of our problems and whatever else. It’s stuff that should make me excited actually—because this is why my parents sent me. Because this is why I came.
But the thing is, there’s a part of me that’s scared. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to grow, or change, or let anyone help me get through this stupid problem. Because sometimes it feels like it’s everything I have. Or everything I even am. And sometimes, like the nights before shows and the moments after eating something I know I really shouldn’t have and when I’m counting my ribs as I’m lying in bed, I can’t think of who I’d be without it.
Here is the exposition:
FADE IN:
EXT. CAMP UGUNDUZI MAIN GROUNDS—DAY
A field of grass.
The sun is shining. The air is warm. There is no noise other than the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the occasional crack of branches from the forest in the distance. All is calm. All is beautiful. All is perfect. Well, except—
PAN to reveal the UGUNDUZI 1L BLOCK: five unhappy campers standing in a circle and looking like they’re facing certain death. One of them, lanky with brown hair and green eyes, grimaces.
BEN (V.O.)
Yeah, so that’s me.
This isn’t as weird as it seems.
Think about watching a movie. Think about the feeling you get when you’re actually in the theater, watching stuff happen on-screen. You’re invested, right? You want to know what happens. You like the characters, or you hate them, or you want them to hook up, or you want one of them to kill the other, or you want everyone to kill everyone else because they’re all imbeciles (I call this last one the Michael Bay effect). The point is, you care about them as if they’re real humans. You react emotionally to the things they do as if they’re real humans. But at the same time, you know, in your mind, that they’re not actually real humans. You know that in half an hour, or an hour, or two hours, or way too many hours (Michael Bay effect again here), the lights are going to come back on, and the universe you’ve just been lost in for however long is going to disappear, and all of the people you just rooted for or cheered against or lusted after are going to vaporize, too. And so, while you care, there’s always a part of you that’s holding back. And sometimes, that part of you is strong enough to drown out everything else you’re feeling in a sea of indifference.
That’s what moments like this feel like. People always say that dissociation is when things don’t feel “real,” and I used to say that, too. But then I realized—that’s not true. I know that I’m standing outside in the middle of a state park in upstate New York, and that I’m with four other people, and that we’re all furiously avoiding eye contact with each other while waiting for the adults to start talking and tell us what to do, and that I would do anything to disappear and be somewhere else right now. Life doesn’t get much realer than that.
What it does feel like is that, at any moment, the lights will come on and the credits will play and I’ll be put out of my troubled, awkward, unavoidably real misery. Sure, I’m so panicked that I can barely breathe right now, but just wait until the act-two turn! And yeah, I’m positive that everyone can already tell how terrified and pathetic I am, but I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out in the closing pages of act three. Whatever mortifying thing I’m about to do or say, however much I feel like I’d rather be alone in a hole in the ground than have to talk to everyone standing here and make a total idiot of myself, even if it’s so bad that I feel like I can never justify getting out of bed again—none of it matters, not really. The girl glowering at the grass will exist to the left; the boy to my right will disappear offscreen. It’ll all be okay. Because that’s just how movies are.
* * *
Here is the rising action:
I’ve barely had a moment to look around the circle at the other campers before one of the counselors steps forward, a shit-eating grin splitting his face. JOSH (fifties), as his nametag reads, looks like what would happen if Zach Galifianakis and Seth Rogen had a love child, and then that love child was raised in an Amish family that didn’t believe in things like haircuts, and hygiene, and shaving. Bearded, potbellied, decked out in a T-shirt and sunglasses too small for his face, Josh’s presence is enough to halt the panic threatening to suffocate me—if only because it’s been replaced by a wave of disbelief.
JOSH
(booming, still grinning)
So, there’s this blind man, right? And he walks into a bar. And then a table. And then a chair.
* * *
Josh beams at us like he’s just told the funniest joke in the world. No one laughs. Not even JESSIE (forties), the other counselor holding our group’s sign, cracks a smile.
JOSH
Okay okay okay okay. Let me try another one. My friend Sal once told me that time flies like an arrow. I told him, I don’t know about that, Sal, but I do know that fruit flies like a banana.
* * *
The ASIAN GIRL standing next to me shifts uncomfortably. She’s pretty but looks TERRIFIED to be here. Entire body tensed. Fists clenched. Eyes squeezed shut.
BEN (V.O.)
Let’s just say that I can relate.
* * *
A DARK-HAIRED BOY standing directly across the circle from me blows his bangs out of his eyes and squints at Josh like he’s an apparition. He’s unhealthily thin—gaunt, in fact—but the long hair, bad posture, and black clothes combine to give off an aura of DISAFFECTED COOLNESS.
BEN (V.O.)
Let’s just say that I cannot relate.
* * *
Josh, who apparently has materialized straight out of a Coen Brothers film, continues to grin encouragingly at us.
BEN (V.O.)
The thing is, there are days when I would think that every single stupid joke that Josh is making right now is absolutely hilarious. Days when I’m the kind of person who thinks that every single thing period is hilarious. And I wish that today could be one of those days, if only to make this situation a little less unbearably awkward. But it’s not one of those days, and I’m not that kind of guy right now, so I guess all I have to be thankful for in this moment is that it’s not one of those other days—when it feels like the world is collapsing in on my chest no matter what I do or where I go, when no joke would get me to laugh no matter how funny it was.
JOSH
No? No? All right, I got one more for you guys. This one’s about pizza. Everyone loves pizza! But maybe I shouldn’t tell it. It’s pretty chees—
CAMPER
(over)
For Christ’s sake, Josh. Does that shit ever work?
* * *
Everyone
