People (some of whom read this blog) complain that they never get to read my stuff. This is because most of my writing exists in a continuous state of rough draft, and with the exception of my grandmother, I have a hard time sharing those drafts with anyone outside of SLC. But I have this tiny little scene that was the inspiration for one of my working drafts that no longer works in the story that sprang from it. I must cut it. But I love the scene, which is derived from a true incident from my high school days (I am not any of the speaking characters in the scene, just so you know) so I thought I'd publish it here, since it won't make it into any other publication. So ....

"I love you," whispered John. "You’re talented, beautiful. Please don’t jump off."

The chorus girls, still in their sequined costumes from the last production number, looked up at him. The kids in Stagecraft, not noted for their advanced mathematics skills, had under weighted the base of the piece where John was currently perched. Should the girls, brought in as last minute human weights, decide to abandon the platform, well ... They were in full control of the situation and relishing it.

"I dunno girls," said Kristen. She was the only senior in the chorus line and leader by default. She also wasn’t overly fond of John, who had once compared her singing voice to a cat with a smoking habit. "Should we take a vote? All those in favor of heading back to the dressing room ..."

"Please! I’m sorry! I’m soooo sorry!" John begged. There were still a few minutes before his cue, at which he would descend the ladder on the shaky set piece, appearing -- thanks to a hole in the dropcloth just in front of him -- to descend into a New York City sewer. But because of that hole, he had to be on top of the ladder before the scene began, and suffer through a three minute dance sequence, and the torture of six high school chorus girls who would willingly leave him at the mercy of gravity if making him beg got old.

Terry decided it was time to intervene. Not that it didn’t serve the little shit right, but the dance number onstage was concluding and that meant John’s cue would be forthcoming. "Shhhh, gang, keep it down, OK?"

"Sorry, Ms. Hope," whispered a few girls. John heard his cue and began to head down the ladder with a relieved sigh. When he was safely onstage, Terry motioned to the girls, who strode in gawky dignity towards the door to the dressing rooms. Terry chuckled as she retreated to the cue board in the downstage wing. Two weeks previous, John, her Sky Masterson in Wayne High’s production of Guys and Dolls, had got in a pissing contest with Marine Kendall, the choir teacher and music director for the production, over whether his tenor voice could handle the low note at the end of the intro to "Luck Be A Lady." When Marine insisted he sing the note an octave higher, John stormed out of practice, announcing he quit. Terry would have been happy not to take the egomaniac back, but with only two weeks before curtain and a lack of suitable replacements, she swallowed her pride for the sake of the production. If the Hot Box Dancers -- normally beneath John’s attention in their non-speaking roles -- wanted to make him sweat a little, she wouldn’t interfere until actual bodily harm was imminent.