Follow the link below to read part 1 of this short story. (Edited to add character names that had previously been omitted.)
short story: the comedian, part 1
Mason woke up to static filtering through the FM channel of the bedside clock radio — an alarm set by a previous guest, “or a snarky maid,” he thought aloud — two hours earlier than he intended to get up. He had been making his way down I-95 to Jacksonville, FL to host a comedy show for the weekend and stopped in Roanoke Rapids, NC to break up the drive. It had been a year since Madison discovered his secret, and as she promised, she worked very closely with Mason to help him fine tune his material. Her comedy family soon took him in, and it wasn’t long before he was on stage regularly — when Erica was out of town. He debated driving so far for a five minute hosting gig, but he’d have to explain a flight to Erica. He also thought about passing on it, but the club owner was Madison’s good friend. He didn’t want to squander the opportunity after all that she had done to help him.
He showered and dressed then took the elevator down to the dining hall where breakfast had been descended upon by a girls’ dance team from Atlanta. He grabbed a blueberry bagel from the acrylic storage bin, a banana, and a cup of coffee and walked to his car to eat it. It was a crisp, spring morning — the kind you’d expect to wake up to on a fall day in the south. A light breeze initiated a rhythmic rhumba with the cherry tree adjacent to Mason’s car. He watched as it alternated between dance partners — slowly and gently lifting the branches of the tree then returning them to their resting positions, leaving a trail of delicate petals behind. Some of them traveled onward, but most collected on the asphalt dance floor below, exhausted from the whole affair.
Mason noticed the time and that what was left of his coffee was cold, so he poured it out the window, cranked up the car, and backed out of the parking stall. If Erica was here, he thought to himself, she would insist on walking all the trash to the can first.
“Actually, that’s not true,” he thought aloud, “If Erica was here, I’d still be waiting for her to get ready.” Mason laughed out loud.
“He had never met Junior, but Junior was offering his couch for the weekend, and that was good enough for him.”
After a lunch stop and a few bathroom breaks, he was soon closing in on Jacksonville. He called Junior, one of Madison’s friends, to give him his ETA. He had never met Junior, but Junior was offering his couch for the weekend, and that was good enough for him. He thought calling a grown man “Junior” was funny, so he hoped to have the opportunity to say it a lot while they were together.
He pulled into Junior’s apartment complex, killed the engine, and grabbed his bag from the trunk. Checking the text message Junior sent him while he was in transit, he noted the apartment number, located the elevator for Junior’s building, and took it to the sixth floor.
Junior opened the door and shoved a beer into his hand. “I’m Junior, and I’m running late. There’s your rack, the kitchen, the bathroom. Make yourself at home. I’ll catch up with you later tonight… or tomorrow.”
And just like that, Junior was gone. Mason couldn’t even remember if he said thanks. No matter. He wasn’t disappointed. Nothing against Junior, but he was looking forward to a nap before heading to the club. He rummaged around the living room for a few minutes until he found the remote control and a blanket. After killing the power to the television, Mason stretched out on the couch, set his alarm, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
The last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was that he was a little disappointed that he’d have to wait a while longer to tease Junior about his name.
Featured image: Lestat (Jan Mehlich), CC BY-SA 2.5, via Wikimedia Commons
