Part of the Show

000

Okay, I don't own the movie – I wish I did. It would probably keep me from doing things as crazy as this. Nor do I own Ginny, for that matter. Ginny is, in fact, her mother's problem, and in one or two short weeks she'll be her roommate's problem. I do own me, inasmuch as anybody can truly own himself or herself, but I guess I don't have to worry about being stolen to use in a fic, do I? Anyway, that's my roundabout way of saying I'm not worth suing, but please, don't plagiarize me.

And now, before this goes any further – although in my opinion I've let it go too far already – I would like to make the following excuses for this piece of . . . utter insanity.

Firstly, I was bored. It happens occasionally, and this time just happened to be . . . not a good time for it to happen, as I was feeling inspired. Secondly, I do owe Ginny a pirate story. I'm working on one, but I'm working on a lot of other things as well, so this seemed the easiest way out. Thirdly . . . well, I'm honestly enjoying myself. There. I said it. Stone me if you will, lynch me if you must, but I am, in my own bizarre little way, honestly enjoying writing this utterly insane fic. Whether or not you enjoy reading it . . . well, I guess that's your problem. If you do enjoy it, let me know, and once I get over my shock I'll love you forever, but if you don't, that's fine. Actually, it's downright understandable.

In any case, please- try, at least, to enjoy!

000

000

I honestly do not know what made me say yes. I really, really don't.

I should have said no. I know that now. But at the time . . . I couldn't see any reason to do so.

Now, of course, I can see lots of reasons- hindsight is always 20/20. I was cranky. I was tired. I had just gotten over a nasty bout of pneumonia, and had no desire to contract another. I had already seen it twice, had enjoyed it well enough and was fully prepared to buy it when it was released to DVD. I therefore had no reason to shell out another eight bucks to watch it on one of the local theatre's tiny big screens. But I didn't see it that way at the time. I never do. So when Ginny called me up, and asked if I wanted to go and see Pirates of the Caribbean for what would for me be the third time and for her the sixth, I didn't make excuses. I didn't even try to think of them. I just said yes.

As a result, we met up outside of the theatre, the pair of us evidently pretty much the only two people still interested in watching a show that had already been running for two weeks in town- a town that didn't normally get movies until after the other theatres had stopped showing them anyway.

We bought our tickets – eight dollars and forty-five cents – and our snacks – they put too much salt on the popcorn. They always do – found our seats in the empty theatre – dead center, of course – and settled back to watch the show.

In my own defense, I can only say that I had been running a day camp all summer long; had, as I've said, just been severely ill, and was still not feeling up to snuff. In short, I was bone tired, and the theatre seats are actually very, very comfortable.

In Ginny's defense, I can't say anything. That's up to her. She gives tours in an old museum and wears a funky hat that makes her look like a dairymaid, but I'd trade jobs with her in a second. Hers seems so much less taxing. But then, what do I know? Something must have worn her out, in any case, because as far as I know, she began nodding off at the same time I did.

Our heads drooped, rolled, and then fell back. As the mist rolled across the screen and the ship appeared in the midst of it, I felt my eyelids growing increasingly heavier. I thought the words as the actors spoke them in an absent-minded sort of way, and watched as Young Elizabeth became Less Young But Still Far From Anything Close to Aged Elizabeth in, literally, the blink of an eye.

The screen lightened, the Governor appeared, and the corset fiasco began as I felt myself nodding off. The sun rose high in the sky, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. I tried to fight it, I really did.

No way can I fall asleep, I thought. I paid thirteen ninety-five for this seat and these snacks, and I am getting my . . .

The thought somehow vanished for a second. Then it reappeared, and with renewed vigor I opened my eyes to the Commodore's commitment ceremony.

It was as familiar as always, of course. I could almost feel the sun beating down from above. I- wait a bloody second, I could feel the sun beating down from above. I could also smell the sea. I knew it was the sea because, having grown up next to it, I knew that the "salty tang of the sea air" is more of a romantic notion than anything else. That "salty tang" is really rotting fish and slimy algae, and I recognized both as I spun around, wide eyed, panning as the cameras would have done . . . had there been any cameras.

There were, however, none. Instead there was just me, slumped over in a scarcely existent shadow, with Ginny snoozing sweetly at my side. She looked so peaceful it was almost a shame to wake her, but I was feeling panicked, and I panic better when I have company, so I reached over and gave her a violent jerk.

"Wake up!" I yelped, and she obeyed with such alacrity I became almost grumpy. I wanted a reason to blame somebody, and if she was going to do what I told her to, I was going to be hard pressed to find a reason to blame her.

"I'm awake," she observed crossly. "You think I'd really fall asleep in the middle of- of-"

She broke off, blinking at her surroundings in vague astonishment.

"Eh . . . where'd you put the theatre?" she wanted to know. Then she looked around and added, for good measure, "Where'd you put North America?"

"Me? Don't put this off on me- you were the one who wanted to come see it again, remember?"

"Well, I sure didn't want to see this much of it!" she complained. "This is too weird! What is this, some sort of joint hallucination?"

I blinked, the thought having not yet occurred to me.

"Oh- oh, yeah, maybe. Maybe it was something in the gummies. I never do trust movie theatre candy. I mean, it's been sitting there for who knows how long. Can you say shelf life? Ick. But maybe we're just . . . dreaming, or something."

The thought was an oddly relaxing one.

"Good," Ginny sighed. "Then . . . well, we can go back to sleep, right?"

I hesitated.

"Maybe . . . yeah, maybe that would be best."

We exchanged glances, and Ginny shrugged.

"Well? You first."

I shook my head.

"Nuh-uh. You first."

She, too, shook her head.

"No. I don't want to."

"Well, neither do I. I want to look around."

Ginny nodded.

"Yeah. Me too. So . . . you want to stay for the ceremony?"

I looked over to where the Governor was beginning what promised to be a very long and involved speech about the general virtue of the soon-to-be-Commodore, and felt a yawn begin to build.

"Nope. I'll pass. I- um- actually, I wouldn't mind getting out of these." I pointed down at my shorts. "Dream or not, I feel a bit . . . conspicuous in them, you know?"

Ginny arched an eyebrow.

"And you think you'd be less conspicuous without them on?"

I glared.

"Without them," I clarified, "but with something else."

"Ahh," she nodded. "Sure. So- where do we go to take care of that?"

I tilted my head to think.

"Well, let's just for a second say we're having an . . . extremely detailed, vivid and authentic dream. In the eighteenth century, they didn't sell any clothes off the rack, so . . . we're going to either have to track down a seamstress and put in an order that would take longer than the whole movie to fill, or . . ." I swallowed, and fiddled with the hem of my tank top. It was yellow, and comfy, and pretty, but wholly inappropriate for our current setting. Ginny arched an eyebrow.

"Or what?" she prompted, and I dropped my eyes as I mumbled something about the wealth of opportunities afforded us by clotheslines. Ginny gave me a look of mock indignation intermingled with scarcely concealed delight.

"Are you suggesting that we steal?"

"No!" I covered my ears. "No, I wasn't, forget it, I never-"

Then I glared at her as she doubled over, laughing. "Look," I huffed, "just because I happen to usually have a problem with taking things that don't belong to me-"

"Not taking," she corrected me with such solemnity I began to wonder if this movie had been good for her, "borrowing. Borrowing without permission. But," her eyes danced, "with every intent to return."

Then she took hold of my hand.

"Come on. I bet we find some really nice clothes down near the blacksmith's shop."

And, as if her ulterior motive weren't as plain as the day that was fast turning into a scorcher, I allowed her to lead me through the throngs of people, away from the almost-Commodore's hideously dull ceremony and towards the trade section of town. That part of Port Royal where toiled and dwelt the man who had been the object of Ginny's obsession since almost the moment she first heard the name Orlando Bloom.

000

000

All right, I know, I know . . . crazy. I am. I've never made any pretensions to the contrary . . . I just sometimes wish I were a little less so. But in any case, it's been started, so . . . I guess I'll have to follow through. As if Ginny would let me do otherwise anyway . . .