Jennifer Yu - Four Weeks, Five People

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too small for his face, Josh’s presence is enough to halt the panic threatening to suffocate me—if only because it’s been replaced by a wave of disbelief.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 turns around to look at the ANGRY GIRL who’s just interrupted—including the two counselors.

JESSIE

Watch your language, Stella.

STELLA

Ugh, are you serious? What are we, in kindergarten?

JESSIE

No foul language. Camp rule #4. You should know that, Stella, we’ve been over this.

* * *

Stella looks like she wants to argue, but—

STELLA

All right, fine.

* * *

She turns back to Josh.

STELLA

Does that stuff ever work, Josh? Seriously, those jokes haven’t gotten funnier since you used the exact same ones last year.

JOSH

Ah, Stella. If only I could have your wit.

STELLA

Yeah? I’ll trade you for emotional health.

* * *

Josh seems legitimately unfazed. If anything, he looks thrilled that someone’s actually talking to him. Stella stares back evenly, clearly unimpressed by the compliment.

BEN (V.O.)

Having seen every camp movie made since 1950, including the entirety of Wet Hot American Summer, I feel fairly qualified to make the assessment that Stella is the girl that every guy here falls in love with by the end of camp. First off, she’s apparently already been at camp before, so she actually knows what’s going on. And second, she’s kind of a bitch, which, according to every rom-com ever made, is the number-one way to attract people with emotional problems and low self-esteem.

I resolve to spend as little time with her as possible.

JOSH

Well, anyway. All of this is just to say—WELCOME, friends! It is so, so good to see all of you. And on such a beautiful day, too—isn’t it? Nothing gets the positive energy flowing like fresh air filling your lungs on a beautiful day. Except maybe some good old-fashioned classic rock. The Doors, anyone? Jethro Tull?

* * *

Josh looks around the circle hopefully, but no one says anything. I start to feel like we’re being hazed. I mean, I’ve never actually been hazed, but I have seen Animal House, and I’m assuming that movie wasn’t added to the National Film Registry for nothing.

JOSH

Oh, well. Regardless, I could not be more excited to be beginning our journey together. I can only hope it will be as rewarding, as wondrous, as transformative, as my journey has been since starting at Camp Ugunduzi its first summer four years ago. Today, my spiritually embattled campers, we begin anew.

* * *

Josh beams and turns to face Jessie. I look around and am relieved to find that no one else appears to have any idea what he’s talking about, either.

JOSH

And now—Jessie? Would you care to bestow some of your wisdom upon our campers?

* * *

Jessie—short brown hair, glasses—ignores Josh’s wink and steps forward, smiling tightly. It’s the kind of smile that’s only one ill-advised statement away from becoming a frown. Jessie, it’s pretty obvious, is not going to start her opening remarks with a lineup of corny jokes.

JESSIE

Thank you, Josh. And thank you for your, ah, encouraging words.

* * *

She pauses for a minute. If Josh can sense any irony behind her words, his face doesn’t show it.

JESSIE

Like Josh, I am thrilled to welcome you to Camp Ugunduzi. I am confident that you will find the next weeks to be productive and supportive, and that when we part four weeks from today, we will all be better for our time here.

I encourage you to use Josh and myself as resources in whatever way you need. We are here to help. We are here to educate. We are here to be a support system. Please never feel afraid to use it.