Touch Screen: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  I was secretly excited when Tom suggested Jess join us and we take his boat out for a day on the lake; just the guys. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done something so casual. Dressed in my khaki shorts and a collared polo shirt, I felt overdressed when Tom came in the house wearing brightly colored flower-print swim shorts and a faded t-shirt with an old band name across it.

  “Gavin, my man!” Tom shook my hand and clapped me hard on the back. “Long time, no see, literally,” he laughed. Tom was always easy going and trying to stir up innocent trouble. When he’d married Karyn, it had permanently linked the Scott and Carter family, and I felt like Jess was my other brother, second to Ethan.

  Jess followed Tom into the house and I sensed an awkward tension between the two of us. He seemed so much older than me despite our being so close in age. He didn’t look older; he just had an air of being wiser.

  “Gavin. Nice to see you again,” he said as he shook my hand a little more formally than I would have expected. It struck me again that I was feeling out of place in this town I had grown up in; the same place I called home despite living in California.

  “Alrighty,” Tom clapped his hands. “Beer. Check. More beer. Check. And more beer. Check.” He picked up the cooler and headed back out the door toward the garage. He walked around the building to the dock leading out to his boat, which was an older speedboat. We all climbed in and Tom puttered backward for a bit until we were clear of the shallow water, then he jacked the throttle and off we went across the lake.

  It was hard to have a conversation with the roaring engine, but I didn’t mind. I was enjoying the swift wind in my wavy hair and the feel of the occasional cool spray of water as I soaked up the warm sun. I had sunshine all the time in California, but the Michigan sun seemed different. I felt more relaxed under this sun. More warmth. More comfort. More home.

  You couldn’t cruise the ocean like you could cruise a lake, and I reveled in the calmer waters. We sped past old landmarks and personal conquests that Tom pointed out. I felt like I was on a fast-track down memory lane as we began to share stories of late night escapades and daytime trouble we’d caused around these lakes. The only one missing on this memory trip was Ethan.

  My younger brother and I had been close growing up despite the four-year age difference. We were partners in crime against our parents, and I never realized until I was older we were partners in our passion to not inherit the farm. We have dreams too, Ethan argued, and it didn’t necessarily involve cherry trees. When we escaped at night past the creaking stair and through the squeaking screen door, we joked that we were Scott-free – a play on our last name - and we would try to hold our laughter until we reached the end of the lane.

  I was thinking of Ethan as we passed the old sandbar in the middle of the lake. Ethan was with me one night when I brought Britton out here to meet some of my friends on her day off. He liked her and told me later that night that all the guys were jealous of me with Britton, showing off her sexy body in a small red bikini. She was sexy without knowing it, and it made me even hornier that she was unaware of what she did to me. Apparently, it did the same thing to some of my friends.

  We pulled up to a bar on the lake in Acme, another small town, and ordered burgers to go from the dock. After the waitress brought the bag to the boat and Tom began to pull away, I did a double take at a girl sitting alone at an outside table, reading a book. She must have felt my gaze on her as we slowly pulled away from the dock and she looked up at me. Our eyes met and I instantly recognized that color. Only Britton had eyes that blue.

  She shielded her eyes like she had the other day on the beach in town and looked out at me. I was trying to balance standing backwards in the boat, watching her as she stared back at me. I raised a hand to wave, and for a moment I thought maybe she wasn’t looking at me after all. But as I lowered my hand, the hand that shielded her eyes raised upward to wave back at me. Even from the growing distance, I could see her confused face. Maybe she didn’t recognize me? Maybe she didn’t believe it was me, just like I couldn’t believe it was her at first on the beach? Tom picked up speed and sped further away from the dock, and I remained standing and staring until I couldn’t see her anymore.

  I felt overwhelmingly consumed by thoughts of Britton after years of not seeing her, and then seeing her twice in two days from a distance. I had to find out where she was or what she was doing, even if she was married with a child. Maybe she had more than one child? I didn’t know where to start and I didn’t have anyone to ask. My friends and family hardly knew her and I doubted they would remember her, but in my growing buzzed state, I felt it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  “So speaking of sexcapades in high school.” I raised an eyebrow at my brother-in-law who’d just admitted to making out with another girl the day before he went out with Karyn for the first time. “Do either of you remember that girl I dated several summers in a row during high school? She was medium height, blonde, blue eyed?”

  “That pretty much describes everyone you’ve dated,” Tom laughed. I internally agreed. All the girls I’d dated had similar appearances.

  “Well, this one was only here during the summer.”

  “Ah, summer girls,” Jess smiled as he took another swig of his beer. I remembered that despite Jess and Debbie’s long standing relationship, neither of them had been particularly faithful to each other. Jess had some experience with a few summer girls as well.

  “Well, this one was named Britton. Britton McKay.”

  “The one that worked at the book store in Traverse City?”

  I was shocked. How did Jess remember?

  “Is that the one? I saw her there a while back when I took Emily into town. She said she was in need of a bookstore.”

  “In need of a bookstore?” Tom laughed. “Not keeping her satisfied enough, she needs a book?”

  Jess just shook his head at his older brother. They didn’t really look like brothers unless you saw their faces. Then it was obvious they were related, but with Tom’s dark buzz cut and Jess’ longish sandy blond ponytail, they looked completely opposite. They were roughly the same height, like Ethan and I were, and their eyes were almost the same color, but Tom’s were full of laughter while Jess’ were more serious.

  “The bookstore? In Traverse City?” I was trying to remain calm, but I almost choked on the beer I was trying to swallow.

  “Pretty sure it was her. She looked almost exactly the same, except maybe a little older.”

  I was thoughtful for a moment.

  “Hey, was that the pretty one from down state? Had the old uncle she stayed with up here? Didn’t she spend the night at our house once?” Tom was babbling, but again I was surprised at their memory. Britton did spend the night at their house on the night of the fireworks.

  “That would be the one.” I swallowed hard as I replied.

  Jess was watching me and I had an eerie feeling he was onto me.

  “How’s Zoe? Isn’t that her name? Heiress to a financial dynasty to the stars or something?” Jess had a habit of grinding his jaw when he was thinking or concentrating or angry. I ruled out the last two, so I knew Jess was processing.

  “She’s not an heiress, and she’s fine. Rich and beautiful as ever.” I stared off into the horizon of green trees and summer homes.

  “But?” Jess asked.

  “But nothing. She’s perfect.” I was defensive and I wasn’t sure why.

  “If that’s what you say,” Jess brought up an old saying of ours from high school.

  “That’s what I say.” I smiled falsely as I looked out at the horizon again. Off in that direction, Britton is sitting. Alone.

  Take 6

  Under the Moonlight

  Zoe Steinmann was anything but perfect, and I was reminded of that when I finally listened to my phone messages as I fell onto the hotel bed after midnight. I’d had too much to drink and should have stayed at Karyn’s. I didn’t want to impose, though, and she hardly had room for me. I didn’t
want to sleep on her couch. I hadn’t done something like that in years, and I felt above it.

  So as I fell on the bed, face first, surprising myself that I made it back to the hotel at all, and cursing myself for driving in such a shaky condition, I listened to a screaming Zoe through the phone.

  “Where the hell are you? I’ve tried calling your cell and your room, and there’s been no answer all day.” Just when I thought she might actually miss me, the message continued and I realized it had nothing to do with me.

  “Paris called and she wants us to go to a party at her house on Saturday. You said you’re done on Thursday night. Come home early so we can go together. It’s in Carmel. I can’t go without you. She said it’s for couples only.” Her voice was rising in hysteria, and she was practically screeching by the time she finished. I could make the safe assumption that she was on something as the message picked up in pace with her frantic plea.

  It was too late to call her back, although it was later in Michigan than in California. I simply texted her: Can’t make the party. Wedding, remember? I knew I’d have to re-explain the additional week and the wedding, and it was too much information to type in a text. Plus, I was slightly angry that she hadn’t remembered that Thursday was actually my big night and I was staying for an old friend’s wedding.

  I turned my head as I pushed the phone onto the side table. I hadn’t closed the curtains to my balcony and I saw a bright yellow moon shining over the lake. The disc was glowing like a patch in the night and reflected in a bright stream off the inky black water of the lake below. I stared at the moon and another memory flooded my mind like a movie on replay.

  Scene: The Walk

  She was fourteen; I was sixteen.

  Britton and I had newly met and we were walking down the center of her uncle’s dark street when I pointed out the moon.

  “I’m going to go there one day,” I said.

  “The moon?” she looked at me in astonishment.

  “No, the sky.” I held my hands to frame the moon between them.

  “You want to be a pilot?”

  “I want to be a star.”

  “Oh,” she squinted up at it for a long moment. I wasn’t sure if she understood my metaphor, but then she spoke.

  “You want to be famous.” It was a statement and she smiled at me. I felt that smile wash over my whole body. We hadn’t touched yet and when she looked back up at the moon, I slipped my hand around her back. She didn’t move away and I pressed firmer. She leaned into me at that moment and I felt a zing spread through my body.

  * * *

  I’d looked at moons on many nights over the years, wondering if she was looking at them, too. I felt that if we both looked at the same sky, at the same time, it was like we were connected despite the distance between us. It became an underlying theme within my current movie, Under the Moonlight. Tonight, I wondered the same thing. If I was looking at this moon, and she was in town looking at it as well, could she feel my connection to her? Could she feel me thinking of her? Could she feel that I still wanted her?

  Take 7

  Under the Moonlight

  I woke with a powerful headache and a desperate need for coffee. I had tickets for several shows throughout the day before the open discussion panel in the late afternoon. Film students and avid cinema lovers were invited to attend conversations about film history, modern production, and the movie industry in general. Enthusiasts were then invited to attend a cocktail hour following the panel. Many moviegoers had tickets for shows either before or after this event, and it was one of several offered during the week-long festival.

  I took a shuttle from my hotel into town, knowing that parking would be difficult. Local merchants were offering sidewalk sales and restaurants were crowded with diners awaiting movie showings. The weather was warm again, which I hadn’t noticed the day before on the lake. I was lightly sun-tanned from California, but I had a fresh burn from my day on the boat. It felt good and healthy, despite the headache. As I walked down the main street of Traverse City, I saw a coffee sign hanging off a store ahead and I made that my target.

  When I reached my destination, I realized the coffee shop was inside the bookstore. My heart leapt a little at the prospect of seeing Britton inside, but I couldn’t remember if Jess said she worked there or he saw her there. I knew it would be a moment made only in the movies if I bumped into her inside. It was too unlikely.

  I pulled the door to enter the store and walked directly to the coffee counter. Reading through the variety of offerings, I was focused on the long list of choices when I walked into a woman standing up from one of the small tables. Thankfully her coffee mug was empty as she stood with the cup in hand and pushed back slightly while we collided. I did a double take at the blonde-haired woman in front of me, but it wasn’t Britton.

  I shook my head and had to laugh at myself. I needed a coffee and a strong dose of reality. I reached the counter and ordered a tall black eye, which was coffee with a shot of espresso. Sipping the coveted drink before the barista could hand me a lid, I immediately sighed, knowing relief for my headache was on its way. As I turned to exit the coffee bar through the bookstore, I saw her. For real, this time.

  She was standing between two shelves, reading through the titles. She was concentrating as she read, and another memory of her reading on her uncle’s porch and me lying with my head in her lap flashed through my mind. I froze for a moment with the coffee raised halfway to my lips then I lowered it back down and secured the lid to seal the top.

  I approached her cautiously. I didn’t know what exactly to say once I got past hello.

  “Britton?”

  She looked up immediately and squinted at me. It took her face a moment to recognize me, but once she did her eyes looked…panicked. She blinked once and the expression passed before she smiled sweetly.

  “Gavin Scott.” There was no question in her voice. She knew it was me.

  We stood awkwardly for a moment. Her questioning eyes searched my brown ones, and in return, I gazed into eyes blue as the lake, thirsting for the refreshment only she could bring.

  Someone had to speak first.

  “Are you visiting your uncle?” I asked. Britton dropped her eyes for a moment before she offered a sad smile.

  “No. No, he passed away several years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  We were silent for another minute.

  “Come home for a visit?” She countered, sounding a bit overly cheerful.

  “No, I’m here for the festival. My movie is featured on Thursday. Under the Moonlight?”

  She smiled again. “I’m sorry, I haven’t heard of it. But that’s exciting.” Her voice still sounded off.

  “Are you attending any of the movies?”

  “Only the one on Friday night in the park.”

  I nodded my head even though I had no idea what movie she was referencing. I didn’t have the schedule memorized. I’d only highlighted what I wanted to view.

  “So are you staying in town?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  The conversation seemed to come to an awkward stand still. I had no words, and yet hundreds of things that I wanted to say and ask.

  “Did you find the book, Britton?” A tall man with green eyes and sandy blond hair approached her. Britton looked startled for a moment and she looked from me to the slightly older man.

  I was waiting for an introduction. It was obvious the man knew Britton and I thought she might give an explanation. I waited another minute before reaching out my hand to shake.

  “Gavin Scott.”

  The other man looked at my extended hand then faced me quizzically before extending his own.

  “Christopher Beckman.” His handshake was firm, I noted, and we released one another’s grasp quickly.

  “I’ll take this to the counter,” Britton spoke to the man. She turned to me.

  “It was nice to see you again. Enjoy the festival, and goo
d luck with your movie.” It was a blatant dismissal.

  The gentleman had already rounded the bookshelf and Britton took two steps to the end before she turned back to look at me.

  “I always knew you’d be a star,” she said softly, and she gifted me with a half-smile before disappearing from my sight behind the book display.

  I walked down to the State Theatre for my first movie viewing. It was only an eighty-minute show about two girls in Detroit’s public school system. It was gritty and raw with details about teenage single-motherhood, and the storyline reminded me of how I wanted to do more with my filmmaking. I wanted something that would be powerful and meaningful. I wanted something with a message.

  Unfortunately, my mind kept drifting during the movie and the director talk that followed. Although I had questions to ask the young lady who made this film, my mind couldn’t stay focused as I thought of the awkward exchange between Britton and myself earlier. I had more questions for her.

  Who was that man? Husband? Boyfriend? Her left hand was turned away from me and I couldn’t get a glimpse of whether she had a ring on or not. She said she wasn’t staying in town and she wasn’t visiting her uncle, so what was she doing here? And her final words rang in my ears: I always knew you’d be a star.

  She’d recalled the very conversation we’d had when I’d told her about my filmmaking desire. I had received my first camcorder from my grandparents when I was twelve and even though the item was outdated, I loved to play around with it. When I was older, I purchased my own smart phone and began making short movies with the limited capabilities of the phone. Eventually, I purchased a good used video camera during high school and Jess fixed it up for me. I used that camera to film high school football games, cheerleading performances, and the school play. I also made spontaneous films of students in the hall, friends on the lake, and people on the streets. I played baseball, and when the choice came between either a baseball scholarship or an academic film scholarship to UCLA, I took the academic scholarship to California. I loved filmmaking and saw that path as more long-term than baseball.