He Had the Eyes

He had the eyes, right? That sadness. That depth of pain that rang out across all the nervous laughter, across all the incessant prattling from accent to joke and back again. That manic energy helped to contain a nonstop darkness that twisted the light and ached to be set free.

None of us will ever know where it came from or how it chose to be seen. We only saw the bits we wanted to, the parts that brought a smile or a laugh, the parts that made us roll our eyes and change the channel. “He’s doing it again.” The parts that made us think the ride was over, all the stories had been told. “Why is he always like this?” The parts that even the biggest fans grew weary of. “He is so annoying.”

He was so annoying. He took our need to be entertained and he crushed it. He was relentless with the constant need to be ON. We didn’t know. Sure, we’d heard the stories. He told them himself. Always at ease when the lights were on, when the sweat was rolling over and between the creases, the weary lines. But obviously what we thought was ON was more often OFF. He was clinging to the punchlines for salvation.

Then he turned it upside down on us. He let out bits of the shadows, let them curl up through the screen and reach into us. The person we knew as funny could also be human. He could be kind. He could be attentive. He felt what we felt because he was just like us. Life is falling upon all of us. Sometimes it’s difficult to catch your breath, to find your way, to even open your eyes.

The best humor comes from sadness, from looking at the worst and finding the best. You scramble for a spark to hold on to, to cling to, to squeeze the fire of life from with every beat of your heart. Yet sometimes it simply isn’t enough.

Sometimes you can tell. Ignore the smile. Look at the eyes.

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