The Deadpan Voice of Reason

Dearest Rachel –

Another early morning, another weird dream. And, as a consequence, another hour or so of dictating to Siri before it fades out completely.

This one didn’t involve anyone I know except me, but it did literally involve a complete cast of characters. I couldn’t tell you, now that I’ve woken up, whether it was the Princess Bride or Shrek or some other such medieval fantasy/comedy converted from the silver screen to a theatrical play. I couldn’t even tell you if it had been converted to a musical, or if it stuck to the original script.

Actually, I suppose I could confirm that it did not stick to the the original script, as my character was not part of the original film, and did not belong. For whatever reason, I was cast as the princess’ – whoever she was – advisor, and as such served as the comic relief, stick-in-the-mud voice of reason. You know the type: the deadpan “Uh… Ma’am… I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” type of thing. I probably got in a few zingers about her impetuous nature, especially as towards the hero prince character, and might have developed a grudging respect toward said prince and his own retinue of comic relief sidekicks, but in all honesty, those details are already starting to elude me.

And why should I be too terribly concerned about the plot? It wasn’t as if, in such an odd and cobbled-on role, that I would have much effect on the main storyline, so why even take that into consideration?

All I can remember at this point is the finale, which ended with the predictable wedding of the prince and the princess, except a little further along in the story. Basically, this particular wedding would effectively be a shotgun wedding, except given the milieu, shotguns haven’t really been invented yet. What I’m saying is, I’m standing up at this wedding, supporting the bride… and holding her baby. This being theater, we were using a doll for the part (thankfully), but somehow the tech crew had planned one last punchline at the end. They loaded the doll up like a water pistol, with either lemonade, or maybe Mello Yello, and shortly after the “I do”s and the kiss (wouldn’t want to upstage either of those, understandably), had it go off over myself and whoever else in the cast was unfortunate enough to be standing within range.

Everyone stood stock still at that moment, because the tech crew had not informed us that this was going to happen. I’m guessing this was the final performance, otherwise a prank like this would’ve caused major trouble with the director and/or the producer. If nothing else, this stuff would be a pain to get out of our costumes, all sticky and what not.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, but probably was no longer than twenty or thirty seconds, I grimaced, licked my lips and uttered the only line I can remember: “Uh… Ma’am… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I do believe your child might be diabetic.”

Whether it was actually funny or not can be debated, but it clearly broke the tension, and allowed the curtain to come down with a laugh. And with the play over, consciousness returned to me, despite the early hour of the morning.

This is the kind of story you would get a kick out of hearing, back when you were having dreams and telling me about them almost every night – or would that be morning? You’d probably needle me about the fact that mine – for once – was more interesting than yours last night, although you usually could come up with something. I’m just sorry that I’m having so many more of them now that you’re gone, and I have no one to tell these to.

At least I know better than to try to attach any meaning to this one, aside from the fact that I’m still little more than a bit player in my own story. What else is new?

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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