Claptrap

When the lights went down and the stage hands were setting up the next scene, everyone around me applauded. It was tentative applause, offered politely and without passion. Fake. I did not participate. I couldn’t. I tried, but my applause embarrassed me. So instead, I sat quietly in my seat, in the dark, staring straight ahead, dreading the next scene, mouthing words that no one could hear. THAT SUCKED, I said. THAT WAS BULLSHIT. But I sort of fluttered my hands a little so the woman on my right would feel the breeze and think that I was clapping too.