with excitement. We even had a celebrity in our midst with Comedy Hub’s lovely Tricia Wilson hosting the contest. The judges were well-known local Chicago standups and two actors from Second City.
We sat in the first row in one of the side sections of the auditorium so we could get between our seats and the backstage easily. Las Palomas del Disco’s sketch was up first after intermission, and my standup set was one of the last acts of the night, so we had some time to sit and enjoy the show.
Jason held my hand. My nerves had tempered my hormones enough that his hand in mine as we watched the competition was comforting instead of mind-altering.
One contestant, from a high school in the city, seemed like he’d brought at least a hundred fans. You could tell he’d done standup before—his punchlines were well-timed and tight, but they were also pretty gross. The funniest contestant so far was talented enough to intimidate me, but her material was so self-deprecating it made me sad even as I was laughing.
How would this audience respond to my cancer jokes? Would they think I was a freak? Would they stare at me in silent pity? Squirming in my seat, I chomped the inside of my cheeks and gripped the bull’s-head necklace. I am strong like bull.
When Hana, Quinn, Owen, Jason, and Craig headed backstage to get their costumes on during intermission, I wished them all good luck and said I was going to go practice my standup one more time. Only Quinn knew my secret.
I met Gary and Steven, Quinn’s dads, in Porter’s tech director’s office in the scene shop. They handed me a huge garment bag and waited for me while I changed. Unzipping the bag and expecting the “elevated bird costume” they’d suggested, I instead found a legit designer wedding dress. I put on the white sleeveless sheath, the silk soft against my skin, hugging me tight through the hips and thighs. There was a high-cut slit on the right side, and from there, layers of silk and sheer fabric flowed around my legs. Delicately, I took out the second piece and slipped my arms through the lace straps of the feathery wings tipped in crystals. After weeks of feeling like a hobbling troll, I felt glamorous instead of tumorous.
I smiled, trying not to tear up from the kindness. This is Quinn’s family’s gift to me.
When I emerged, Gary gasped and clapped. Steven smiled through his trim beard and nodded approvingly as he said, “You look stunning, Ellie. Now sit. We’ve got more work to do.”
There was no mirror in the scene shop so I couldn’t see what they were doing, but Steven twisted up my hair and pinned in a crown of feathers as Gary applied my makeup. “I know you have your standup set soon after this number, so I promise I won’t overdo it. But I insist on these gems on your face so you will sparkle in the lights. And you can peel them off real quick when you’re done, ’kay?”
“’Kay,” I mumbled, not wanting to move my face too much with all the fussing.
“All done. Magnifique.” Gary took my hand and helped me stand. “Steven’s going to attach the feather bustle and train. And here, hon. I know you haven’t needed one for a few days, but in case you need the extra support, this prop does double duty as a cane.”
He handed me a cane in the shape of a flute—a giant golden flute. I laughed. “You two are amazing. It’s all a work of art. Thank you so, so much.”
“The dress we had for another show, and we just took it in a smidge. Most of the other props we had, too. We just made some playful adjustments,” Gary said, like it was nothing, which it so wasn’t.
Steven finished attaching the train of tulle and the bustle of white feathers, which together flowed about six feet behind me. He pointed to the end of the flute. “This is the best part. In the final moment of the number, press this button.”
“What will happen?”
“You’ll see,” Steven said.
They helped me navigate the yards of fabric through the sawdusty scene shop and onto the stage.
“Your disco ball chariot awaits,” Gary said.
It was my turn to gasp. “It’s gold. It’s huge. It’s amazing. Is that a seat on top?”
“You betcha. Only the best for you.” Gary hoisted me onto the giant gold disco ball. They clicked me into the harness and arranged my wings and train.
“How do you feel? Are you scared?” Steven asked.
I scanned the catwalks high above the stage. “Normally I would be. But fear feels pretty relative at this moment.”
“True, true. Remember, fearlessness is not being without fear, but being afraid and doing the thing anyway. Time to fly, hon.” Gary said as the rest of Las Palomas del Disco came to take their places onstage behind the curtain where I was perched on my golden ride.
They were all screams, squeals, wide eyes, and slack jaws. This was fun.
Quinn ran up to touch everything. “You look incredible.”
“This is…way unnecessary…and totally psychedelic,” Owen said, apparently getting into his seventies disco character.
Craig grabbed on to the cables and studied them like he was checking on structural soundness. “I can’t believe it. I thought you bailed on us.”
“Surprise! I didn’t want to leave you all doveless. It was all Quinn’s idea and Gary and Steven’s magic.”
Hana clasped her hands together. “Our beautiful white dove. On a giant flying golden disco-ball-of-dreams.”
“Places!” the stage manager shouted.
Everyone ran to their spots onstage. Except Jason. He stood in front of me, his mouth still agape. “Ellie, you look…wow. Just wow. Beautiful. This is…I mean. Can I touch this?” He said pointing to my dress.
“Yes.”
He slid his hand along my thigh, landing at my hip. I was glad I was sitting down.
“Puuuh-laces, please,” the stage manager called again.
“I don’t think I can move,” Jason whispered. “I’m not going to be able to dance.”
I giggled and pushed him away.
The music started, the cables whirring and pulling me upward. Jason took a deep breath and said, “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie,” as he scooted away to his starting pose and I ascended into the fly loft, my stomach flipping, my toes tingling. Okay, I guess it’s possible to feel two fears at once.
The curtains opened, and the minute the lights shone on the five of them, the audience started laughing and howling. Hana was dressed in a poufy brown man’s wig and a gold lamé tuxedo that was stuffed in the middle to hide her curves. She looked like a short Korean Elvis. Everyone else was in their gold jumpsuits.
Hana started singing, and Jason, Quinn, Owen, and Craig, who took my spot in the chorus even though he only wanted to be in charge of the music, did their shimmying and thrusting in a line behind her. It was a glorious sight to behold.
Hana was hamming it up as only Hana could, and the other four were totally in sync, smiling and hitting every cheesy foot stomp and finger point in time to the music.
About a third of the way into their number, I was flown in. Gripping a cable with my free hand, I braced myself and let out an “Eee!” I hoped no one heard. Swooping over the stage, it was like being on a swing carousel. So fun. The wooziness gave way to giddiness, and I pulled myself together and tried to look dove-like, trusting the harness and letting go of the cable to pretend-play my giant flute. The audience oohed and clapped as the disco ball cast thousands of dots of spinning light over my friends.
Dressed head to toe in silk and feathers, flying above my friends being their silly selves for an audience of fifteen hundred people laughing their faces off, was the best. I giggled out of delight through the rest of the number until my final cue, when I hit the button on the flute and gold, sparkly confetti burst out of the end and fluttered down.
The audience stood and cheered as I descended to the stage floor and the others gathered on either side of me for our bow.
The curtains closed, and Quinn and Jason helped unclip me from the harness and get down off the disco ball. They each locked an elbow with me, their bodies seeming to tremble with the same excitement as mine as we hurried through the door to the dressing room.
Hana rocketed toward us, pulling us all into a group hug. Owen pumped his fists up as he said, “That was freaking amazing. And, Ellie…I mean, aerial stunts, what? Awesome.”
Through a wry smile, Craig said, “I’m going to be so pissed at you all if this turns me into a theater freak.”
Quinn broke us out of our huddle. “You have to get changed for your standup set.”
How was I supposed to focus on standup now? On the hilarious topic of cancer? By myself?
I scrambled to get de-feathered, de-gemmed, and de-confettied as the next two acts after ours went up. Quinn, Hana, Owen, and Jason changed out of their costumes and went back to sit in the audience.
I was up next.
The red curtains parted once again.
Alone on center stage, looking out at an endless sea of people, I had only a microphone and a wish I was wearing a gold jumpsuit so I could count on at least one laugh.
But it was just me.
I gripped the mic tight, took a deep breath, and started. “I’ll admit I haven’t had much experience with dating. So, when I met a cute guy recently, and he tried to kiss me on his porch…”
Because of the stage lights, it was hard to see many faces beyond the third row, but there was Jason in the front, smiling. I had to look away to keep from blushing.
“I was so surprised I stumbled backward down the stairs and got rushed to the hospital…where I found out I have bone cancer. So, yeah, that’s my first lesson to you on dating: don’t do it, because it might lead to cancer.”
I got a few low rumbling chuckles and a couple awws, but I kept right on going.
“That’s right, the cancer comedy starts right now, folks.” More ripples of laughter.
“People keep telling me, ‘Don’t eat sugar. Cancer loves sugar. Cancer eats the sugar right up.’ And I’m like, ‘Really? I love sugar. Cancer and I have a lot in common.’” I smiled like this was a happy coincidence, waited a beat, and then added, “Except, of course, I’m not a leading cause of death.”
The audience rewarded me with a bigger laugh, so I pressed on.
“But I took the advice, cut out the sweets, and lost a few pounds. I call it the Cancer Diet. You should try it. It’s kind of like Paleo…except you have cancer.” I shifted my hands up and down as if weighing the choices.
More laughter.
I adjusted the mic and planted my feet firmly on the stage floor. I went through all the bits Jason and I had come up with about the surgical options, acting out the old lady Beatrice and imagining my sullen ninja donor bone.
The audience was right there with me.
I finished by grabbing a chair and propping my foot up on it, like my leg was on display. Gesturing at my leg, I went into my closing bit, pretending I was on a TV show that fixes beat-up cars. I affected a confident television-host persona, making my voice lower and more deliberate in my delivery, “Ellie’s Femur LX is far from blazin’ these days. No one’s sure how much longer this Femur will ride on, unless the guys at Cancer Customs get on the job, and quick.
“Ellie’s jump stick needs to be completely gutted, and the tumors sanded out. Next, the interior will be frozen solid and blasted clean, making the cells cooler than cool. Then the surgeons will use eight-inch chrome rims to fully pimp out the thigh. The other bones on the block are gettin’ jealous. Boo-ya.”
The audience was eating it up. I delivered my last line like I owned the theater, “Then Ellie’s leg will be pimped into a class-A ride.”
I strutted around the stage doing a pimp/limp walk.
Laughter soared through the auditorium.