"And love is just our own kind voice that we whisper into our own blood." -Zach Schomburg, from From the Fjords

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I go to the movie theatre to watch the latest comedy movie. It’s very popular and I haven’t heard a single bad review. I’m a bit troubled, and curious, though, at how many people have told me that the protagonist of the movie is just like me, and how the plot of the movie is just like my life. The first scene is an actress who looks startlingly like my mother giving birth to a writhing, ugly baby. The audience laughs at the doctor, slapping the baby’s face instead of its rear, seemingly unable to differentiate the two. My mother couldn’t help but laugh, too, my first real humiliation. Hey, it’s not really all that funny I say to the small man sitting next to me, laughing riotously. He doesn’t seem to notice. In the next scene, the baby has grown up into a high school aged boy, who, coincidentally, looks like me when I was in high school. He has failed his first big test. The mother can’t hide her disappointment. The audience laughs at the clever jibes the teacher throws at the student. My classmates all laughed along, I remember. I can’t believe this movie got so many good reviews. It isn’t even funny. It’s quite sad I say to the woman sitting behind me, tears streaming from her eyes and gasping for breath. The next scene is of me, or, rather, an actor who looks like me presently, walking to a movie theatre, and sitting down. The movie he is going to see is a comedy that seems to be a portrayal of his life. The man is sad, middle aged, and doesn’t know how to laugh at himself. He gets upset at the laughing audience. He gets up and rushes in front of the screen, crying out you are all cruel beasts and repeating it over and over. The audience surrounds him, laughing with hysterical intensity, some poking him. The movie ends there, and the credits roll. What a crock I say. I get up out of my seat, and begin walking to the exit. Nobody else moves. When I get to the door, I turn, and face the now quiet, expecting audience, all staring at me. Can’t you see that it obviously isn’t me in the movie I say, and the entire audience bursts into violent, grotesque laughter, all foaming at their mouths and scratching each other blindly. I begin to laugh with them. I know myself better, now.