Thinking With My Hands - A Short Story

I started clapping as the curtains drew to a close. We've been clapping at performers for a few thousand years now. Far-be-it for me to be the first one to stop. Besides, I had enjoyed the show and felt that I should take part in this mass eruption of gratitude for the thing we had just seen. So, like everyone else, I started pounding my hands against each other.

The art of applause is one that most people seem to gloss over. Take right now for instance. The actors have come out and taken their bow. I feel that I've applauded enough. It wasn't a huge play. The venue was kind of small too. There's maybe a hundred people in here. But everyone else keeps on clapping. "How many are friends of the actors," I think to myself. Probably quite a few. I look around trying to judge how much energy the crowd has. A lot, apparently. The hand pounding goes on for another few moments. My palms are starting to get sore so I shift position a little. The mob sounds like they're going to die out soon. Thank god. I'd rather not look like the one ass who stopped before everyone else. But then, just as we're about to drop below that minimum decibel of applause, one person decides to pick it up again and the crowd is rejuvenated. The actors come out again and take a second bow. Oh boy.

I wonder if someone is going to start a standing O. Looking around I notice three or four middle aged people near the front. Probably the parents of the young actor who had a minor role in the second act. Sitting bolt upright and clapping vigorously. Sure enough, they get up. Here we go. Slowly at first people follow suit, standing and reinvigorating their clapping. Then almost everyone gets up. They get up awkwardly and a little confused, not really knowing why they're getting up but not wanting to be left sitting when the inevitable third bow takes place. As expected, once everyone is on their feet, the actors return to the stage, bowing and blowing kisses to the audience. A few of the actors have forced smiles, especially the leads who have seen a dozen mediocre performances bring the audience to their feet. Maybe they think about this kind of thing too. My guess is they try not to.

The curtains close again and within five seconds the room is silent. All the appreciation and enthusiasm might as well never have been there as people search for their coats and file out of their seats. I start to wonder if maybe these freely-given standing ovations are a way for the audience to perform; to vent the envy that we might have after experiencing real performers working their craft. "Look at me" they say with their sounds of skin on skin and willingness to leave the comfort of their seat, "I can express myself too. As good as any of you." The thought doesn't last long. Soon I'm being pushed and crowded out the door at the mobs pace, and man, are they in a hurry.