New Bit

By Alyssa Jo Varner

The following was transcribed from an audio recording discovered at the scene. 

Welcome to the Raw Talent Sunset Comedy Cruise!

[cheering]

We’re in for another gorgeous evening on Lake Michigan. Our time on the water will be approximately ninety minutes. The bar and kitchen are open, so please enjoy yourselves and remember to tip our lovely waitstaff. Which reminds me—Becca, could I get a Maker’s Mark when you have a chance?

My name is Julia Sterling. I’ll be your first comic of the evening. Let me double check we’re recording here—

[gulls calling in the distance]

Alright, Chicago! So if you’ve seen me do stand-up around the city, tonight will be a little different. Usually I do impressions, goof around with props, work the crowd.

But ladies and gentlemen, I am done with that shit. Tonight you’re just getting me—unfiltered and unleashed.

[cheering]

I have had one hell of a month: I got dumped. I almost died. I turned forty-one.

[laughter]

I went camping for the first time a few weeks ago. Hiked into the forest with the ticks and the dirt and the no bathrooms anywhere on purpose. I just really needed some time away from the daily grind to turn off Instagram, connect with the cycles of nature, release some toxins.

Okay, fine. I did it for love.

Okay, okay, fine. I did it for sex.

I’d been dating this guy for a few months. We were in those sweet early days of a new relationship. I see some of you are enjoying that honeymoon period right now. Such an exciting time. Everything your partner does is sexy…when it should be suspicious.

Does he disappear every few weeks claiming he’s traveling for work, even though you can see his car parked in the driveway? So mysterious. Does he erupt wildly over minor disagreements and end up smashing your favorite coffee cup against the wall? So passionate.

Yeah, things were going great. This guy—we’ll call him the Woodsman—was totally my type. Muscular arms. Hair on his chest. Emotionally manipulative. Look, I’m just saying you would’ve gone camping for him, too. Believe me. He would’ve convinced you it was your idea, then blamed you when things went wrong.

So when he suggests a weekend getaway up north, I am all in. I’m imagining a cozy cabin, fireplace, wine. Did I mention his arms?

He drives us up north and we set off down the trail. And at first, I regret to inform you that we are adorable. Taking selfies with our packs on. Going skinny dipping at a secluded lake. Feeding each other trail mix.

By late afternoon, I’m sunburned and covered in mosquito bites. My feet are killing me. But in the end, it’s all worth it: Because right when the sky is at its most breathtaking—just like tonight—he gets down on one knee.

Okay, fine. He doesn’t. I see you looking for the ring. He does not pop the question. But he does… pop me in the jaw.

[inaudible]

Yes. Thank you to the woman in the front row who said Fuck that! That is correct, ma’am. Fuck that whole entire situation.

It happens while we’re trying to set up the tent. I mean, of course it does. How many relationships have to be destroyed by tent assembly before Coleman adds a warning label to that shit?

So the sun’s going down and we’re both exhausted. We can’t get the freaking tent poles to line up. He starts snapping at me, and I calmly tell him I don’t appreciate his tone. That really sets him loose. He says my attitude is ruining everything. And he keeps getting louder, long after I’ve stopped talking. Says I’m whiny. Too high maintenance. And when I respectfully reject that premise, he knocks me right in the face.

For a second, he looks as surprised as I feel. Then he says he doesn’t trust himself around me anymore.

Yeah, dude, I don’t trust you around me either.

So he grabs the tent, snatches his phone, his car keys, and the rest of the beef jerky. Imagine the Grinch in an REI. Then he takes off into the woods and disappears.

And I am just standing there in shock. I’ve never been hit before. I’ve also never been stranded in the woods. All I can think is that I need to find my way back to the trailhead. It’s hours of hiking away, but I remember there’s a diner across the street from where we parked. I could go in and warm up, order an Uber. I tap the flashlight on my phone and start picking my way down the trail. But twenty minutes in, the battery dies and it’s only me, the trees, and the moon.

And then, out of nowhere, I get knocked to the ground by a massive wild dog. The thing pins me to the ground and sinks its huge teeth right into my shoulder.

I’m lying there in the dirt, getting gnawed on by a coyote or maybe a wolf—I don’t know, I’m not a dog person—and my life literally flashes before my eyes.

So I’m watching my memories race by, and it’s like a movie. About halfway through, I realize something: I don’t like this movie. I don’t get the main character. She’s got no sense of direction. No backbone. No drive. The only thing she does that really means something to her—means everything, actually—is comedy. And she’s half-assing that at best.

Turns out, I have spent most of my time on this planet doing shit I have no interest in, just to impress or appease other people. What the hell was I doing out in the woods? The crunchiest thing about me is the product in my hair.

So there I am, mid-attack, having this epiphany. And the overwhelming emotion isn’t fear. It’s regret. So much wasted time. In life, and on stage. So I make a deal with myself.

And then I start to fight back.

I roll over and something digs into my side, which reminds me that I’ve got a travel size pepper spray in my jacket pocket. I let it rip, aiming right into the hound’s yellow eyes. It takes off whining, tail between its legs. I make a run for it in the opposite direction.

Eventually I come across a girl scout camp. They’re sitting around a bonfire telling stories when I limp out from behind the trees. I’m covered in sweat and mud, bleeding and crying. A few of the girls scream. But those sweet little cookie-pushers and their moms saved my life. Let’s hear it for Troop 44!

[cheering]

Denise drove me to the hospital and Courtney made me a friendship bracelet in the waiting room. Still wearing it, Court! I had to get a rabies shot and everything. You should see my hospital bills. I don’t know how I’m going to pay off those and the seven hundred boxes of Thin Mints I ordered.

[laughter]

But yeah, it’s been a wild month for me. Had my forty-first birthday last week.

[cheering]

Thank you. Thank you. Yeah, I’m feeling okay about it. Not panicked at all.

Except, aging does have its drawbacks, doesn’t it? I’ve been getting these aches in my joints. Sharp pain around my tailbone. I’ve been growing hair in, like, new new places? And I swear I’m anemic now. A few days ago I woke up in the middle of the night just starving. Wound up roasting a whole lamb and eating it in bed.

So I went to see my doctor yesterday. But he says it’s all in my head. Offers to prescribe me anti-anxiety meds if I “just can’t cope”—which is doctor for Quit being a whiny bitch. Then he grills me about my hydration practices.

Oh, bless you, Becca. How’s this for hydrating, Doc?

[ice clinks against glass]

Cheers, folks. By the way, is my manicure looking a bit feral tonight? I just did my nails this morning and they already look like claws.

So like I said, I’m in my forties now. And I know The Change is coming at some point. But all I want is a few years where my body just exists. You know? From puberty on up, it’s been one freaking change after another. I am exhausted.

Personal question: How many of you are on birth control pills?

[applause]

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for them. But like, is this really the best we can do? Those hormones are a roller coaster from hell, right? Except no one wants to hear a thing about the ride. They don’t want to hear if it makes you nauseous or panicked or numb.

But it’s rough, not feeling like yourself. So maybe you start skipping a dose here or there. Then maybe you quit refilling your prescription altogether. You even stop sleeping with the guy who suggested you start the pills in the first place. And you just sort of let yourself recalibrate for a while.

And when you’re finally feeling stable, you take that week-long solo trip to Greece for your fortieth birthday. You go island-hopping and get blasted on ouzo and spend the night with some guy you met on the beach—and you think this decade is going to be different. It’s going to be fun, flirty, and free. But what you don’t know is you’re flying home with what your granny would’ve called “a little souvenir.” And by the time you realize you’re carrying extra cargo, your hormones are surging and you’re up all night eating animal crackers and puking in the shower and researching clinics within driving distance.

But—and believe me, this is a total surprise—then you find yourself feeling like maybe you do want to keep this souvenir after all. Not because it would be a sin to do otherwise. And definitely not because you’re financially prepared. You know it will be inconvenient. You know it will be painful. But there’s this part of you that wants to find out what your body is capable of. What your heart is capable of. This could be your only chance. And the more you think about this growing little creature, the more you start to love it, start wanting to protect it. You fantasize about holding it in your arms, sniffing its furry head. You picture, with surprising ferocity, what you’d do to anyone who tried to harm it.

And just as you begin to transform, just as your bones begin to shift and your senses sharpen and you start wolfing down everything in sight and getting weepy over commercials featuring tiny shoes and puppies, you look down one day to find you’re bleeding. And it’s all over. This dream future. This souvenir. This new you. Poof! Gone. And you’re just a mid-tier riverboat comedian with an agent who won’t take your calls and a bassinet you can’t bear to look at but still haven’t returned.

[scattered applause]

Sorry, folks. Haven’t figured out how to make that one funny yet.

Hey Becca, can I get something to eat up here? Yeah, same thing I had before the show: Triple burger. Rare. No bun.

Don’t judge me, people. Getting up here, spilling my guts for your entertainment? That’s hungry work.

[gull calling, closer]

I just cannot get over this moon tonight. Is anyone else feeling kind of warm? Let me shed a layer here.

[wolf-whistles from the audience]

[zipper]

Wow, my arms are looking seriously fuzzy. A few years ago, I would have asked for your aesthetician recs and booked a waxing for tomorrow. But post-forty me? I don’t know, I’m kind of into it. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I am fairly alarmed that there’s an inch of thick hair covering my arms that wasn’t there this morning. Can’t wait to see my doctor explain this one away. But do I hate the way it feels against my skin, the way it shines beneath this moon? I can’t say that I do.

You know what else has gotten weird? I used to have these adorable middle class American girl teeth. Did the braces thing when I was a kid, came out with a pretty cute smile. But my teeth are definitely not cute now. They’re like tiny daggers. Which is frustrating because, like any decent Midwesterner, I grind my teeth at night instead of actually exp—

Oh man, you are the best, Becs.

[cutlery sounds]

Mmm. The Woodsman got one thing right: Everything does taste better outdoors.

[chewing]

[gull calling, loud]

Hey! Get away from my burg—[growling]

[screeching]

[vicious barking, bones snapping, crunching]

[gasps]

Audience Member, whispering: “Is this part of it?”

Oh… god.

[spitting, retching]

Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.

[whining, joints cracking]

I think I need— [low growling]

[frantic voices, metal chairs scraping the deck, footsteps pounding]

[screams]

Audience member: “Grab her!”

No. Please. [whimpering]

Audience member: “Hold her down!”

Get back.

[a cacophony of angry voices]

Don’t… touch me.

[panicked shouting]

I’m not—

[sniffing]

—myself—

[panting]

—tonight.

[snarling]

[microphone hitting the floor]

[claws scrabbling across the deck]

[glass shattering, clothes tearing]

[screaming]

[roaring, ripping, gnashing]

[several loud splashes in quick succession]

[bones clattering against wood]

[waves lapping]

[a call and response of distant gulls]

[a lengthy silence]

[a sustained and solitary howl]

THE END

Author Bio: Alyssa Jo Varner lives in Iowa City with her husband and daughter. She works as a graphic designer and loves both gothic fiction and gothic architecture. If she’s not writing stories, she’s probably riding horses. Her website is alyssajovarner.com.

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