Soulparking

I found that Mrs. Pickwick’s was two storefronts down from the hotel which I was staying. I staked out the place by walking past it a couple of times earlier in the day. But when I arrived at 8:30 pm, thirty minutes before the show was set to start, I noticed the downstairs was mostly empty – but those sitting on bar stools were already drunk and loud.

I went up to the barmaid and asked her about the stand up comedy. She asked me to repeat myself not understanding my accent. Her accent seemed Ukrainian / Russian. She stared at me for a moment and then her eyes got wide and she pointed up to the narrow stairs.

“Do you want to drink something?” she asked. I looked behind her at the coolers looking for my customary two Corona’s but all they had were Windhoek’s and Windhoek Lights. My mind panicked. I always worry superstitiously if I cannot find my Coronas if I am going to bomb. I think of the Coronas as my liquid courage. And not just one, mind you, but it has to be two. So I asked just in case, “I guess you do not have any Coronas?”

The barmaid looked at me for a long while – I guess trying to translate what I said. And then she shook her head. “No.”

“Okay I will take a Windhoek Light,” and thinking in the back of my mind it would taste like a San Miguel Light but it didn’t. “Do you want me to start a tab?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No need. You one of the comedians, right?”

I nodded.

“It’s okay. I know where you will be.”

I smiled and then mounted the stairs. At the top, going past the bathrooms with graffiti drawings of women and men in cartoonish / outlandish poses and shapes, I saw Rustum August. I recognized him merely from his picture posted on Facebook.

He saw me and smiled a slow smile. He was talking to the other comedians. But then when I stood in front of him, he broke away and said, “You must be Jackson.”

“Yeah man!” and I shook out my hand for him to shake. He shook it in a customary South African way – regular hand shake, thumb press, and a switch up and then the snap off. It had been a while since I had done the South African handshake so I was a bit off.

Then Rustum then introduced me to the other comedians who were sitting at a table.

“Jackson, this is Hot Chocolate.”

I reached my hand across and did the South African hand shake with a rather large black guy with a short and a huge smile.

“This is Gino.” Rustum pointed out. “This is Jackson from Hong Kong.”

I shook with a skinny guy who seemed a bit shy but gave back a strong hand shake.

“Hong Kong? How are you here?”

“I used to live in Cape Town, and was looking for an excuse to come back.” I said ending it with a laugh.

“This is Werner. Our token Afrikaner,” Rustum said and gave a slow laugh.

“Stop talking – kak,” Werner responded back and shook my hand hard.

And at the end of the table was an Indian looking guy with long, hair in dreads tied back. He gave a sleepy smile. His hand shake was soft.

“This is Umar,” Rustum explained.

“Your name is Jackson?” he asked as we pulled our hands away.

“Yes, like the memorial except I am not dead.”

He laughed and repeated my sentence, “Like the memorial but not dead.”

I went towards the back of the table and found an empty space.

Just then the waitress showed up with my beer. “Thanks,” I said and winked.

I looked around the upstairs room and it had been transformed. There was a stage with speakers stacked on top of each other and a microphone placed loosely on top of one of them and the cord snaking out from the small elevated stage to the floor.

Then around the stage were wooden chairs of all sorts and types surrounding in a half semi-circle pattern from the front all the way to the back. And then against the wall were tables already packed with people – drinking and eating.

“How many people do you get at these things?” I asked the table but not at anyone particular but I caught Hot Chocolate’s eyes in the end.

Rustum was standing near the table answered. “Sometimes big crowds, sometimes small crowds. We don’t really fucking care as long as people show.” And he stood straight and pressed his hands down his jacket.

Just then a guy with short front hair but spiky back hair bounded to the table. “Hey guys, sorry I am late,” he said.

Rustum looked at him, “This is Jackson.” And he pointed to me. “Jackson, this is Dylan Skews.”

We reached across the table and shook hands. “Good to meet you my bru.” He answered.

We sat at the table watching people filing into the room and taking their seats. The comedians were talking about what they knew about Hong Kong and Asia. Umar told the story about a bouncer at Cubana in Greenpoint who was a huge black guy from Nigeria and was told to keep the Chinese out of the club but allow the Koreans in. The Nigerian couldn’t tell the difference and no Asians were allowed the whole night. The table laughed.

“Do you do your comedy in English in Hong Kong?” Umar asked.

“Yes. Of course. I can’t speak Chinese. Thank god for colonization!”

Werner had taken Chinese before and started saying something roughly in Chinese – pretending to be a Chinese stand up comedian.

I asked were there more Asians in South Africa now.

“With the World Cup coming next year – China’s influence is huge now. There are so many Chinese, Koreans, Japanese – everywhere.” Werner answered.

Hot Chocolate asked if the comedy scene in Hong Kong was pretty happening.

“Yes, we got a 24/7 comedy club.” I said.

The table roared. “24/7? You mean comedy around the clock?” Umar asked.

I laughed at my comment. “No I meant to say it’s the first full time comedy club in Hong Kong. I mean there is no other purpose but comedy.” The table settled down. “But yes, we got a comedy festival next week.”

Dylan asked, “How many comedians performing?”

“Thirty.”

“Fuck.”

More people showed up and the room was filling up.

Rustum spoke up, “I guess we need to get this thing started. Somebody want to be the host tonight?”

The table went quiet. Gino spoke up, “I thought you were going to be the host?”

Rustum shook his head and his long bangs shook. He had to use his fingers to pull his strands of hair of the corners of his mouth. “I don’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“I will do it then,” Gino answered.

“Someone needs to tell them we are ten minutes to start time,” Rustum put out there.

Hot Chocolate stood up and went to the stage and grabbed the microphone. “Howizit? How are you tonight?”

The crowd came back in bursts saying, “Good.”

“We will be getting the show underway in ten minutes. So make your last dash to get alcohol or go to the bathroom. You don’t want to miss anything,” he said. And then he dropped the microphone back on the speaker and returned to our table.

Umar turned to me, “You know have the right idea. Drinking beer. Tonight I am trying to do it without alcohol.” And he nodded in the direction of his Coca-cola.

“That’s actually good. I heard that if you do a show always with alcohol or if you are high – it becomes a habit. And you don’t feel that you are funny without some stimulant.”

“No, I am high already. I am just not adding to it alcohol.” Umar gave a sleepy smile. “But I will probably fucking regret that.”

And then he pulled out a notepad with drawings all over it. “These are my bits.” And he put his finger down at certain images. “I am using visual cues. This one,” and he points to a picture of a cut off penis, “is my bit about pulling my penis out of my pants.” And then he points to another picture, “This is my porcupine bit.” And then his finger came down again on a clock face, “This is my time bit.”

I laughed while taking a big sip of my Windhoek Light beer. “Ingenious. Very cool. I just write my bits down in words and bullets.”

Umar looked at me and waited a second before responding. “Yeah, that probably works too.”

The next morning on CNN they showed the typhoon devastation in Manila.

Because of the six hour time difference, when I awoke, I had dozens of SMS’s and emails on my Blackberry. But all of my SMS’s were from Sophia.

“What is the name of your new GF there in South Africa? And don’t lie.” said one.

“I am going to write my own story about us and post it on Facebook,” said another. “Because your blogs lie.”

Another read, “Why do you always embarrass me on your blogs? I am not a bad GF.”

The last one said, “I am tired of using me to make yourself look famous in your writing.”

I deleted them pretty quickly because I didn’t want to fight. Because the more I fought back or apologized or tried to fight back – made me appear like I was guilty or auto-correcting myself. But then because of the typhoon, I was worried about her. So I sent back an SMS, “Are you okay? I am worried about you.”

A couple of minutes passed as I drank my mocha coffee at Depasco Café Bakery on the corner where Long Street ended and Kloof Street started – and then my Blackberry vibrated. “Stop lying. You don’t care. Go back to your new GF.”

And I thought about it. My new girlfriend was the laptop that was staring me down on my table. And I liked my new girlfriend. If I wasn’t a good boyfriend, I was going to focus on what I loved to do and thought I was decent at – comedy and creativity.

Maybe I was using my talents as a coping mechanism to hide my faults. I agreed with her. I wasn’t a very good boyfriend. I also thought it was unfair for me to integrate her into the stories of my life, but she was part of my life – and I warned her upfront. And yes, I was biased – what I write is pure emotion. It comes from the slant of what I am feeling at that moment.

But irregardless if she believed me or not, I was very worried about her. I saw the images on CNN that showed downtown Manila underwater. I sent an SMS back, “Let me know you are ok?”

No response.

Faith met me after she got off work. She had to take a bus, a train, and she had to walk a couple of blocks in order for us to rendezvous before my comedy show. We met each other on Kloof Street in front of Sumo which had been my previously favorite writing spot, Seattle Coffee Company, a year ago. She was not alone. One of her best friends from secondary school in Atlantis was with her. She was Indian. We were introduced quickly but I didn’t recognize the name and soon forgot it. She was also a bit shy around me.

Once Faith and I both decided out loud that we were both starving, we tried to figure out where we wanted to eat. That’s when her friend from school excused herself. I tried to convince her to come with us to the Nando’s Comedy Festival that night. She said she would try. And with that, we all said goodbye – and Faith and I started walking through Cape Town CBD.

I had never really had a sister in my life – but if there was ever two people who when they met instantly thought they were family was Faith and me.

And soon as we were walking – it was like we hadn’t been separated for three years. The first question I asked was about her two year old little boy Cole, “Where is he?”

“He is at my sister-in-law’s. I knew that the comedy show tonight would run long so I asked her if she would keep him.” And we headed down Kloof and across the street to Long Street.

“Do you feel guilty being without him?”

“I don’t get out much so no. I think I have been out on the town once. But he is my little man so I miss him when I am without him.”

“What was it like to breast feed him?”

“It fucking hurt!” and she screamed loud. “The first time your nipples scab over – and then the little bugger still wants milk… Your nipples are so sore!”

“I mean – how was it to have huge breasts?”

“Fucking awesome! But then – Cole sucked all the milk out of them – and now I am back to padded bras.” She laughed loudly.

I had been cringing since she said scabs.

“Man you just took the motherhood out of it for me.” I admitted. “You get scabs?”

“Well it’s because you aren’t a mother. As a woman you get used to its part of the job description.”

So we ended up talking and talking – trying to catch up on the normal day to day stuff – pretending we hadn’t been apart for so long. I asked her about Cole’s father. He was dating a new woman and it just happened that her birthday was tomorrow.

I asked about his drug habit.

“He is still doing it.”

“What if one day he completely kicks it – would you consider reconciling with him?”

She shook her head profusely. “No way! I would never go back.”

“Does Cole and his father get to spend any time together?”

“Sometimes. He will occasionally pick him for the weekend.”

“Is he paying any maintenance?”

“Sometimes he buys some nappies but no.”

We stopped on Wale Street. “Where do you want to eat?” I asked.

“No! You are the visitor! Where do you want to eat?”

“You know even though I live in Hong Kong – I would love to have some Simply Asian.”

She laughed. “So now you need to have Asian food wherever you go?”

“Actually no. I hardly eat it when I am in Hong Kong but yes – now I want it. Crazy huh? Is that too far away?”

“No. Let’s go.” And off Faith went and I followed after.

Eventually the topic moved to Jasmin, my ex- fiancé. “How is she?”

“I guess she is okay. She is married now. I guess she is happy.” And then she gave a pregnant pause. “But she is not working.”

I digested that.

And then Faith added, “And he is not working either.”

“What? Neither one of them are working? How are they surviving?”

Faith shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a miracle. I think he is trying to be a pastor again. You know he got ejected as pastor before when he was caught cheating on his wife. And then he got his girlfriend pregnant.”

“What? He has another kid other than the one with Jasmin.”

“Yes, Jasmin is raising her child and his ex-girlfriend’s child.”

“What?” I said totally shocked. “She is raising someone else’s child? What has happened to her?”

Faith was quick to come back. “Nothing. She seems happy. But I sense something is missing.”

We walked in silence as the evening traffic went on around us cars and trucks leaving the Cape Bowl District.

Finally I came back with, “You know every girl I have dated before – ends up married right afterwards or pregnant with the next guy they meet – or both!” And we kept walking. “You know – I sometimes wonder if my little swimmers have a problem. Like I said all my ex-girlfriends get pregnant soon after me – I am talking months.” I paused. “Jasmin and I were together for more than three years. We never used any protection.”

“But you also didn’t add your secret sauce.”

“Well we did once or twice – just to see if she could. But nothing happened.”

“Do you regret it?”

I shook my head immediately. “No. I don’t think I want kids. I mean with all the traveling I do – to China, Indonesia, India – there are so many kids that nobody wants. And I remember vaguely what that feels like – prior to my adoption. So I think if I have kids – I will adopt them.”

“I think when you meet that special person – you will want your own.”

“No offence but I think having a child is kind of selfish.”

“Well, I think having a child is probably the most selfless thing you can do.”

“Fair enough.” I said.

And we both laughed uncomfortably. “Jasmin wanted your mobile. I gave it to her – I hope you don’t mind. Did she call you yet?”

“No.” And I paused for a second. “How can she afford airtime if she has no job?”

I looked at Faith and Faith just shrugged. We were stopped at the pedestrian light – waiting for the walking man to turn green.

“Well I always knew Jasmin wanted to be a mother. Kids loved her. So I know she is happy.” And we walked to the sidewalk outside Simply Asian. And when we entered it was like I had traveled through a time portal. And I remembered this had been one of mine and Jasmin’s favorite restaurants. It was at this restaurant that we had made our plans to move to Hong Kong. And it was during these conversations, I had hatched a plan to propose to her.

A waitress met us as we stood in the open doorway. “Where would you like to sit?”

Faith and I both pointed at the neon star against the far wall and the table that was there without consulting each other. We both laughed. And the waitress grabbed menus and followed us until we sat down.

Just then my mobile phone vibrated. I pulled it out and it was a number I didn’t recognize but it began with a +27 country code. It read, “Hey! Its me Jas. Call me back.”

“Wow, speaking of the devil, she just called me.” I said to Faith. Faith was opening up the menu. “Hey, do this order some wine.”

“White or red?” she asked.

“White. Durbanville Hills if they have it.”

Faith smiled and began to talk to the waitress. And I returned the call to Jasmin.

The phone rang twice and then a familiar voice came on – a little slower than I remembered but very, very familiar, “Hey buster!” said Jasmin. And then both of us started giggling on the phone.

Faith and I were buzzing from finishing a whole bottle of white wine and we were walking to Zula Sound Bar. I always knew when Faith was buzzing because her voice became incredibly loud – like her speaking volume went to maximum. And I was always amazed how such a little woman could have such a loud, piercing voice.

The sun had already set but the streets were safe because of the additional security deployed preparing for the 2010 World Cup.

“Jasmin wants us to come by and see her.” I said.

“She would love to see you again,” Faith added – almost yelling.

“Yeah, but remember the last time I saw her? It was a setup and I ran into her future husband.”

“Well, she did that on person. She invited you both to her movie set at the same time. She never admitted it to him. But I know.”

“And she is married now. I don’t know how comfortable I would feel if one of my wife’s ex-boyfriends showed up. Especially this asshole American.”

Faith didn’t respond.

“I don’t think I want to do it.”

And then suddenly we were walking up to the doorway to the stairs leading up to Zula Sound Bar. There was a bouncer at the front door and he let us in – and before mounting the stairs – there was a ticket person. We started up the stairs when they spoke out.

“Excuse me?” the black guy said.

“Oh, I am one of the comedians for the competition.” I said.

He looked at a notepad on his hastily created desk. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jackson.”

He ran his fingers down the list of participants – and sure enough – there was Jackson + 1 written down. “Wow – that was nice of them to let me bring someone in. I didn’t tell them I was bringing anybody.”

The ticket counter guy brought out an ink stamp and asked for our wrists. I got stamped first and then Faith.

At the top of the stairs Faith was complaining that her stamp was already smeared. “Fuck! I want your stamp. Yours looks nice. You think they will stamp me again?”

I said nothing back because the upstairs was packed – wall to wall people. I suddenly felt butterflies in my stomach. I needed a drink fast. And when Faith and I walked up to the bar – my butterflies somewhat calmed when I saw the Corona’s in the cooler behind the bartender. I yelled out to Faith, “Awesome!”

“Why fucking awesome?” Faith yelled.

“I always drink two Coronas before any performance. That’s a good sign.”

“Well I want a watermelon Brutal Fruit – but they stopped making watermelon.”

I pointed my head in the direction of the bartender. “I will ask. Maybe they have it.”

But they didn’t. She settled on a gin and tonic. And as we were pushing towards the seats – there were none available. It was standing room only. Faith found a small open space near the engineer’s booth that was controlling the sound and spotlights. While she was getting situated – I asked the man in the engineer booth where were the other comedians?

“They are in the Green Room in the back,” and he pointed.

I stood next to Faith and yelled into Faith’s ear because the noise of the people around us was so loud, “Hey, I need to go back there. You going to be okay?”

“Hell yeah!” she yelled back. And she smiled. “This is going to be fucking fun!” Then she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“Thanks sister.” And I turned to leave but then I swirled back around. “Hey Faith, thanks for being here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it bro!” And she smiled a big toothy smile and then lifted her glass and I butted my Corona against it. And then headed to the Green Room.

The Green Room was packed with comedians – both amateur and professional. Most were from in and around South Africa so I didn’t recognize them. But there was a lot of nervous energy in the back.

I was getting deathly nervous. I saw all the guys from the night before – Hot Chocolate, Dylan, Rustum, and Gino. They all greeted me and when we shook hands – all our palms were sweating.

Suddenly a black guy with a goatee and dreadlocks came to the back, “Showtime people. Showtime!” and then a big, Rugby player type guy bounded through a curtain and on the stage.

The crowd went wild.

I had no idea what order I was going to perform in so I found somebody who looked like they knew what was going on, “Hey do you know the order of performances?”

The guy looked at me shocked at my accent. “Bru, talk to that guy.” And he was pointing to Rustum.

“Okay.” Rustum was pacing the floor talking to himself – practicing his routine. I neared him. “Sorry to disturb man. But do you know the schedule order of appearance?”

He smiled slowly. “You are in the second half – after the competition. You are part of the professional acts.”

I laughed but then stopped myself. God, I had only started in May of this year – and now they were calling me professional. Oh shit.

“HOWIZIT?” the blonde haired, Rugby sized host yelled into the microphone. “I am David Newton and welcome to the Nando’s Comedy Festival Finals! You ready to laugh your fucking ass off?”

The crowd roared.

“You ready to hear the six finalists talking kak?”

The crowd screamed.

“And for you foreigners who got to South Africa a year too early for the World Cup – kak is not cock. Because we all know that you can’t talk with a cock.” There was a splattering of laughter. “But talking kak translated from Afrikaans means ‘talking shit’. So you ready for the shit talking?”

The host laughed at himself into the microphone.

I took in a deep breath and downed one of my Coronas. Then out of my front pocket of my blue jeans I extracted my set pieces written on a wrinkled notebook paper and started studying them over and over and over. I was trying to memorize the order.

But I got distracted by watching the show on the HD plasma mounted in the Green Room.

The next morning I was still suffering from a hangover and for the first time since arriving in Cape Town – I woke up past ten. Out of habit, I went straight to my Blackberry and saw it was full of business emails. “It never fails that the one night I get drunk – all the important business emails would come through,” I said to myself.

But then there was the glowing asterisk beside the SMS icon. I highlighted and pressed enter. And there were two SMS’s – and I was taken back a little – one was from Sophia and the first one was from Jasmin.

Jasmin’s SMS was angry, “So you are dating Faith now? You have been planning this for years. You are such a liar.”

I shook my head and laughed out loud.

And then moved to Sophia’s SMS. “Who is your new girlfriend? How long have you been planning this? You are such a liar.”

I was in disbelief. Two SMS’s which were almost identical from two people who had never met each other. And both SMS’s were talking kak. I smiled in a very discomforting way.

The truth was – I wasn’t lying. I was at peace. I was happy. And unbelievably – I didn’t need the company of a woman or sex with someone to feel complete.

I was beginning to like myself. I was beginning to believe in myself that I was a good guy. And it went further than that one day I would be a damn good boyfriend and if the odds were in my favor a good husband.

I sent an SMS back to Sophia first, “People change. I have no new GF. The only person I am with right now is myself. And I am starting to like him.”

No response.