The Bucket List, page 8
"How are you doing being newly single?”
"I'm okay. My ex-husband is already dating. I think he was dating before we got divorced, actually."
"I'm sorry. I'm sure that's hard."
"Knowing you are so easily replaceable is hard."
I realize that I've been totally focused on myself, but Lila has her own issues, too. Everyone does. All these years I've been so focused on my anxiety, which caused me to be more focused on myself than everyone around me. Maybe if I ever get out of that mindset, I'll be able to have more caring and empathy for other people.
Anxiety is a thief. It steals your focus. It steals your fun. It steals your peace. It steals large chunks of your life as you zero in on your symptoms and your thoughts instead of paying attention to everybody around you. For the first time in my life, I'm determined to defeat it. I'm determined to tell it to sit in the back seat while I take us on the rides. Instead of letting anxiety drive, my new goal is to put it in the trunk. It will always be with me, but I need to take back control.
CHAPTER 7
After lunch, Lila and I walk down the sidewalk, looking into the windows of the local shops. We have a lot more in common than I realized. She's not a big shopper either. I like to get things online so I don't have to deal with running into people at stores. I don't like to be in big crowds, and she feels the same. It's like we were cut from the same cloth.
We get a cup of coffee, and then we sit down and look at my phone to figure out where the closest comedy club is. It's about ten miles outside of town, which is probably a good thing because I don't want anybody I know to see me standing up there, failing miserably at being funny.
I can only assume that Monica is in heaven, sitting back in her easy chair drinking a big glass of sweet tea and laughing her butt off at me. The thought makes me smile. I have no idea what heaven is like, of course, but I hope to find out someday. Just not too soon. And definitely not while I'm trying to finish this bucket list.
I don't allow myself to think about what it would be like to inherit the money and the house. A part of it makes me feel guilty, like I'm only doing this to get the rewards. And that's partially true. I mean, anybody would be excited about getting a beach house. But more of it is about honoring my friend. Finishing her list, doing the one thing she wanted me to do.
“Okay, they can let you go on next Friday night," Lila says as she presses end on the screen. She's been talking to somebody for the last ten minutes trying to work this out.
"That soon?"
"That gives us over a week to work on some material. You don't have a job right now, so you have all the time in the world. My recommendation is to watch some comedy shows on TV. Go on YouTube, or one of the streaming networks. You should find lots of material there."
"And just take some of their jokes?"
She shakes her head violently. "No! Let's not get you in legal trouble. I mean, watch how they do their delivery. Their timing, their pacing. And maybe it will give you some great ideas for jokes."
"I don't know if I can do this." How many times have I said that in my life? In fact, how many times have I said that just in the last few weeks? I'm realizing that even though I say that, I don't mean it because then I do the thing that I don't think I can do. And each time, I've survived. I have survived zip lining. I have survived the smelly dancing guy. I have even survived kissing a stranger who makes me mad and gives me shivers at the same time.
"You can do this. I know you can. Now, I hate to have to leave you, but I have to meet with one of my clients in fifteen minutes. It's been really fun hanging out with you today. What if I come over tomorrow night, bring some takeout, and we will watch some comedy shows?”
I nod my head. "I've had a good time, too. I'll text you my address."
Lila turns to walk down the sidewalk, looking back to smile and wave before she disappears around the corner. It's so nice to have a new friend. I hope it lasts. And again I feel a bit guilty, like I'm trying to replace Monica so soon. But the truth is, nobody could ever replace Monica. She was a one in a million person, and a one in a million friend.
I stand in front of Dan's desk, yet again. This is becoming a habit, and just a part of my weekly schedule. He hands me three more envelopes and asks me how the blog is going.
"I think it's going good. So far, people seem to be incredibly entertained by my fear."
He chuckles. "Well, I have to admit I've been reading some of them. You kissed a stranger?"
My face turns all shades of red. I was really hoping nobody would read that one. "Unfortunately, I did."
"That one had me rolling with laughter. You're doing really well with this, Jill. I'm actually proud of you."
"Thanks." Not that what Dan thinks of me means a lot. I barely know the man. But anytime somebody says they're proud of you, you have to say thank you. "I can hardly wait to see what's inside of these envelopes."
"What are you working on now?"
"I have to do stand-up comedy on Friday."
"Oh no. Good Lord. That sounds like an uphill battle. Have you ever done something like that before?"
"I think you know the answer to that."
"Let me take a look here," he says, turning around and scanning his eyes across his giant bookshelf. "Here we go." He takes three books off the shelf and hands them to me. I look down and see that they are books with one-hundred-and-one jokes in each of them. This isn't exactly what I'm going to need for stand-up comedy routine, but I appreciate his thoughtful gesture so I accept them.
"I don't want to take your books."
"Oh, I don't read them anymore. One of my clients gave them to me back in the days when I thought I was going to become a comedian. Then I realized, I'm an attorney. I make a lot of money. Why in the world would I wanna get up on stage and subject myself to ridicule…" He looks completely embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"It's fine. Just another one in the long line of things that Monica is doing to embarrass me from her grave."
He laughs. "She really got you good. I wish I had known her in real life."
"I'm blessed to have known her. She was definitely one of a kind."
"Well, my next appointment should be here shortly. See you next week?"
I hold up the stack of envelopes. "It depends on what I find in these. But I'll see you soon, no matter what."
To take my mind off my upcoming demise on stage in front of a bunch of hecklers, I decide to open one envelope and just go do whatever it is. Thankfully, it seems rather benign. Monica wants me to take some kind of class called aerial silks. I'm not even sure what it is until I get on the Internet and look.
Although it isn't something I would pick for myself, it doesn't look too terribly hard. Women climb up these gigantic pieces of silk fabric and move their bodies around in different ways. As long as I don't have to go upside down, I'll be good.
I nervously walk into class, and that's when I realize these women are built like super models and yoga instructors. I'm more what you would call a “really enjoys food” body type. I'm definitely not built for this. As I contemplate turning around and going back to my car, I realize I'm just going to end up back here again at some point. I might as well get it over with. I’m certainly not going to let Monica's beach house go just because I don't want to climb up a piece of silk fabric.
After a few minutes of mingling with the other classmates, the instructor steps to the front and introduces herself. Apparently she was in the circus at some point, which makes me think that the only position I might get at the circus is that of a clown or the person who hides in the barrel. Wait, maybe that's a rodeo?
The instructor tells us what to expect, and then she shows it by climbing up onto the silks. That's when I start feeling nauseous, and I worry about that tuna salad sandwich I ate for lunch staying in place. My armpits begin to sweat, and I actually feel my knees knocking together. I wonder if anyone else can hear it?
She directs us each to our own silk cloth, and I walk over to mine, silently begging it to hold me up and not let me fall. Who decided we needed to do this with silk? That seems like the slipperiest of the fabrics. Why not burlap?
As she instructs us, I try to pull myself up onto the fabric, and that's when I realize I have no upper body strength. I have the strength of a sick kitten being fed by a human with one of those little eye droppers, only the kitten is a wee bit stronger than me. I can barely lift myself an inch. As soon as I start to, I get my feet slightly off the ground, lose my grip, and go crashing to the mat below. Thankfully, all the other women are far too focused on their own situation to look at me.
Mortified, the instructor walks over to me to see if she can help. I think I'm beyond help. It's probably not worth her time to even try. I feel a sharp pain in my ankle, but I decide to grin and bear it. I need to be here for long enough to write a blog post about this.
I attempt to shake it off and pull myself back up onto the silk. I make it a little further this time before I slip and fall again. I definitely do not see a future for me in the circus. Or as a stripper.
The class continues, but it's really just like living in a version of groundhog day. I climb, I fall, I hurt another body part. I climb again. One time, amazingly, I get so tangled up that my arms start to ache and I somehow kick my own self in the face. I didn't even know my leg stretched that far. I'm impressed, but definitely expecting to put a bag of frozen peas on my inner thigh later.
Thanks be to God, the class finally ends, and I feel a slight sense of accomplishment. I check another thing off the list, and my confidence is getting a little higher. My ankle hurts, and my face has a big red foot shaped mark on it, but I can't help but smile as I get into the car and make my way home. I will never go back to aerial silks class again, but I will always have the fond memory of overcoming yet one more thing.
Annie laughs from the other side of the screen as she reads my latest blog post about the aerial silks class.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she says, holding up her phone with a picture of me dangling precariously on the silks. Granted, I was only a foot off the ground but the picture my instructor took for me showcases my big behind quite nicely. At least my daughter is getting a kick out of it.
“I’m glad that one is over. More power to those women who can carry their own body weight up a silk cloth or even a metal pole. I’ll stay firmly on the ground, thank you very much.”
“Are you nervous about Friday?”
“Terrified is more like it. I’ve been working on my routine with Lila, and she laughs every time I do it. I think she just feels sorry for me.”
“I wish I could come! Stupid midterms.”
“You focus on school. You have graduation in a few weeks.”
“I know, I know. I can’t believe Aunt Monica won’t be there.”
“I wish she could be,” I say, holding back tears. Monica raised Annie with me, and she should be there for these big life events. “She’ll be there in spirit.” That thought always comforts me, and I hope it’s true. I hope Monica is watching all of my misadventures and laughing up a storm, just like she would be if she were here in real life.
I miss so many things about her. I miss her loud, cackling laugh that sounded like a cross between a rooster and a drunk hyena. I miss her awful pancakes that were way too thick and way too sweet. I miss her silly dance moves that almost got her arrested for public intoxication outside of a restaurant once. The police officer thought she was drunk, but she was just a terrible dancer.
I miss her calling me Jilly even though I said I hated it. I miss being able to call her at the end of a tough day and have her listen to me. I miss her perfume, even though she always wore too much. I miss her silly socks, her giant hoop earrings that were out of style, and her ability to make me laugh in any situation.
Before I know it, the tears are flowing, and I’ve forgotten I’m on a video chat with Annie.
“Mom, are you okay?”
I laugh and dab at my eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. I got lost in thought about all the things I miss about Monica.”
“Like her inability to sing on key?”
“Yes! Oh my gosh, she was the worst to take on a road trip. I wanted to jump out of the car when we went to Florida last time!”
“Or her horrible smoothie combinations? Who puts sardines in a smoothie?”
I scrunch up my face. “Yes! And she didn’t warn me before I drank it!”
We spend a good twenty minutes reminiscing and laughing about everything that was Monica, and at the end it feels like we just celebrated her life in the best way possible.
“You know she’ll be there with you on the stage, right?”
“I know.”
“And I’ll be there cheering you on from afar, too.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“I’m so proud of you, Mom.”
“You are?”
“Of course! Despite being scared every step of the way, you’ve been so courageous honoring Aunt Monica. You’re already a different person from when this started.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Annie looks to her left and nods at someone off screen. “I hate to run, but my friends are waiting for me to start study group. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Love you,” I say, but she’s already disappeared from the screen. To hear that my kid is proud of me makes me weep even more. It’s so rare to hear something like that from your child, and tonight I’m going to savor it.
I am standing backstage, staring at the microphone that's in the center of the stage a few feet away. Thankfully, there are a few more people ahead of me in line. But it doesn't matter because my stomach is tied up in knots that even a sailor couldn't untangle. My palms are sweating so much that I fear they will drip on the floor, and my heart is pounding in my chest like a jackhammer. I cannot believe I'm about to do this.
This task definitely sounds like something Monica would've done. And she would've done it fearlessly. She wouldn't have cared what other people thought about her, and she would've laughed her way through it. Instead, I feel like I might vomit.
"How are you doing?" Lila asks. I'm really glad she agreed to come with me because I don't think I could've done this one alone. Why is it so much harder to face the fear of being embarrassed than it is to face the fear of flying through the forest or hanging on a silk fabric?
Even as I stand here, I'm not sure I can do this. I know I keep saying that every time I have a task, but this time feels different. I'm truly terrified that people are going to heckle me or boo me off the stage. It's not like I'm trying to do this for a living or anything, but I still don't want to be mortified and embarrassed.
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. "Not great."
Lila puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "You're going to do great. You've got some good jokes, and people generally want to see you do well."
"I'm not sure that's true. My experience in life has been that people really like to make fun of other people whenever they can."
"This is a comedy club. People want to laugh. Just remember that when they laugh, that's a good thing."
"Which one of you is Jill?" A big, burly man with an unkempt beard and a giant belly comes walking over. I don't know why he's sweating so bad given that he's not under any bright lights right now. I slowly raise my hand. "You're going on next,” he says, before walking away.
I run after him. "Wait! I thought there were a couple more people ahead of me?"
"There were. One of them is throwing up in the bathroom right now, and the other one ran to his car and took off. We get that all the time." Before I can say anything else, he disappears into the dark hallway behind the stage.
"I can't do this!" I say to Lila as I run toward the dressing room. I need to find my purse, and I have to get out of here. Never in my life have I felt so sure of anything. This is not a good idea.
“Jill, calm down! You have to do this."
"No, I don't!" I continue rummaging around in the dressing room. Where did I put my purse?
"Don't you want the beach house? And the money?"
"I'm not a materialistic person. I can live without it," I say, shrugging my shoulders as I finally locate my purse. I strap it across my shoulder, ready to bolt out the door.
"What about Annie?" She just hit my Achilles' heel.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Think of what that money can do for Annie. After college, she's going to need some money to start out in life. And think of having grandchildren come to the beach house one day. Playing in the sand, building sandcastles."
I purse my lips and glare at her. "Oh, you're good. A little too good." I toss my purse back into the pile again and walk toward the stage. I can hear the guy in front of me finishing up. He seems to have done a good job because everybody is clapping and laughing. Wait until they hear what I have to say. They’ll probably all go to the bathroom at once.
I'm not even sure I'll remember all of my jokes. Even though Lila has gone over that with me dozens of times, my brain feels like a blank slate right now. Anxiety does that to a person. When you're having a panic attack, your only focus is on the fear. That's what takes center stage. Everything else around you is just a blur, just a side-note to the main event.
The guy ahead of me walks off the stage with applause in the background. He's sweating like he's been running a marathon, and he looks extremely relieved when he walks past me. He doesn't even say anything, but basically runs straight out the door to his car.
I look out at the microphone again, and I swear it's mocking me. The emcee announces my name, and I feel my heart drop all the way to my feet. Suddenly, my mind is a blank. I have no idea what my jokes were, and there's a good chance that I might pass out. Lila squeezes my shoulders one more time and smiles, trying to encourage me, but I can't seem to get my voice to work. Like a zombie, I just start walking toward the microphone.
