What Do You Think Will Happen Next?

Well now then. Today I had my show - Macbeth - and Ben came to see. Nice of him. Anywho. The show went quite well, there were no mistakes at all, which was of course a good thing, and I pulled off my monolouge very well. However, here's my inner dialouge during the show. Because there comes a point where you've just done the show so many times that you don't actually need to think about what you're saying or doing. It just sort of happens.

During my trance scene:

Ely: Oooh, I wonder where everyone is in the audience. There's Ben! Let's wave!

Erika: We can't wave, you moron, we're in the middle of a show.

Ely: (Sheepish.) Oh. Ooh, look, it's our father hiding in the shrubbery!

Gabe: We are the knights who say ni! NI! Give me a shrubbery!

During my monolouge:

Ely: I hate this bit. It's so. . .nasty.

Erika: It's lovely, though! Don't you realize what they're talking about? Severed heads and people slashed in half!

Ben: What is that fuzz ball over there by the rock?

Jacob P. Baccorat: My question exactly!

Jenny Cashwell: And NOW for something COMPLETELY different.

You get the idea. As for who Jacob P. Baccorat and Jenny Cashwell are? They're Ben and I. Only not. It's sort of a long story. Well, the show went quite well, so we get offstage. I am photographed far too much in a kilt, then nearly kill myself by falling over a bench trying to get my necklace. What do you think happened next?

We drove home. What did you think? Anyway, so, me, Ben, Luke, a bunch of Luke's friends, and an inflatable moonbounce. This really can't turn out well.

It didn't, just in case you're wondering. I don't think anyone sustained any actual bodily harm, except for possibly me, who nearly had half her hair ripped out of her head. (That was why I poured a glass of water over my head.)

The best part of this is that, during the heat of the battle, Ben and I kept talking to each other. Example.

Ben: (Knocking over one boy.) So, anyway - hey, behind you!

Kat: (Spinning around to knock over another boy.) What?

Ben: Nothing. Oh, watch out for the -

Kat: (Falls into crevice formed by dying moonbounce.) GAK!

Ben: (Helping her up.) So you were saying. . .

And so it went. Finally, in the middle of the battle, one of Luke's friends declares, "I'm getting waters. Who wants one?"

Ben and Kat: (Look at each other. Exhibit various degrees of shrugging.)

Next came the arcade. Ah, the arcade. And minigolfing. Ah, minigolfing. And now the fun really begins. Well, it started - hang on, I've just got to write this down. One of the boys screennames is Killr Wombat. Spelled with no e. Which, is coincidentally, what the coach in PE calls me. And NOW the fun really begins. Well, it started with Ben and making various remarks of how uninteresting the arcade was. Then, finally, we went minigolfing with Isabel and Ella. This was obviously a bad idea on so many levels.

Ben was, as we all know, was born to work with small children. Okay, so the majority of you didn't know that. Fine. Question: Why is it that it's he that's good with small children, and not me, who is constantly surrounded by them? Why, I ask you? Why, why, why?

After a period in which minigolfing was profuse and continous, and in which there was at least one point in which one of us hit a ball (It's eleven forty two PM! Coincidence? I THINK NOT!) and it smacked into something, and completely dissapeared. (Then Ben found it.)

We arrived back at the table, glanced at each other, glanced at the table, glanced at each other, glanced at the table. . .I think at some point Ben eventually said, "We could set a really twisted montage of "Ticket to Ride" to this."

The table was covered, and I do mean COVERED, with tickets. Arcade tickets. This resulted in Luke buying an Icee machine, a few tons of Tootsie Rolls, and a penguin that his friends all insisted looked like Ben. For the record, the penguin didn't. Look like Ben, I mean. First of all, it was nowhere near as tall.

On the way back to the car, Ben and I had an entire conversation without actually having the conversation. An entire implied conversation. I don't want to write down the conversation, although I have a terrible fear that Ben thinks the conversation was something along the lines of, "Do you like cherryade?" "Yes, sure." I didn't think the conversation was about that, actually. Far from it.

Moving on!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . .or rather, on Kat's balcony. . .

Ben: You know, never expect to find me out here throwing rocks at your window so you'll come out.

(Thirty years later. The police are after Kat for reasons no one fully understands. It is necessary for Ben to speak with her in a matter of life, death, insanity, and a small slice of lemonade, but the computers aren't working, and telephone? I hate telephones. So. . .)

Ben: (Throwing rocks at window.) I lied! Come out here! I need to talk to you!

I don't know why I found this scene funny to write. While Ben actually did tell me not to expect to find him out there throwing rocks at my window (sensible Ben) the rest of the scene definitely is purely just me and my slightly twisted sense of humor. You know, I had the candle song from Rent stuck in my head the entire time we were out on the balcony?

Wait, hang on. . .I've skipped the bit with the tree. So, imagine Ben and I sitting in a tree. . .talking about what we think will happen next.

I give two tasks to my commentors. Firstly, you must decide what is going to happen next. In life in general. Second, finish the below sentence.

"It's at times like these, when I'm sitting in a tree. . ."

(Note: Ben did actually say that, however, here is what actually happened. . .

Ben: It's at times like these when I'm sitting in a tree, T-A-L-K-I-N-G. . .

Kat: What?!?

Ben: Talking. What did you think I said?)

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.