It’d begin with me waking up to my alarm. Some catchy tune would be playing in the non-diegetic world, probably a song by Ingrid Michelson or Regina Spektor. My life would currently be spiraling downwards; I just got out of a serious relationship, or lost my job, or lost a loved one, or, in dramatic Hollywood fashion, all three. My room reflects the stability of my life: cluttered, untidy, a mess.
And that’s where you come in.
I’d be on my way to the subway, late for a new job interview or something. I’d weave my way through a crowd of people and accidently bump in to you, sending your bag of groceries flying everywhere.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I’d exclaim.
“Oh geez. No, don’t worry about it.” You’d say with your million-dollar smile.
We’d both kneel down at the same time to pick up your produce, causing our heads to collide against each other.
“Oh my goodness, we are just absolute disasters today, aren’t we?” You’d say with a chuckle.
“You’re telling me! I just recently got out of a serious relationship, or lost my job, or lost a loved one, or all three!”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you say with a tone so convincing I’m certain your concern is genuine. “I’m sure things will get better.”
“It already has,” I’d reply.
The audience will then let out an, “Awwww.”
Probably.
I’d then spend the rest of my days with a little hop to my step. I’d be prancing around the streets and participate in good deeds: donate money to the homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, help someone replace a flat tire, and assist an old lady cross the street.
I’d be confident. Invincible. Happy.
I’d then meet up with my obnoxious best friend who looks like he was pulled straight out of Spike TV, a character whose sole purpose is comic relief. I’d explain to him how I “met someone” the other day and he’d add crude remarks like,
“Awww yeeeah, you hit that?”
or
“She got a nice badonkadonk?”
or
“Tough luck bud, if she’s half as good looking as you described then I probably already banged her!”
The audience will then laugh.
Probably.
A montage sequence will occur of us going on various dates: walks on the beach, candle lit dinners, horse back riding, stuff like that. Pages will start flying off the calendar and seasons will change, signifying the growth of our new found relationship.
And of course, when things appear to be close to perfect, a complication will arrive dressed in a black cloak to thwart everything we have: my ex-girlfriend realized her mistakes and wants me back, or I received an amazing job offer I cannot refuse, only its across the country, or my lost loved one starts to haunt my penis, or all three.
I’d sit there, lost and confused, stuck in a predicament I thought I’d never find myself in. Just when I thought I had lost everything, you came and fixed me. Just when I thought I was fixed, these complications come and break me.
A sharp pang stabs your heart. After everything we’ve been through, you cannot believe how easily I can be broken. You think I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I think I’m the biggest idiot in the world.
The audience thinks I’m the biggest idiot in the world.
Probably.
“I’ll make this decision easier for you…” are your last words as you slam the door behind you.
Then, after a few weeks of reuniting with my ex-girlfriend, or being at my new job, or chilling with my ghost-occupied penis, or all three, I finally realize: I’m not happy.
“Dude, you just need to sleep with another chick,” my obnoxious best friend would say. “Just move on to the next one. Who cares!”
“I care!” I say as I slam the table. And that’s where I contrive a plan. One final, grand gesture to win you back. Some sort of impossible combination of fireworks, shooting stars, daffodils, music, running in the rain, and Rob Schneider screaming “YOU CAN DO IT!”
I’d then run up to you, kiss you, and say, “I’m so sorry. I’ve been an absolute disaster without you.”
You’d smile and say, “I’m sure things will get better.”
“It already has,” I’d replied.
The audience will then let out an, “Awwww.”
Probably.
