what an entertainer

by nick nelson

when dave smith was just a little boy he broke his mama’s rule. after that he often had the same strange dream. in his waking life, dave had never had any thought of being a singer or a comedian or an actor or any kind of entertainer. except for the casual daydreams any young man might have, of being a rock star or rap star, so as to get girls. but in the dream he was always on a stage, by himself, in front of a microphone. he usually had a small guitar or ukelele that he could strum, but he never had a band behind him, or any kind of accompaniment. the stage was poorly lit, and the room he was playing to was even darker, but huge. it seemed to be some sort of combination night club and concert hall, with tables in front and surrounding the stage, and endless rows of ascending seats behind the tables. the people who could be seen dimly in the rows of seats always sat mute, like zombies. and the people at the tables in front, with one exception, sipped drinks and smoked cigarettes and talked among themselves and completely ignored dave and his show. the one exception was dave’s mom, who sat by herself at the table directly in front of the stage, wearing a white evening gown with a rose pinned to it, and an orchid in her white hair. with a row of bottles on the table in front of her, mom cheered loudly at all dave’s songs and patter, and roared with uncontrollable laughter at all his jokes. dave could not remember the songs or jokes exactly when he woke up, but a typical performance might go something like this: a song, in dave’s tuneless sing-song voice: i’m just a wandering tumbleweed i’m just a wandering tumbleweed i am nobody’s friend in need when will i be freed? or: i want a girl like eleanor roosevelt i want a girl like eleanor roosevelt want a girl like eleanor roosevelt she makes my poor heart melt or: love is the answer love is the answer i want a girl who can cure cancer in between songs dave would tell jokes, usually about how fat some girl was, or how skinny another one was, or sometimes about how tough and scary the kids were who beat him up in school. like, i talked this girl into going out into the parking lot with me, but my car was locked and i couldn’t find my keys. but the girl was so skinny i opened the door with her… then she complained i messed her lipstick up when i did it… women! in the dream, dave sincerely tried to makes the songs and jokes better, but they just got worse and worse. through it all the zombies and smokers and drinkers paid him no mind, and his mom got louder and drunker, often hidden by a cloud of cigarette smoke. sometimes dave woke up in the middle of the show. at other times the dream went on longer, until an mc, who looked like abraham lincoln or ed sullivan, would come out clapping his hands and shouting, what an entertainer! what an entertainer! come back tomorrow night, good people, for more of the same… dave was sincerely sorry he had broken his mama’s rule, and he hoped he would not keep on having the dream for the rest of his life…