Would I! “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll arrange for you to put it on in the main auditorium.”
And suddenly I remembered Natalie’s excitement about Bea Factor’s prediction. Sidney is going to be world-famous.
I was filled with excitement. This was the beginning. When the class heard the news, everyone wanted to be cast in the play. I decided that not only would I produce it and direct it, but I would also star in it. I had never directed before, of course, but I knew exactly what I wanted.
I began casting. I was allowed to rehearse after school in the huge auditorium and soon my play was the talk of the school. I was given all the props I asked for: couches, chairs, tables, a telephone . . .
It was one of the happiest times of my life. I knew without question that this was the beginning of a wonderful career. If I could write a successful play at my age, there was no limit to how far I could go. I would have plays on Broadway with my name in lights.
I held a final dress rehearsal with my classmates who had been cast by me, and the rehearsal went perfectly.
I went to my teacher. “I’m ready,” I said. “When would you like me to put the play on?”
She was beaming at me. “Why don’t we do it tomorrow?”
I got no sleep that night. I felt that my whole future depended on the success of the play. Lying in bed, I went over it scene by scene, looking for flaws. I could find none. The dialogue was excellent, the plot moved swiftly, and the play had an unexpected twist at the end. Everyone was going to love it.
The next morning, when I arrived at school, my teacher had a surprise for me.
“I’ve arranged to have all the English classes dismissed so that they can come down to the auditorium to see your play.”
I could not believe it. This was going to be a far bigger triumph than I had imagined.
At ten o’clock in the morning, the huge auditorium was filled. Not only were all the students in the English classes there, but the principal and teachers who had heard about my play were present, eager to see the work of the child prodigy.
In the midst of all this excitement, I was calm. Very calm. It seemed only natural that this was happening to me at such an early age. You’re going to be world-famous.
It was show time. The conversations in the auditorium began to die down and the theater became hushed. The set consisted of a simple living room where a boy and girl were playing a husband and wife whose friend had been murdered. They were seated next to each other on a sofa.
I was playing the detective investigating the murder. I stood in the wings, ready to make my entrance. My cue was the boy on stage looking at his watch and saying, “The inspector should be here soon.” But instead of “soon,” he started to say “any minute,” and he caught himself and tried to change “minute” to “soon.” What came out was, “The inspector should be here any minsoon.” He quickly corrected himself, but it was too late. Minsoon? That was the funniest sound I had ever heard. It was so funny, I had to laugh. And I could not stop. The more I thought about it, the louder I laughed.
The boy and girl on the stage were staring at me in the wings, waiting for me to make my entrance. I could not move because I was laughing too hard. I was helpless. The laughing took over completely and I became more and more hysterical.
The play had come to a standstill before it started.
After what seemed an eternity, from the auditorium I heard my teacher’s voice calling, “Sidney, come out here.”
I forced myself to leave the shelter of the wings and stumble out to the center of the stage. My teacher was in the middle of the auditorium, on her feet, listening to my frenzied outburst. “Stop it,” she commanded.