Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  42

  Heather

  They arrived early. Having learned a lesson from the fall semester, the members of Made in Heaven this time occupied prime seats at the student screenings. This was not mere happenstance. Steve had vowed to compensate for his earlier fiasco. As the designated student manager of the theater, he was able to sneak the party down a locked stairwell. This clandestine maneuver was timed to coincide with the official opening of the lobby doors to avoid arousing suspicion. Once they were seated, it took less than five minutes for the remaining seats to fill.

  Grace, sitting next to Heather, texted.

  5:37 P.M. Grace: I hope you're ready this time ;-).

  5:38 P.M. Steve: Most def. I have 3 backup copies cached nearby. Intentional overkill.

  5:38 P.M. Grace: Can't wait.

  The screenings kicked off at 6:00 p.m. sharp. Following a brief set of opening remarks, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the audience.

  The first film was shot in grainy, high-contrast black and white. Derogatory Id opened with a young man waking to an alarm clock. The next shot consisted solely of an egg frying in a pan for a full minute. A trio of off-key horns played random notes on the soundtrack. Meanwhile, an unseen radio broadcast uttered an endless chain of numbers in a monotone voice. The egg shot was replaced by shots of a couch on a football field and a wedding dress on a flag pole. Hooded figures moved through a cemetery. The horn playing and number counting grew more frenetic, as the pace of edits intensified. A shadowy figure tossed a baby buggy down a wooden staircase before the image faded to black. The opening shot repeated, but this time the young man realized it was all a dream.

  The applause was polite as the filmmaker strode to the stage for the Q&A wearing a puffy, black, turtleneck sweater.

  "Were those vuvuzelas?" whispered Mindy to Grace, who shrugged in response.

  "What did we watch?" asked Sun-hee.

  "An art student splooging over the screen," responded Vanessa, provoking laughter from some seated nearby.

  Sun-hee requested an explanation. Vanessa imitated a guy fapping to orgasm. In response, Sun-hee slapped her on the arm teasingly. "You're awful."

  The audience's comments were complimentary, much to Heather's surprise. One male student, wearing the type of tweed jacket often found in lower-end second-hand stores, praised the filmmaker's courage for "not selling out," and "telling it like it is." A red-haired, goateed male in a Dia de los Muertos t-shirt suggested the addition of a honking cab horn would improve the soundtrack. Otherwise, he declared the film peerless and said it shined a much-needed light on the condition of man.

  Grace's jaw dropped at this comment. "Did we watch the same thing?" she asked rhetorically.

  "Will they all be like this?" inquired Heather.

  For a while, they were. Many films were instantly forgettable due to sheer ineptitude.

  "Filmmaking is harder than it looks," concluded June in Korean.

  The Inoculation of Turnip Boy was memorable for the wrong reasons. While it displayed quality production values, most of the film's running time consisted either of overtly bombastic main titles or interminably long end credits. This approach was an obvious ploy to make the production appear more substantial than it was. Its incoherent plot was highlighted by the interplay between a midget mime on a unicycle, and a clown weeping over a decapitated stuffed bunny. The dialog was asinine.

  "Next," whispered Grace as the lights brightened. The filmmaker pompously took to the stage wearing an oversize white pimp hat and a knit scarf, despite the theater being too warm for such attire. He answered more questions than any other student. While opinions were mixed, the criticisms were mild compared to what Heather felt was warranted. She learned, much to her surprise, that the dreary mess was intended as a comedy.

  Fortunately, a handful of other films made the experience worthwhile. "Legends of Pew Pew" was a genuinely funny, short mockumentary covering the fictional career of the last great "disco laser virtuosi." It was well-acted, tightly edited, cleverly conceived, and precisely long enough to tell a humorous, tongue-in-cheek story without overstaying its welcome. The crowd laughed at the plentiful jokes and enjoyed the abundant supply of musical hits from the 70s.

  "Finally," said Heather. Erin, at the far end of the row, gave a thumbs-up, and June applauded heartily. The twin brothers who had made the film shared humorous anecdotes about their production. Professors lavished much praise and offered supportive feedback.

  "I'm glad we don't have to follow that one," said Grace.

  What did follow was "Sapi," a showcase of time-lapse photography shot at night and set to a New Agey soundtrack. The film was ten minutes long, but it passed in a flash. Each shot was a minor marvel to behold. During its running time, the appreciative audience expressed their approval, as one spectacular shot followed another. The student who shot it, a skinny, nerdy male with sandy brown unkempt hair, fielded a series of technical questions. The professors suggested Sapi had strong awards potential.

  "Does Anybody Remember Laughter?" returned the proceedings to the mean. It consisted solely of one interminably long, 360-degree panning shot across an empty field. The soundtrack consisted of ambient noise of children at play despite no people appearing in the movie at all. The audience subsequently panned the filmmaker, an emo girl with pink hair, for what they called a lack of effort, amateurish photography, and incoherent theme. Heather felt many other films suffered from the same problems.

  "Figures they'd crap all over the female," she heard Vanessa tell Sun-hee.

  Finally, it was their turn. "Next, we have 'Feel the Heat' music video by Steven Shepard." Some groans were heard, but their objections were unclear. The seven group members grasped hands and held on tight as the lights dimmed.

  First, a black screen hushed the crowd, then the Made in Heaven logo emerged gleaming. Heather had sketched it on a napkin at Grace's house, and this was her first glimpse of its finished state. The logo faded away to a wing-fluttering sound. A beat more passed in darkness before the video opened on a brightly lit, wide-angle shot of the airplane hangar. There stood the seven of them, Heather, and her groupmates, in a glorious line.

  The formation filled the screen, stretching across an entire wall of the theater. They looked heroic posing before the five sleek jet aircraft arrayed in the background. During the whistling intro, the camera slowly inched closer. By the time the dance started, their visages towered over the heads of the audience members. Heather sat with her mouth open in wonder, hardly believing how awesome they looked on the immense screen.

  The video was a powerhouse. Everything came together just right. The at times thrashing guitars, incessant dance beat, the choreography, the cinematography, the editing, worked in harmony to produce an impressive result. She wouldn't have thought it possible a few weeks earlier.

  Steve had kept to his strategy of filming in wide shots to capture the scope of the choreography, but he also inserted close-ups to highlight specific visuals. Heather noted happily that each member was featured equitably. They looked tremendous in their outfits, especially Erin in her A-line princess dress, and Mindy with her prettified Harley Quinn-style hair. She was the complete picture of the consummate idol. June, too, proved her value right away. Exhibiting no nerves, she looked radiant in her first on-screen performance. Marielle's outfit perfectly complimented her slight shoulders and well-defined hips.

  And like that, it was over. As the MIH logo briefly reappeared at the end, Heather, for the first time ever, felt part of an actual girl group. The video was a genuine crowd-pleaser. As Steve walked buoyantly to the stage for the Q&A session, she heard a girl nearby whisper to her friend, "For the first time, I'm questioning my sexuality." The friend responded, "Remind me to go on a diet."

  The Q&A produced mixed reactions. Cinematography and editing were praised, but the lack of story was criticized. Disappointingly, nobody mentioned the music or dancing.

  A south Asian student spoke. "It looke
d professional," he said, "but there was no depth." Heather found his comment pointless.

  Steve politely responded as if anticipating this line of questioning. "It's a pop song. We wanted to brighten people's day."

  Well done.

  Then came the comment that loomed large in her mind. Heather couldn't identify the asker, who stood amongst a clutch of people in the far side aisle. "I'm not sure we need to see another male filmmaker objectifying women," she said.

  The opinion was followed by extensive murmuring, some claps of support, and more than one boo. Steve looked astonished and laughed nervously. He hesitated to formulate a response. "I… it's not—" He took a deep breath to calm himself. "You have the wrong idea."

  The audience filled the awkward silence with more murmuring. Heather felt terrible but knew it would have been inappropriate to intervene on his behalf. Steve was eventually able to gather his thoughts. As he spoke, some called for silence. "I helped develop the concept, but the music, choreography, design, and performances were all handled by women. They had specific ideas, and I helped express them." Steve looked frustrated. The applause was more robust after his comment.

  Several students raised their arms to be called on next, but the professors interjected before the Q&A could continue. Further discussion was encouraged at the post-screening reception.

  Made in Heaven huddled together in one corner of the open sound stage, excitedly sharing impressions of the video while sipping soft drinks from aluminum party cups. Heather remained silent, preferring to fume over the criticism. The speaker's remarks didn't seem to bother the others. What's wrong with them?

  "Good call, Ness, getting Danya to do the choreo," said Grace.

  "Told you, she's ace," said Vanessa.

  "That was us," said June, still in awe.

  "I sprained my neck looking from side to side," responded Erin.

  "We looked like giants," said Sun-hee.

  A young white male with thick black rim glasses and a porkpie hat approached. Introducing himself as Elvis, he stated, "Hey, I thought your video was fire."

  "Thanks," six of them said in unison.

  "Do you perform anywhere?"

  His question was met with a set of groans. "Rarely," answered Grace. "It's like pulling teeth to find gigs."

  "I hear ya. Do you have somewhere I can get updates?" Grace pulled him aside to share contact information.

  Sun-hee observed Heather's mood. "How come you aren't saying anything? Did you not like it?"

  "No, I did. Sorry, not feeling well."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I bet you she's mulling over that comment," said Mindy.

  "Forget her. She was rude," said Vanessa.

  "Why did she say that?" asked Heather. "Who are the victims supposed to be?"

  "Don't overthink it, Heather," advised Grace, who had since returned to the group. "She was uninformed and unfair."

  "Just because we prefer makeup and cute clothes doesn't make us less empowered. It's our choice." Her face was becoming flush. She fanned herself with a napkin.

  "Heather," Grace said, "you need to stop."

  But she kept talking, "I don't see what she expects us to —"

  "Heather. Enough."

  "— do, instead. I mean, when did feminism become a weapon with which to beat other women?"

  Mindy put an index finger to Heather's mouth, "Calm down."

  After taking a deep breath, she couldn't resist continuing, "I'm the one being calm. It's you who are all —"

  "Heather, I mean it. Forget it," said Grace.

  "It'll be okay," said Sun-hee as she put her hand on Heather's shoulder.

  "She sounded like a bitch anyway," said Vanessa.

  Steve later joined them, balancing a napkin full of cookies in one hand and a soda in the other.

  "Congratulations, Mr. Spielberg," said Grace.

  "God, I'm glad that's over," he said. "What a year."

  "We liked it," said Sun-hee.

  "You made us look good," added Erin.

  "We couldn't be prouder," said Mindy.

  Two females approached and introduced themselves as Mei-ling and Ya-wen from Taipei. "We liked the video," said Mei-ling.

  "Yeah, we stan boy groups mainly, especially TXT," said Ya-wen, "but that was a real bop. You should be proud."

  "Are you planning on doing more videos?" asked Mei-ling.

  "That's the goal," responded Grace, happy to change the subject. "The indie scene here doesn't quite know what to do with K-Pop, we're discovering."

  "I can imagine. Never thought I'd see a video like that here," said Mei-ling.

  "Hopefully, doors will open for us soon," said Mindy.

  "Or we'll open them ourselves," added Vanessa.

  "When Dalton told us about this project, we knew we had to come. Glad we did. Are you on streaming?" asked Ya-wen.

  After giving her the details and bidding them farewell, Grace declared, "We now have three fans."

  "Don't give up," Steve said. "The mainstream in this country might be sleeping on K-Pop because of its foreignness, but things are about to blow up, I have a sense. Once it does, you'll be ready."

  "What did you think about the screening?" asked Sun-hee.

  "I'm happy, for the most part," he responded. "The comments could have been more positive, though."

  "Oh, no," said Grace.

  "Oh, my God, yes!" exclaimed Heather, grabbing Steve's arm in excitement. "See, he agrees with me —"

  "Now you've gone and done it," said Vanessa.

  "— I was just saying —"

  "You've released the Kraken."

  * * *

  Heather cursed her printer. The ink cartridge was dry again. It always seemed to fail when she needed it most. The financial aid deadline had arrived. By procrastinating, Heather ensured the process was more cumbersome than necessary. She had one opportunity left. The plan was to submit the application before her Philosophy final. The office would be closed by the time exams let out. She had 15 minutes to print the document before heading to campus.

  The nearest office supply shop was two blocks away. While more expensive than the big box stores, it was no time to be picky. She snatched the old cartridge from the printer and dashed from the apartment in flip-flops. Moments later, a quick scan of the shelves told her the cartridge type she needed was out of stock.

  A long-faced employee was on the phone dealing with another customer. He held up a finger as if to say he'd be done soon. Heather's look of exasperation must've influenced him to take action. He motioned for the empty cartridge as he continued to answer the caller's questions.

  With little better to do than wait, Heather paced nervously near the front window. The L-shaped mini-mall, in which AVCO Office Systems was located, contained several small businesses. Three people emerged from a portfolio services office next door. A young woman in a business suit escorted the middle-aged clients to their car. Heather studied her face as they conversed. Could this be a preview of her life in five years, she wondered? Did that woman's face reveal any true feelings? Was she happy exploring the formative stages of her career, paying off debts, becoming an adult? Hard to say. As the couple bid farewell, the woman smiled, but that meant little on its own.

  "Miss, I have your cartridge." Fifty-five dollars poorer, and convinced that the ink cartridge racket was the biggest scam going, Heather rushed home to print her application and prepare for class.

  The Acura Integra rumbled to life. She let it warm for several minutes as a mother and child passed on the sidewalk. The girl, no older than six, wore a tutu and carried a pink microphone like the toy Heather had as a child. She remembered it being her favorite prop. It was a regular feature of her endless singing sessions in front of the mirror.

  That microphone had somehow survived Umma's purging of Heather's childhood belongings. She recalled finding it tucked away in a box shortly after that humiliating day she was banished from 37-G. Her mood had plunged to its lowest point
yet. For at least a week after returning home, she would wait until Appa left for work before daring to emerge from her locked bedroom. The thought of facing him directly knifed her heart. He kept quiet, probably at the behest of her mother, but his expression spoke volumes.

  During the drive to campus, Heather's thoughts were preoccupied with the insurmountable task she was setting for herself. How would it be possible to pay for and attend school while leaving time for music? The more she pondered it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Even if she could pull it off, the debt load she'd have afterward would force her to accept the first job that came along, even if it was ill-fitting.