The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Wedding Dress, Prison Choir, and Hot Dogs

Episode Date: November 2, 2021

A feminist searches for the perfect wedding dress, a playwright visits a prison in Malawi, a man spends a lifetime regretting a single moment, and a new mother struggles with her prosthetic arm. Hosted by The Moth's Senior Producer, Jenifer Hixson. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Jessi Klein, Al Letson, Marco Huertas, Mary Archbold

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's from PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jennifer Hickson. The Moth is true stories told in front of live audiences all over the world. In this episode, we go to a dance audition, a hot dog stand, a bridal shop, and prison. Just your average day in the life at the Moth. The first story is from Jessie Klein. She began telling stories for us in 2003, early in her comedy career.

These days a lot has changed. She was the head writer and executive producer for Inside Amy Schumer, and more recently an executive producer on Dead to Me. When we put together an evening of stories with our friends, the kitchen sisters, we thought it would be fun to explore a theme they've spent a lot of time with, the hidden world of girls. We knew that Jesse Klein had recently gone through a not-so-hidden ritual, getting ready for her wedding, so we reached out. I've never been wedding shopping with anyone before and I have to say I had no idea. Here's Jesse Klein, live at the Moth in New York City. time live at the mouth in New York City. Immediately after I got engaged, every woman I know started asking me, what are you going

to do about a wedding dress? What kind of wedding dress are you going to wear? And I would always say the same thing, which was, oh, I'm not going to wear a wedding dress. And as I would watch their heads explode, I would feel this sort of wave of self-satisfaction washing over me. And it was kind of similar to the smug feeling I have when I tell people that I don't personally find

bread-pit attractive. Like, I understand why you do, but he's just like not my thing. Equally shocking to humans. And, but the truth is like not my thing. He's equally shocking to humans. But the truth is, genuinely, I have never really related to wedding dresses. The Cinderella-ness of them, the poof-ness of them,

I've always thought they look kind of cheesy, and I've just never related to that kind of traditional femininity. You know what I mean? Even though I am a straight woman, I've never been able to really plug into the kinds of things that straight women are supposed to do, you know, like drink diet coke

and like, do ballet, laugh and laugh. And, just like being like a good mood or whatever. I, uh, and also like as a feminist, I've never really liked what I perceive wedding dresses to stand for. Like, it always seems to me like these gowns are designed to kind of, like, eliminate your individuality and just kind of level everyone into this universal symbol of femaleness, kind of, like, you know, like that faceless woman in the triangle dress on the door of every lady's room in America? Like I feel like that's what a lot of people look like in wedding dresses and I didn't want to be in a triangle dress.

So in reality, my plan was like, I'll go to a department store and I'll just like spend a little more than I normally would on just like a pretty dress and that that's gonna be what I do. What I was not expecting was how many of my friends like actively wanted to take me wedding dress shopping, like really wanted to do it. And not even just like my close friends, like acquaintances, like people I didn't know well, like start to feel like, well maybe this is one of those like one of those experiences that you're supposed to have just so you could say you had it sort of like, like when dated a guy who had a motorcycle like I just was like I have to

do this although the side note that is I didn't find out until after I slept with him that he had only borrowed the motorcycle so I should probably have been a like a foreshadowing now this was gonna go but I was like whatever I have to do it just to say I did it and so I let my friends make an appointment for me at lovely bridal, that's what's called, and it's this bridal boutique in the West Village, and it's very girly, obviously it's a bridal boutique they all are, and it's like, like,

tweeschandle liars, and I go with my friends, and I'm trying on dresses, and I didn't know that there's a very specific way that this goes, which is that someone, like a sales lady, has to help you into the dress because they're very complicated and big. And so what that means is that there's a stranger in a dressing room with me, seeing me naked, except for like a strapless, broad, and heels, which they make you bring.

And for me, it's those things are are paired with the most raggedy pair of gap underwear, because I like to wear my underwear until it's rady like an old pirate flag. So it's not a good look, and you have to kind of check your day and day at the door. And then once you're in a dress, and it's always either super too big or super too small, they use an industrial clip and clip it to you.

And then you shuffle out into the room and you stand on a pedestal. And your friends look at you. And me and my friends would engage in a verbal tennis match that was like the same for every dress. But towards the end of my like hour long appointment, I do try on this one dress that feels a little different. And it's sort of this cool, like art deco,

like column of a dress, like sparkly beads or whatever. And it's like a little rock and roll. Like it sort of looks like something Kate Moss would like do like a ton of Coke in and then like pass out on like a bed at the ritz. And I'm looking in the mirror and I'm like, I have to really think like, do I want to look like a Coke up Kate Moss in my wedding day? And like a very large part of me was like, I have to really think, do I want to look like a coat up, Kate Moss, am I wedding day?

And a very large part of me was like, yeah. And I'm like, probably. And anyway, I didn't buy that dress, but I did feel something stirring for the first time, which was for the first time I was like, maybe there is value in like wearing a wedding dress the day I get married. Maybe there is some deeper meaning to just yielding to this hyper feminine version of myself for just like literally a day just so I can like check

the box and like move on with my life. So anyway, so I decide like, okay, I'm gonna do that. And with my life. So anyway, so I decide like, okay, I'm gonna do that. And the women at Lovely Bridal remind me that I have to buy the dress or whatever dress I get. I have to get six months in advance of my wedding day because it has to be me, it has to be altered. blah, blah, blah. I'm like, I got this. It's no big deal. It's March. My wedding is in November. Like, I know, I'm, I'm plenty of time. I'm fine. And I also decide I'm not going to bring my girlfriends to go shopping with me anymore because I am not a baby. I am a feminist grown up. And so a few weeks later I go to this other bridal boutique and I try a bunch of stuff,

it's not that great. And then towards the end I see a dress in the back of the store, like stuffed in the corner. And it's sort of, it's like, it's like this vintage off-white dress and it's kind of multi-tiered on the bottom. Kind of looks like the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of dresses. And that appeals to me.

So I put it on. And I guess the best way to describe it is that it kind of looks like something like a saloon owner from the Old Westwoodware. And I'm like, I kind of love this. And I'm looking at the mirror and like, I don't know. It's a whimsical and bohemian. And it feels like me, but it is a wedding dress.

And I'm like, I think I'm done here. And I take a picture of myself in the dress. And just to make sure I'm not crazy, I like text the photo to my friend Jenny. And I just wait for her permission to be the dress and be done. But I don't get that. What I get instead is, I've texted her the photo, and then she text back, but I get

those three dots that you see on an iPhone when someone's texting you back, and they're stopping and starting a lot. In that way, the three dots stop and start at an iPhone when someone has something like deeply unpleasant to tell you and it's really struggling. And what her text finally comes through, her text is interesting dress. Happy to keep shopping with you.

I was like, all right, well, obviously, Jenny doesn't like the dress, but whatever it's one person. So I text the photo to all my friends, and I just get back like, oh, wave of three dots. Like everyone's three dotting it, and all the three dots are followed by like, very tepid comments. And it's weird, like I don't understand like,

why people aren't more enthusiastic about the dress, but everyone's being sort of polite, and no one's being straightforward, and I'm like, all right, well, still no big deal. Like, whatever, here's what I'll do. I'll shop for like two more weeks, I'll see if I can beat it, and if I can't, I'm just gonna buy the Charlie Brown Dose. I don't care that much about this, I can't invest that much time. I'm a very busy feminist. But then my next stop is at SACS, and something kind of bad of bad happens at sacks where I go and my saleswoman is like a Slightly older woman. I think her name is Barbara. She's from New Jersey. She reminds me of my Jewish aunt. She's very sweet. I feel like 10 minutes into my appointment were kind of best buds. Like she likes me and and I like her and I'm trying

Stuff on and again like I never feel comfortable and finally I'm like, you know, I tried on this other dress at this other shop, and I like something that's kind of like this. And I have a photo. She's like, oh, honey, show me the photo. And I share the photo. And her whole demeanor changes. She scowls.

And she literally says, she goes, you look pregnant in this dress. This is a maternity dress. And I was like, what? And this is the moment that my wedding dress search stopped being about a dress and became an existential crisis of faith in myself, where I was like, why can't I do this? Like, what is wrong with me as a woman

that like I can't look feminine for literally like, not even a whole day. It's really five hours of my whole life and I feel like a failure as a woman. And I really start to think like, maybe I'm also like, is this the first time I fail my, my, my fiance, Mike? Like, am I gonna be a failure as a wife?

Quickest I know about Mike, he'd been putting off buying a suit, right? He was not like getting it together. And I'm finally like, babe, this process takes way longer than you think it will. Like, you need to get on that. And he was like, oh, right. And so one Saturday, we'll go to one store.

And he tries on one suit and it looks awesome on him and he buys it and he doesn't cry and no one told him he looks pregnant and I really love my husband a lot but that day I was like I kind of hate you because for me the search is just continuing and continuing and continuing. And looking for a wedding dress,

search to become literally another whole job. And the whole time, though, I'm thinking about the Charlie Brown dress. It's haunting me like an old lover. And finally, it's Memorial Day weekend. And I see that Charlie Brown dress is online. It's on sale just for this weekend. And I call my friends

of beta and she comes to my house and I basically, I like beg for her permission to buy the dress to put me out of my misery so I can be done. I'm like, oh, y'all are and I'm like put me down. Like I, I'm done. And she's like, let's look at the photo of you again. And we look at the photo and she's like, you know what, you look super pretty just buy the dress. And I'm like, are you sure? She's like, yes, I'm sure. I go, are you sure? She's like, I'm so sure. And I have my finger on the mouse of my computer.

I'm about to click purchase. And she's like, wait! And she goes, I feel like the tears of the dress hit you at a weird angle. And I look at her face and there's desperation in her eyes. And I will just say this about her. She is my oldest friend. We've known each other since we were 11.

We went to junior high school together. She knew me when I wore a night brace. I knew her when she wore suspenders every day. I know she loves me and would not tell me something if it wasn't true. And this is how I find myself the next day, trudging in 98 degree heat to the snootyest department store in New York City, Bergdorf Goodman. And I have to tell you, I know for a fact that at this point,

I had tried on over 100 wedding dresses. I know this because I kept count. I literally, I think 101. And I'm going to Bergdorf Goodman. I'm a little intimidated because it's a very snooty store and I've never been there and I'm like is this one of those places that doesn't let Jews in and but they do. There are tons there. I was not the only one and I was like crawling with them and but

anyway I'm like walking through Bergdorf Goodman. I'm like in a haze. I sort of look like Javier Bardem in no country-for-old man, just like, taking it all in through like my dead eyes, and then, I see, at the end of this hall, Clouds Park, I see the dress, I see this little white-beated a-line cocktail, Audrey Hepburn dress, it's a Valentino dress, it's the dress of my dreams, it's like simple and perfect.

I like run towards it, I grab it in my size, I run into the dressing room, I put it on perfect, I love it. I don't exactly look like Audrey Hepburn, I sort of look like Audrey Hepburn if she just like escaped from a fire but I'm like good enough, like I can work with this, like that's a look, like I'm doing it, I'm done, I'm done, I did it, I did it, I'm a fire, but I'm like, good enough. Like, I can work with this. Like, that's a look. Like, I'm doing it. I'm done. I'm done. I did it. I'm a woman. I bought a wedding dress.

And I just quickly look at the price tag. And it costs $10,000. And I suddenly hear this like very high pitched foreign voice go, just do it. And I look around. And I'm like, who is that? It was me. That was my own voice in my head. And I look around and I'm like, who is that? It was me. That was my own voice in my head.

And I start to engage in this like insane inner monologue with myself where I'm just like, OK, here's the plan. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to put this on your credit card and you're never going to tell a living soul how much it costs or where you got it. You will lie to everyone, including your own husband, about the origin of the dress.

And that's totally cool. Like, it's fine. You'll just lie, you'll be a liar and you'll just have this dress. And after a minute or two of this, I realized this is the kind of narcissistic reasoning that married men recite to themselves when they're like buying an escort on their AMX,

where just any reason is justification. my wife makes me do laundry so like I had to do this she trapped me and I realized like I don't want to think about this like that and I put the dress back on the rack and I go home and I call my friend Becky and I start to sob and I'm crying and I'm crying because I've lost my way. I'm like I've lost my bearings. I've become somebody I don't recognize. Like I've become the worst cliche, the cliche I feared at the very beginning of this. And Becky calms me down and she's like, this happens to everyone. It's okay. And just be gentle with yourself and whatever you feel good in just buy it and that's how people will see you so get the Charlie Brown dress if that's what you

feel pretty in and somehow she got through. Hi! And she gets through and I hang up with her and I pick up the phone and I call the Charlie Brown dress store and I order the dress and then I have like the biggest glass of wine because I just threw this hundred pound weight off of my chest. I literally feel like chief at the end of one floor of the kukuznast when he takes the concrete sink and like lugs it through the window and then just like runs and I was like that's how free I felt. So at the end of my wedding night I'm so happy. I'm so drunk. I'm in my Charlie Brown dress. I've had the best time I actually bought like a $25 cheapo dress to dance in and I

Change into it and I take Charlie Brown dress and I throw it on the ground and I don't even think about it It's like whatever and I don't think about it till the next day when I see that my wedding planner has very carefully put it back in the Garb and bag that I brought it in and zipped it. And that bag is now at the back of my closet in my house. And I've only peaked at it once. And my husband, Mike, says I should get a professionally cleaned because it's very dirty. And the hem is black and there's a lot of wine all over it. But I don't think I'm going to get it cleaned

because it actually means more to me in this disheveled, wriggled off state. And it's sort of like that translucent wrinkled skin that a snake sheds off once it's been outgrown. Thank you guys so much. That was Jesse Klein, Emmy and Peabody Award-winning writer and comic. Okay, I know what you're thinking. You want to see the dress. I did too. Turns out a wedding website featured Jesse's wedding. They called it a chic, fall, Brooklyn

winery wedding. You can get the link on our radio extras page. But in case you're driving in your car right now, keep your eyes on the road. I'm just going to tell you she looks absolutely beautiful. And you can check it out when you get home at themoth.org. When we return two stories, one about a man who travels to Malawi and hears voices that change him forever, and another about the haunting memory of a Guatemalan hot dog stand. The more 3D hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX.

I'm Jennifer Hickson. This next story is from Al Letson. When most people travel, they spend time in places of great beauty, visit historic landmarks, natural wonders. When Al traveled, he found something sacred where most people would never think to look or listen. Here's Al-Letson, live in St. Louis, Missouri. So, I get an email one day with this amazing opportunity. See, this organization is looking for a playwright. And they are taking this playwright to Malawi, which at the time I didn't even know where

Malawi was, but I did a quick Google search. And it turns out that Malawi is a small country in Africa, kind of on the east side, but not on the coast. And in this email, they were looking for a playwright with these specific qualities, and I felt like I was perfectly fit for this one. First of all, they were looking for a playwright who had some journalistic chops, and I thought, check.

Secondly, a lot of the people in this play were going to be people of faith, and so I thought, hey, my dad is a Baptist preacher. I grew up in the church, and I still kind of go to church every now and then. I mean, I'm a little church-ish, you know? Check. Three, it was going to Africa. I'm a little church-ish, you know? Check. Three, it was going to Africa. I'm black! Check!

So I'm thinking this is perfect for me, so, you know, I fill out the information, I send it in, I send some samples and all that stuff, and literally six weeks later, I am on a plane to Malawi. Now, when I get to the airport, it's the first time that I meet the collaborators. There's Bob Schop, who is the creator, and has this big idea

about this story, and director Pam Berlin. And so we're going to Malawi to tell the story of Malawi's transition from dictator to democracy. Now, getting on the plane with these two people that I didn't really know, I was a little bit worried. I travel a lot and sometimes you get bad travel partners and that's not good, but Bob and Pam were amazing. I fell in love with them, we just became family.

And the whole ride over there, I'm thinking to myself that you know, like, all right, so I'm not gonna buy into that whole narrative of a black man coming home to Africa You know, I just it's just so corny and played out now listen. I have every single Erica by do album ever recorded I Love all of that stuff, but I just thought you know I'm just I'm just not gonna buy into that. I'm going to treat the Malawi in the same way I treat people

when I go to London or Barcelona. Like they're just people in high, different culture. It's gonna be good. And I'm glad that I thought that way, because when we got to Malawi, the Malawians treated me just like the white people I was with. No big deal. I don't know deep down inside secretly.

I was expecting a welcome home brother prayed, but that didn't happen. But you know, look, it was fine. So we're there and we're researching and we're learning about Malawi and we're learning about this dictator. And this dictator did what dictators do, bad things. He killed people.

He locked people up in prison for no reason. And as the writer, I told everybody I really need to see what a Malawi in prison looks like because I've seen American prisons, but I don't know what a Malawi in one looks like. And so I want to wrap my head around that. And so we went to this prison called the Makuyu prison, and the Makuyu prison was the worst of all the prisons during the reign of Kumuzubanda. And so we get into the prison and we're in this little vestibute type room and it's really dark. And while we're in there, we're talking to the warden and to the guards and they're like,

you cannot take any pictures. But I'm a radio guy, right? So I've got my audio equipment. And they say that it's fine. You can take your audio equipment. And I'm really excited because I am here to document all this. And I've got my radio equipment. And I am prepared.

Because before I went on this trip in America, I'd been doing some reporting and I'd gone into a prison. And I had learned how to do the prison thing as a reporter. And it's really simple, you just go into the prison, you puff your chest up and you do this, um, don't fuck with me. Tell me your story. Don't fuck with me. Tell me your story.

Don't fuck with me. Tell me your story. So, I am in that vest of you and I'm just getting ready. Just getting ready and then they open the doors up and it leads to the yard and the light just pours in and it is so bright that I can't see anything except these figures begin to walk towards the door and I can see them and it's just these black shadows and after a couple minutes, my eyes begin to adjust. And I look out.

And they're all black boys between the ages of maybe 14 and 20. And it just broke my heart. And I thought, what is it that is as a crime in this world to be a young black boy? And I mentor some kids back home in Jacksonville, Florida, and I'm looking at these boys, and I'm seeing their face. I'm looking at them, and I'm seeing my children's face,

and my heart is just ruined. But I think to myself, you've got a job to do, go out there and do it. So I take a deep breath, I grab my microphone and I walk into that prison. And once we get inside there, there's a deacon with a church who works with the boys there and he says that the boys have this choir and they never get a chance to sing for anybody. And would we mind if they sung for us? And I thought, oh, yes, I mean, I got my record. Yes, let's do it. And so we walk around the corner into this other room.

Now, this prison doesn't look like any American prison. The floors are sort of like a red clay material, as are the walls. The area that we're in has a corrugated steel roof, but you can still see puddles of water on the floor. There's a little bit of human feces in the corners. The boys are dressed in dirty white tank tops and shorts. Some have flip flops, some don't have any shoes on. And they lined up and there's about 25 to 30 boys

in front of me. And the boy facing me, opens his mouth and begins to sing. And it is the clearest note. And it hits me. And then suddenly all the boys behind him join in. Now, the whole time that we've been in Malawi, all the singing that we've heard has been call and response. And that's exactly what this is.

The boy sings at the beginning and then everybody joins in. And as they sung, the song hit me like a wall of sound. And I could feel it hitting my nose, going through my face and coming out through the back. And it just surrounded me. And on that first song, I was being a very much a reporter, just holding my microphone and trying to take it all in. But by the time the second song came around,

I found myself rocking with the boys. And in the third song, I was in the middle of all the boys, I'm dancing, I'm singing words, I don't even know what the hell I'm saying. And I'm rocking with it, and my hands go down, and in the midst of that, I can feel my heart coming back together. So I'm dancing, and I'm looking at these boys

and feeling the connection. That connection that I didn't think I'd ever have in Africa, it is happening right there with these boys right now, that these are like my children, we are one. And in that, I'm feeling my heart come back together, so I go to move my hands to my chest. And as I go to move, I feel resistance. The first thing that came to my mind was, am I underwater?

Because that's what it felt like, the way you move underwater. There's resistance there. Of course, I'm not underwater, but it felt like it. And then, all that Southern Baptist preaching that my father'd given me over the years, hit me like a ton of bricks. And I thought, I am in the presence of God. And I just wanted to fall on my knees, because I didn't feel worthy of it. But I'm working, and I'm with these boys,

and I can't fall on my knees. So I just stayed there and let that feeling envelop me, just like the song, and and started to get these feelings. I think it is so arrogant for me to say that I heard the voice of God, but you know how you have an emotion and you pair that with a word. So you feel good inside and that's happiness.

You feel upset and that's sad. Well, I felt these feelings and they became words and it was just it is well. That even in this shitty little jail, it is well. And I got this. And the boys finished singing and I held on to that feeling in my heart and afterwards the boys came up and I talked to them, I tried to give them words of encouragement. And we got in the land rover and headed back to the hotel.

And while we were driving, Bob, Pam and the driver, they all wanted to talk about this thing. They were being very intellectual about what had just happened. And I just, I couldn't do it. I could not deal with that. So I just put my headphones on. And as we were driving, it just hit me full speed. And I could just feel myself getting bigger and bigger

with all these emotions. And I felt like I was about to pop. And I don't know what Pam saw, but she grabbed my hand and squeezed it. And the tears just flowed out of my eyes. I must have cried the entire ride. It was about 40 minutes. And we got back to the hotel.

And I had one last interview to do. This was the big one coming up. And so I collected myself. I knew that I had to empty my recorder because I just, you know, done a lot of recording in the jail. Now, when I walked in the jail, I had 10 files on the recorder.

When I walked out of the jail, I had 14 files on the recorder. When I went to my room to download all the sound, I had 10 files on the recorder. When I went to my room to download all the sound, I had 10 files on the recorder. The 10 file was corrupted, and it messed everything up after that. I felt like a complete failure because I came all the way to Malawi to document this. And I felt.

So I had to go downstairs and talk to Bob and Pam and I told them that I didn't have it. And I cried and Pam grabbed my hand and she said, it's okay, it's all right. We were never supposed to have that audio. Because if we did, we would just be looking for the moment when God appeared, and we would never find it, it would never be there. It's got to live in our hearts, in our minds.

We have to hold on to it there. I finished up the next interview and the day or two later I hopped on a plane and I went home. It took a while, but a year later I finished that play. Pam was right. I didn't need a recording. I hold that memory in my heart and go back to it all the time when I needed. And you know when I was in Malawi, I thought that when I came back to America, to America, I was going to go to church that I was going to like, you know, be the kid that my dad always wanted me to be. Well, oh, maybe I'd be a preacher.

I don't know. Like, I felt like I was going to change. And when I got back to America, I drove by a church. And I couldn't even look at it. I couldn't comprehend it. And I can't talk to anybody in my family about it. They just won't understand. But I haven't talk to anybody in my family about it. They just won't understand. But I haven't been the church since.

Because I feel like my entire life growing up, I had been handed this glass of water. And when I was in Malawi, I swam in the ocean. And no glass will ever be good enough again. Thank you. That was Al Lutzon. He's a writer, poet, and a playwright. He's also host of the public radio program Reveal and the podcast, Airfang. I hope I'm saying that right now. It sounds so cool when you say it, Airfang.

As you heard, we don't have a recording of the boys from the McCulley Prison, but here's a bit of the traditional call and response, Aka Pelising, and you can hear in Malawi. Al recorded these women at a little church outside of Zamba about a week before his recorder count down. Our next story takes place in Guatemala, but was told that one of our open-miced story slams in Houston, Texas. The theme that night was scars, and Marco Huertes, who came to the United States as a Fulbright scholar, chose to talk about the kind of scar you feel,

but can't see. Here's Marco, live in Houston, Texas. was raised in lower middle class family. My dad was an accountant, my mom stayed at home, but she always found ways of making money, cooking or sewing or doing something like that. So they always provided for us. But we didn't have extra money for things that we wanted to buy, like allowance or something like that. So they encouraged us to find ways of getting money.

You can wash a car, get at the grocery store, or something like that. So the way I did it was I was very good in math, and so I became like a tutor for kids, so I helped them with their algebra and stuff like that. And that's how I made money. But of course, the money that I made was just for me. I didn't have to really use that money to help support

my family or anything like that. So around that time, a lot of the gas stations, very close to where I was living in Guatemala, were changing. And they started selling more American food. They had nachos with cheese, and they had these sodas and chips and all that stuff. And as a teenager, you know, in the third world country, you say, oh, American food, you know, I have to try that, you know.

And of course, I had some money to do it. So one day, I saw that there was this gas station where they were selling these huge hot dogs, which I really like. And so I said, okay, I'm going to go and buy one. So I went and I didn't get one, of course, right? I got two. And they were huge, right? Big bun, sausage, chili, you know, the works, everything in there. And so I went, came out of the store with, you know, one hotdog in one hand, the other one I started eating one. And as I was walking on the street away from the gas station,

I saw this man coming towards me, and he was walking with a kid. He was perhaps 10, 11 years old. And as they approached, and they went past by me, the kid looked at me, and of course, he looked at the hot dogs. And of course, from the way they were dressed, I quickly picked up that they were, you know,

poverty-stricken family, they were poor. And most likely, the kid was working with his dad. So he might be like his assistant or something like that. So the kid looked at me and said, wow, this is, this are great, where did you get them? And I said, oh, you can get them at the gas station. So he looked at his dad and like, can we get one? And of course, and I just turned, you know,

and look at the dad and the dad had this face, right? Like, you know, we cannot afford something like that. So at that point, I cannot sure he would that I heard the voice in my head. And, you know, something like, come on, man, you know, you have two, right? You just need one. You don't need two. One is enough. Give one to the kid. And well, you know, I didn't do it. I

just turned around and kept walking. But I can tell you that really there's something, you know, broke inside me, because that second half didn't taste as good as the first one. And I remember very clearly that I walked that street for maybe the next couple of days up and down, at about the same time, just hoping to find the kid again, just making sure that I had another chance to do something that I knew I didn't do. But of course, you know, didn't have. And I realized that, you know, this was one of those, you know, random opportunities

that you have in life's gifts to assert yourself as a decent human being. And I clearly miss that opportunity that day. And it has haunted me the rest of my life. Thank you. That was Marco Quirfus. He's a PhD in physics. Marco came to the Moth Story Slam because he wanted to challenge himself to do something difficult. Speak in public. A very common fear. He wrote me, When I looked at the theme scars, the story I told came easily.

I don't know how long I had suppressed this memory, but it came back to me. I was writing my bike back from work, thinking about this event, and I cried almost all the way. I thought, this is really something that has marked me. I'm glad I didn't cry on stage, but I was trembling. These days, Marco Huertus is a research scientist studying computational neuroscience at the University of Texas Health Center. In his spare time, he volunteers at three different nonprofits.

He told me, clearly, I'm trying to not let that boy go by again without doing something. In a moment, a dancer who grew up in a small town where everyone knew her, moves to the big city. music The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson. Our final story is from Mary Archbold. She performed this story as part of a Moth community showcase. Here's Mary Archbold, live at the Moth in New York City. So when I auditioned for the dance program

at the University of Michigan, I quickly realized that one of these things is not like the other. All the girls there were perfect, long, lean, hair and a perfect bun, no flyaways, and their eye was in a brightly colored leotard, tan tides, and a ponytail with my curly phrase going everywhere. And then they all did their audition pieces, which were meaningful pieces of modern dance. And then I did my audition piece, which was a jazz routine to Huey Lewis in the news, hip to beat square. And when I finished my piece, the director of the program looked at me and said, wow,

we've never had one like you before. And I quickly realized, wow, he's talking about my arm. You see, I'm an amputee. I'm a congenital amputee, so it's always been this way. And I have worn a prosthetic since I was about three months old, except for a short stint in high school when I had an injury. And I sort of lived in this bubble that everyone knew about it, and didn't seem to judge me for it. I was just merry to them. And to have someone point this out to me so blatantly, I realized that's how the world sees me,

not as normal, as something different. And it freaked me out. So that summer I told my mother, I wanted to go back to wearing prosthetics before I started to go to school with 20,000 of my new friends. And she agreed, and 20,000 dollars later, I had a lovely arm that I went to school with. And then I started college to determine to appear normal and no one would know. There was a problem right up at the bat.

I had roommates. And you live with them. And you might not know, but you cannot wear a prosthetic 24 hours a day. It's terrible for your skin. Your skin will actually break down and bleed. So my way of hiding it was at the end of the night, I would get into bed, pull my covers up really tight, and take off my arm underneath the covers. And the first thing I did in the morning was put it back on and then get out of bed. Gracefully, I'm sure. And I succeeded.

I appeared normal. And then eventually I was getting married. And I was looking for the most important part of your wedding, the dress. And I found the dress. And I knew it was the dress because my mother started to cry when she saw me in it. And there was only one problem with the dress, and I knew it was the dress because my mother started to cry when she saw me in it. And there was only one problem with the dress.

It was strapless. And that meant that my arm would be showing. And on my wedding day, I wouldn't appear normal. And so my mother had these wonderful long gloves made, and they covered my arm beautifully. But somehow on the morning of my wedding, decided I'm not going to wear them. I'm just going to go as me. And there I stood at the back of the church about to go to my wedding and I pulled my veil

over my arm. And then I moved to New York and I'm a professional actor. And yeah. And then I moved to New York and I'm a professional actor and Yeah, and so I'm performing and I'm working with a wonderful company that's called an integrated company where they have able-bodied End-disabled actors performing together and Everything was going great and I did a wonderful new piece by Neil the but and the New York Times came to review it And they said it was wonderful and they pointed me out and they said it was only unfortunate that it was performed by an able-bodied actress. This was my coup de gras.

The New York Times said I was able-bodied. So it doesn't get better. I have arrived. And then just at that moment, I got the biggest challenge to appearing normal. I became a mother. Yeah, so luckily when you're pregnant, which is 10 months, not nine, just for clarification, think, you have a long time to think about how you want to deal with your prosthesis and your children, because you worry, not just about yourself, about what will they face? How will they explain it?

What will they think of it? Will they see me not as normal? And I decided before I had my son, I wasn't going to let him see me not normal. And I decided before I had my son I wasn't going to let him see me not normal. So I was going to take care of my son with my prosthesis on. So when he came home I was working with my arm and taking care of an infant and I realized as I'm feeding him his head is resting on my prosthesis, which is metal. And I realize I'm changing his diaper, and a squirming baby is moving, so I place my arm

across his chest to try to hold it down, and I'm resting two and a half pounds on a five pound ten ounce baby to keep him in place. And I'm thinking, well, I will appear normal, so it's fine, it's fine. And then I got my biggest challenge yet. I had to bathe them. Preceses just so you know, can't get wet.

Ever, bed, metal, water, not good. So after about 10 days of my son being home, my mother said to me, you must bathe your child, he's filthy. So I set it all up. God in the sink, got the little leaning board for him to be on, the towel, the soap, the washcloth, the secondary towel in case there's spillage. I'm all set up and I realize I am freaking out. I do not know how I'm going to do this.

So as I turn on the water and place my son into the sink, this is a new experience for him and me. And I am trying desperately to do this all with one arm. So I take my prosthesis behind my back and I start trying to wash him and put the soap on the washcloth and rub him down. And he's starting to slide down this deeper into the sink. And I feel like I can't pick him back up

because my hands now slippery, and I'm trying to lift him up. And he starts crying and the one person he looks to, for trust, the one heartbeat he heard for 10 months is crying too. I was freaking out. I didn't know how to take care of my son because my arm was in the way. and took care of my son. And in that moment, I was me with him and it was one of the most beautiful connections I've ever dreamed of of being a mother. And things since then have been great. He's three. And for the most part, I don't wear my arm in front of my son. So much so that if I put it he goes into the world, there will be questions and there will be times that he will have questions.

And I know he'll look at other mothers and see things that I can't do. I can't play paddy cake. I can't hold him with my fingers and lift them up into the air. And I know someday, you'll look at those mothers that can do that and say, wow, I've never seen one like that before. Thank you. That was Mary Archbow. She's an actress, dancer, wife, and mother of two.

To see a picture of Mary with her husband and kids, go to themoth.org. We'll also link to her website where you can watch her short film, Jazz Hand. I asked Mary about that New York Times article. Did she ever write to correct them? She answered very simply, no way. If any of the stories today are conjuring up your story, please pitch us at 877-799-Moth or online at themoth.org. We love hearing from you. We listen to every single pitch and you just might get a follow-up call, work with

the Moth Director and end up here. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. Music Music Your host this hour was Jennifer Hickson. Jennifer also directed the stories in the show, along with Larry Rosen. The rest of the most directorial staff includes Katherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jones and Meg Bulls, production support from Whitney Jones. Most stories are

true, is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers, while the vans are recorded by Argos studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from The Transatlantics, and Carla Kielsted and Dan Rathbund. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Malth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the

National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. and Caffin T. McArthur Foundation committed to building a more just, verdant, and peaceful world. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. you