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It’s been another long day at the Netflix offices. Plenty of new releases are slated for the coming weeks, and this little team tasked with creating ideas for eye-catching promos has been working hard for months. They are just about idea’d out, and yet they still have that feeling, that out there somewhere, there’s that one most amazing idea that could turn everything upside down. That could not only potentially sky-rocket their careers, but also might actually touch viewers, help them make connections and feel represented and maybe even move their souls a bit. That’s the point of art, right? And who ever said art can’t be binged from a streaming service??
The problem is that even with this idealistic flame still burning deep inside, the staff are fucking exhausted. Things are starting to make no sense. Rachel is slumped forwards in her chair, seemingly oblivious that it is slowly rolling backwards and soon she will be bodily dragged away from the table, yet she is still attempting to type. Her words appear on the screen up on the far wall as she slides slowly away: “really important idea—the night bus should take bananas as payment. You never know what the banana will be like on the inside.” Hannah is actually sitting on the table, peering inside the half-empty pizza box for all the world like a research scientist sitting out in a hide somewhere observing wildlife. She is muttering something about triangles. John is messing with his phone and seems more lucid at first glance, but if one could see over his shoulder, one would realize that he is engaged in a feverish debate on discord regarding the correct spacing of ellipses. The debate has merit as a whole, but his weary brain is not contributing anything remotely logical and the other posters are growing tired of his claim that best practice is to place a stimming cat emoji between each dot.
And into this mess you step. You, lowly little intern (although mostly they’ve treated you well) toiling away at menial tasks for the past few months, not allowed to actually participate in the discussions but sent in to clean up afterwards. You enter the room and cast your gaze about, wondering if you’re meant to merely throw away paper plates and cutlery, or actually motivate these people to get up and go home. You’re hoping it’s not the second as they’re certain to be a handful.
In fact you’re made a bit nervous by the ruckus over in the corner, where Patrick and Alice are grappling over what looks like one of their phones and appear to be having a logical, albeit overly dramatic, argument. You inch a little closer to hear the details, but remain hiding behind your trolley of cleaning supplies just in case.
“I’m telling you, getting the viewer engaged like this would be huge!”
“Well I know that, but all I’m saying is, what about the physics of it?? I’m all about submerging them in our canon, but usually that’s meant metaphorically. Are you seriously claiming you’ve figured out a way to do it for real? With just this thing??”
Patrick scoffs as though this represents no significant challenge. “I mean look at Pleasantville ! They figured out a way to get a couple of regular teenagers actually inside the show, and it changed everyone’s life for the better! I just messed around with this controller the same way that old repair guy did. I mean, I’m partially guessing how he made it work, but I did get my hands on a copy of the script and I followed the techno-babble to a T.”
You and Alice both peer at him with your heads cocked to one side, but it soon dawns on you that you are processing this declaration in very different ways. You are thinking that he must be drunk or high or more sleep-deprived than you thought if he is seriously considering magically inserting a human being inside a tv show world. Alice on the other hand is apparently weighing up the relative quality of previous models. She speaks up before you can do or say anything.
“ Pleasantville ? Seriously?? That’s way too old and boring to entice anyone. Now Jumanji , now that’s what I’m talking about!”
“ Jumanji ?? How is that not old??”
“Not the old one, not the Robin Williams one [here both pause for a moment of silence], the new one with The Rock!” Patrick’s face is blank. “You know, dance fighting??” Alice whirls around gracefully and then plants a gentle kick in Patrick’s stomach, not hurting him at all but forcing him to stumble backwards a step or two until he finds himself sat down on a bench against the wall. The controller tumbles out of his hands and under the table.
You automatically kneel down and start crawling to fetch it, subconsciously assuming such a duty would fall to you alone and not hearing the gasps and shouts from Patrick and Alice. They both throw themselves to the floor to stop you, but your hands close around the device before they manage to reach you—and then suddenly you are absolutely and entirely out of reach.
And where are you, exactly? For a moment, it feels like you are inside a lightning bolt. There is energy and light and sudden, powerful movement. It doesn’t hurt, somehow? It’s not even scary?
Maybe that’s because when you next open your eyes, you feel suffused in a sense of joy tinged with excitement, horniness, and a dash of nerves.
Oh.
You’re in the presence of a couple of teenagers who are flirting so hard that the waves of pheromones are floating off of them and rudely slapping into the faces of the innocent bystanders.
Wait just a goddamn minute. Does this mean—are you stuck in the supply room with… is this? Nick and Charlie??
Oh god. You are. Nick has apparently just announced that he came out to his mum, Charlie has offered a congratulatory kiss and oh my god the absolute teenage giddiness of it all.
You’re starting to enjoy it just the tiniest bit (it’s pure unadulterated joy; who could resist?) when suddenly your perspective shifts and you’re standing before a kitchen sink full of soapy water and dishes. You hear voices at each ear but also somehow, you feel like you are floating amongst them, going back and forth, side to side. You are none of the speakers and yet you are all of them. You can see out from each of their perspectives; you can open your mouth and their words tumble out. You lift one hand to wash a plate and see it covered in freckles; you lift another to place a glass on the drying rack and see rings and painted nails. Wow. You are an everyman (gender neutral usage, of course).
You also feel words inside your head, more clearly than you usually would with your twisted, spirally inner monologue (oh good, what a relief that even your stuck-in-a-science-fiction-YA-novel self excels at self-criticism…/s) and you feel one overarching thing—the firm knowledge that a decision lies before you.
You must still be getting your bearings a bit and still getting used to this world (and some unseen clock apparently just ticked to its end) because things go a bit fuzzy and the scene shifts again, right out from under you, and you know instinctively that you didn’t make the decision in time. Whatever decision it was supposed to be. You feel a drop in your stomach and feel a lost opportunity. What were you meant to have done (or not done)? You search within yourself, but time moves so fast here, and as much as you are trying to pause and give yourself a minute to inspect the kitchen sink memories, it’s useless, because you have moved on and it is gone.
You’re now on a blanket in a peaceful backyard, the light in the sky approaching sunset. You almost think for a moment that you’re going to get a chance to rest and catch your breath, but then there’s that feeling again. You must make a decision. About something. But what?
This time determined to figure it out before you are whisked away, you concentrate hard on the details around you, willing your entire brain to pay attention. Ah! That’s it! The reality of it all filters in and to be honest, your tummy feels even funnier now. You’re facing your best friend across this slightly fuzzy, worn, comfy old blanket and—oh fuck—is there the chance you might kiss? This idea is very scary and very, very exciting at the same time.
But—and this seems to be a pattern—you wait too long, the spell is broken and the moment passes. And you kick yourself because they are just beautiful and it definitely felt like there could have been real chemistry there. But it doesn’t do to dwell on it, apparently, for abruptly the scene shifts again.
Now you are standing at a front door amidst your whole group of friends, clearly saying your goodbyes at the end of some event. Potentially the dish-washing-backyard-sitting one. You feel utter melancholy that the thing is ending. Seems like it was important to you.
Ooh, you’ve apparently realized something crucial; seem to have acquired some drive and energy from that knowledge. The decision before you, now looming clear, is whether or not to kiss the delectable lips of your boyfriend standing right in front of you, even though all your friends are right there.
Fuck it. You lean forward and there you go—locked lips. This is more like it.
*****
Well shit, they don’t let you soak in that decision-made-and-damn-it-was-a-good-one feeling too long, do they? Whoever they are. No time to think about that, though!
Your setting has changed again, which you’re getting used to. You weren’t expecting the giant EPISODE TWO marquee letters that flashed across your brain briefly, but they disappear quickly and the more pressing details swim into focus in front of you.
There’s a decision to be made again, no great shocker, but this one seems almost too easy. Your brain is adjusting to the culture shock of being a teenager again and the question before you of whether you should sneak out to meet your boyfriend even though you aren’t supposed to doesn’t slow you for even a minute. The solution is clear; dogs need to be walked, obviously.
You had hoped for a minute that getting faster at making decisions would have some lovely benefit, and you’d be able to enjoy some time at the park with your boyfriend. He is quite attractive, you know. But no, time waits for no one (there’s no “are you still watching?” failsafes here that preserve a decision in amber until you’re ready to make it…nobs) and you’re already at the next scene.
Now you’re standing in front of the school and the smiling face in front of you is that of a dear loved one, one you want to see experience only the best things in life. So. Do you protect her by telling her the shitty truth about her new boyfriend? Or do you protect her by not throwing painful words at her heart right before a long day whose schedule includes a huge, important test?
As always you’d like more time to decide, but suddenly your lips are moving and the harsh warning spills out and both of your countenances fall. Ugh, your heart. Please, you plead silently to the scene gods, can’t we move on from this one??
Someone has pity on you, it seems, because the setting whooshes away. But to your dismay it doesn’t seem that you’ve arrived at a happier moment. In fact as you take stock of your surroundings, you realize that right in front of you, there is a door closing between you and your beautiful boyfriend, and once again no one on either side is happy. You could be kissing, but instead you’re cutting off your time together? Why, exactly? Some decision has been made that it’s not safe to kiss right now, and your insides ache.
*****
You’re shaken up but relieved to see a flash of a giant EPISODE THREE in your mind’s eye and perk up, hoping against hope for some easier or more pleasant decision. And in fact there are friendly faces surrounding you; you can almost feel them attempting to push affirmation through the airwaves.
Ah, they’re your rugby mates! They have been by your side through so much! And they seem to want to bond with you now over something important!
But, as always, the decision lies with you. Do you open up, do you become vulnerable before them? You teeter on the precipice and want, so badly, to be brave.
Alas. The words “really good mates” dance around you, fill the air with a mocking vibe, and suddenly time has passed and the moment is lost. Your heart sinks even as the team and the field whirl away.
Before the visual details of the next scene even fit into place, you feel a great crackling spine of nerves running up and down the atmosphere. This is a crucial moment, you can just tell. As your vision clears you see it for what it is–you are standing once more before your absolutely stunningly beautiful best friend and apparently you have made the insane decision to try asking her on a date?? What is wrong with you? On what planet did you think you were at her level?
The decision seems obvious to you here and you open your mouth to make some excuse for why you’re looking at her all weird as you turn to run away…but before you can do that, your treacherous hands reach out and offer her a giant bouquet of colourful flowers. And some very different words explode from your mouth. You’ve found some confidence and hope somewhere and you did it, you asked her out, and holy shit she said yes?? and suddenly things are very, very good.
The scene shifts again and you are still riding a bit of an endorphin wave, to be honest, because did you see that incredible face that just agreed to go on a date with little ol’ you?? You can practically feel the hormones sloshing around inside your frame.
Your frame that you are now using to trudge down a wooded path in the dark?...ahhhh, got it. School bonfire. Could absolutely see some choice making out happening here. And that would totally work now that you’ve jumped characters once again and you’re here in the lovely gloom with your perfect boyfriend.
Are there annoying urges dancing in the back of your mind about maybe coming out of the closet to some friends tonight? Yeah, okay, yes, fine. Do you want with your whole heart to ignore them and just grab the face in front of you? Hell yes.
*****
Frankly, you’re getting completely into the groove. You are not overly unsettled anymore by all the whooshing about through time, space and personality. You are no longer scared by the concept of the hovering choice; it feels more and more like your very raison d’être. You’re even starting to notice patterns that help you process each experience: roughly three different scenes for each episode, numbers four, five and six rolling by with ease. And guess what the third decision in each of those episodes is?
If you guessed “something that teenage boys can’t keep their mind or bodies off of” then CONGRATS! Because the answer is: kissing. After having to truly put energy and attention into decisions about conflict between friends, potential breakups, tough conversations about feelings that literally no one wants to completely bare, even when we trust each other–you get to end each time with a lovely, often deliciously enjoyable kissing session. There are minor obstacles to overcome there as well (what do you do about a hickey the next day if you’re a bro who has no clue about makeup?) and not every kiss works itself out to an obvious ride off into the sunset (kissing in the Louvre: good; kissing a friend in the hotel hallway: might not be the one, but the attempting was safe; kissing the other teacher chaperone on the trip?? What were you thinking??: but, oh! Um…this might work?).
But, oh, the kissing. Whoever wrote this show you’re somehow stuck in was very into it. And you are absolutely not complaining.
So much so that episode seven is a bit of a surprise, negatively. You deal with difficult decisions at first, just like always. Do you forgive your douche bag ex-boyfriend who can’t even make a proper apology, but you feel bad for him because: homophobia? Do you come out to your dad even though he does not, in any universe, deserve to share in the joys of your life, but like, he’s your dad? What do you do when home just doesn’t feel safe, and as much as you might be tempted, you’re pretty sure you can’t just move fully into your girlfriend’s house?
So you do all those scenes, right? They’re tough! They feel like they’re getting tougher, even. And you’re so used to the pattern of each round ending with kissing, and so feeling like you deserve it, and then WHAT–there isn’t any? That seems very, very wrong.
*****
You storm into episode eight with a bit of apprehension but also a fiery determination to return to the kissing. You’ve almost forgotten you don’t live here; that these aren’t your live(s). You identify so much with the wondering and trying and growing, and the need and desire for community and partnership and peace and joy, and you’ve felt it all so clearly here. There is a tickle at the back of your mind that you’re actually from somewhere else, that there is a firmer, different reality out there waiting for you, but it feels muted for the moment. At least, you hope whatever you are learning here becomes a part of that other life, as soon as you can figure out how to do that.
Episode eight feels like the pinnacle of something. Like a tapestry is finally coming together after a million disparate threads were woven together from bits and pieces that you trusted would be beautiful but weren’t yet sure how. And here you are now, having the most crucial conversations, cementing the most important relationships, sharing the deepest corners of your heart and soul. You tell your boyfriend about starting a new school and kind of a new life that might feel far from him; you tell your girlfriend how scary things are at home; you tell your boyfriend that you have some things you struggle with that you’ve tried to hide from everyone, for a long time.
That last one is probably the hardest, and to be honest you’re not sure if you did it the right way; if you really shared all the details. You are totally devoted to him, but you didn’t realize how badly you still wanted to protect him from tough things, including parts of yourself that you don’t find beautiful or easy. And you give it a try, you really do, but you leave his house knowing that you didn’t lay everything on the table.
You don’t love that. You are most definitely on a knife’s edge again, weighing safety in lonely secrecy against potential safety in contained vulnerability. The step from one to the other feels pivotal, and so, so hard.
But suddenly something cuts through your brain fog and brings a thought that’s as clear as a bell. In the moment you decided to hold back, to not be as open as you possibly could–you know what happened? The kissing got cut short.
Well, fuck that noise. That happened too quickly, happened as a rude, incorrect side effect, happened without any intention on your part. How can you fix it? You don’t want to go back in the house, your boyfriend’s mum may not let you in this late at night and your own is definitely already freaking out about curfew waiting for you back at home. So maybe there is no more kissing to be had right this second. But how to make sure you are very clear with him that the cutting off was a mistake, and you for sure want more, no matter what?
Ohhh–you’ve just had an idea. Maybe your first truly original idea this entire time. You grab your phone and type out those three little words as quickly as you can–and then, paralysis.
You’re freaking kidding me. Another decision point? When sending this text, this particular one, was your idea in the first place, and such a good one? What could possibly stop you from sending it? From saying it?
You look back up at his window one more time, the light softly glowing through the curtains, and you can so easily imagine him moving around the room, grabbing pjs, rearranging the duvet for maximum comfort, turning off the overhead light. Soon he’ll be snuggled in bed and fast asleep. But will he dream of you? You have the chance to lock that in right now, with one tiny, huge text…
*****
“Ow! Jesus!”
What the hell just banged against your head and why? What does this have to do with love or kissing??
Oh. Nothing. It has nothing at all to do with those wonderful, incredible, amazing things that were oh so recently within your grasp and now–poof. Gone.
Sad face.
Your head hurts because you just sat up too fast, and hit it on the underside of a table. A giant conference room table. Under which you apparently fell asleep for several hours.
Oh shit!
What time is it? Have you missed the season 3 drop?
You scurry out from under the table, emerging into the now-completely-empty conference room. Your cleaning supplies and most of the rubbish are all still right there, abandoned by the slaphappy writers’ room staff and unlikely to biodegrade for millenia. Unfortunately, you don’t have time to worry about that right now. You have to get to a tv or a computer somewhere, stat .
You race out of the room and turn right towards the staff viewing room, which you’re 99% sure was planning to do a showing tonight. So it’s fine, you’re going to be fine. In fact you’ve just reached the seating area, found an empty spot, and slid in just in time. Episode 1 is starting!
And as you settle in, in your pocket you feel your phone buzz and your heart leaps at what the message might say…