Skip to main content

To Be Me

James Hemlock could not see the world through normal eyes. Everything to him was seen through the lens of a stage drama. When entering a grocery store, his head would tell him that he must enter through the doors stage right, find his vegetables with conviction and exit stage left. Any exchanges he had with the grocers or the checkers or the bagboys was instantly translated into a page of script in his head.

Bearing in mind that he would always appear much more eloquent in his head than in reality, a typical scene in a grocery store would look like this:

The curtain rises.

A grocery store.

Enter HEMLOCK, a successful stage actor and teacher, to buy his weekly allotment of food. He is dashing and walks with a disarming swagger. He’s blonde with a red beard and penetrating gray eyes.

After making his vegetable selections, he moves upstage to speak with the CHECK-OUT GIRL.

Hemlock: ‘Tis a wonderously beautiful day for shopping? ‘Tisn’t it?

Checker: ‘Tis Master Hemlock. ‘Tis.

Hemlock: ‘Tis indeed. And how have you been, Madame Grocer?

Checker: Better times have I seen, good sir, to be sure. If you could spare a farthing, life’s dull ache might be relieved for the price of booze to fill my gullet.

Hemlock: Indeed, poor girl…

Hemlock reaches into his wallet and hands the starving wino of a check-out girl a ten dollar bill.

Checker: Oh, but kind sir, your kindness is too much. I could not consent to a gift as much as this…

Hemlock. Never fear, poor girl. I’ve more where that came from. So, take it and I bid you good day. I shall return for more sweet-meats and greens as soon as my supplies have run dry.

Hemlock exits stage left.

Curtain closes.

This is just how he saw things. Sadly, he was neither rich nor a terribly talented actor. To be honest, he’d never even spoken to the check out girls, although there were times he wanted to. The only place he was comfortable was on stage and in his classroom.

Most of the time, the two were the same. James Hemlock was a high school drama teacher.

Those who can’t do, teach.

The rest if this short story can be read in the book God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut. It is available digitally and in print.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Salt Lake Comic Con 2017 Schedule

It's time for another year of Salt Lake Comic Con and another hectic schedule for me. But! that doesn't mean it's not a helluva lot of fun. I hope you're able to join me at any of these panels. Especially if you like Star Wars. And please, please, please come to my signing and visit. Get some books signed. I'd love that enormously. Here is my Thursday schedule: Everything here is a highlight. That first panel about behind the scenes of the prequels is with Pablo Hidalgo and I'll be asking him questions about what it was like to be there on set for most of the prequels. Then I'll be asking questions of Michael Biehn, who I've been a fan of since I was a little kid. Aliens and Terminator were favorites. If you want to ask him a question, please hit me up on Twitter with it. I will ask it at the panel. And you don't want to miss Fauxthentic History's Infinity Gauntlet live episode. It's going to be soooo good. Here is Friday: ...

The Missed Opportunities of Days Gone By

“Hello?” I said into the phone, accepting the call from a number I didn’t recognize. “Hey,” the feminine voice on the other replied, as though I should know the sound of her voice. At a loss, I said, “Can I help you?” “It’s Brooke.” Her name stopped me. It couldn’t possibly be her. We hadn’t spoken in years, a decade perhaps. “Brooke?” “Yeah, Brooke Baker. This is Mark, right?” Jesus Christ. It was her. “Yeah, it is Mark. Brooke. Wow. How are you? It’s been a long time since… well… since anything.” “I know.” “So, how are you doing?” “Okay, I suppose…” Her voice belied her words, though. Something was up. “I… It’s just been so long and I guess I wanted to hear your voice.” “I don’t think I had a number for you. Ever. I offered a couple of times, but…” “I was a brat back then.” And that’s how a random phone call turned into a two-and-a-half hour catch-up session. We spoke of everything under the sun: people we still knew, how different we were, h...

Anatomy of a Scene: The Third Man

It's time again to break down a classic scene. One that's well-written and, in my view, a fine example of excellent craft. I've done some of these articles from books (like The End of the Affair   and Starship Troopers ) and other movies (like Citizen Kane , City Lights , Raiders of the Lost Ark , and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ), but now it's time to take a look at a scene from The Third Man . It blends the best of Orson Welles (as he's in the film and drives this scene) and Graham Greene, who wrote this particular screenplay. Before we get to the scene, we need some context. The Third Man is a tale of the black market in Vienna, just after World War II. It's about a cheap, dime-store Western novelist named Holly Martins (played by Joseph Cotton) and his friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles.) Lime offered Martins a job in Vienna, so Martins leaves America and arrives, only to find that Harry Lime is dead. Penniless, without a friend or reason to be...