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She Told Her Parents I Got Her Pregnant (2019)

I was emotionally exhausted. I had just officially gotten over Faith. I didn't want to go through something like that again. I needed to focus on my future, and also to work on myself. With or without Faith, I had serious self-love/acceptance issues, and loving someone else is a thousand times harder when you can't love yourself.

So, basically, I was going to take a nice, long break from getting emotionally attached to people. I'd still have my guy friends and girl friends, but I kept my girl friends my girl friends, if you get what I'm saying. I started building walls. I started showing people only what they wanted to see, and only what I showed them. They only saw the funny, optimistic side of Judson. They only saw the wise-cracking actor who wants to make a film. I stopped showing them the bottom of the iceberg, and though it doesn't sound healthy or morally sound, let me tell you, it was nice. It worked. I was content with making other people laugh, and it brought me back to my roots. It brought me back to a familiar world - making people laugh or smile is something I'm good at, and honing this brought so much happiness to others that it started to rub off on me. Maybe this is what I need. Things were changing, and I could safely say that it might be for the better.

And then I met her.

See, let me remind you in case you don't know, or if this is your first story in this clusterstorm of hilariously embarrassing tragedies in my past, that I wear my heart on my sleeve. Once I start noticing someone I find attractive is showing an ounce of attention towards me, my heart has a seizure. I love the idea of being emotionally attached to someone else so different, yet so similar that two people balance each other, and .....

Well, you get the idea. I could go on, but essentially, I get my heart broken easily. That's why there's a considerable amount of stories and girls involved here and I'm only nineteen, so there's that. Now that we're all caught up on my biggest flaws, let's continue.

After Hairspray, I left SCT, and stopped looking elsewhere. Sure, my passion for acting did not lessen by any means, but I needed some time to gather myself. I needed to figure out my future, my car, and work. 

My sister, Annabeth, did not share this feeling. She didn't quite get the closure I got during Hairspray, and she wasn't too concerned for her near future. Instead, she hunted for nearby theaters that were putting on musicals she knew and liked, and searched relentlessly for a *new* second home.

Goldsboro.

She found new territory to conquer. 

After finally convincing Mom to drive her to rehearsals an hour away, she was excited to start anew. And so Mom came to me with a proposition. She wanted me to audition, too. I was quick to tell her no. I didn't want to waste time being an ensemble role an hour away when I could've used that time to learn to drive, to fund my schooling, to do anything else which would've gotten me more lasting results. Mom insisted I audition with Annabeth. "I'm going there anyways. You need to get back into it. I'll be disappointed if you don't go."

And, like every good son, I went.

We drove to the address we were given, but it wasn't a theater. It was a museum, Wayne County Museum. We walked in, and head piano keys clacking to the music of Oklahoma! upstairs. We followed the noise, and found a sea of folding chairs occupied by a sea of strangers. There was an upright piano on wheels to the left of the chairs with a small stage and a table in front of them (occupied by who we assumed to be the director and the assistant director). There was a number of people sitting behind the director on the edge of the stage who we found out was the set designer, costume manager, and stage managers.

There were easily 70+ people auditioning that day. People talked to their buddies. They hugged and shook hands, like they haven't seen them since last show. It was then I gathered that this is how local theatre works. I had that same thing at SCT. I'd show up and already see familiar faces and a smile would form. Almost instantly, and even on my bad days. This was the same thing, but I was the new guy this time. While waiting for my turn to embarrass myself in front of the pianist with my audition, a larger man spun around and faced me. I was writing one of these stories. He started with: