“Uh-huh.”
“How often will you come down?”
“I don’t know.”
We hear Mac’s voice inside the house. “I’ll give him my room.” Mom’s voice is muffled, so we can’t hear what she says—only Mac then responds, “So I’m not even going to see him anymore! When I see Dad, Carson’ll probably be here seeing you. I hate this!”
“It’s the meltdown,” I say, though Mac has appropriately expressed my pent-up emotions.
“Poor guy. I need to do more with him when we’re together.” Carson opens the tailgate of his truck with a creak. “But I don’t belong here. I mean, my truck uses more gas in a week than some of these cars use in a month.”
“You could get a hybrid.” I’m only half joking.
“There aren’t many electrical plugs in the Trinity Alps. Though the new ethanol trucks might be an option.” He sits on the tailgate. In the back of his truck are some boxes, his sleeping bag, a fishing pole, tackle box, and a container full of camping supplies.
He doesn’t really fit down here, it’s true. And yet . . .
“There are tons of things for you to do,” I say. “People in Marin are really into the outdoors. They cycle everywhere, hike Mount Tamalpais, sea kayak, go on ecotours.”
“It’s yuppie adventures. I like going where I don’t see a soul for a whole day. Where there are thousands of acres separating me from civilization. Sometimes I can’t think with people pressing in.”
This is a lot for Carson to verbalize. He’s been thinking this over, I can tell.
“And besides,” he says, “Dad needs me.”
“Why does Dad need you?” This worries me. Dad needing Carson—is something wrong with him? Does he need me too?
“I can’t really explain it.”
“What about Mom?”
“She misses me, and I miss her. I miss her more than I ever expected. But Dad—it’s just different. Like he’s unhappy without us. It’s tiring in a way. You know, Dad got remarried fast for a reason.”
“What do you mean?”
I’m not getting this at all. It’s true Dad married only months after the divorce. We hated it, hated him sometimes, and hated them both for all the changes. And then Mom started telling us about Austin, and one night Carson and I planned to run away with Mac. Carson wanted to go to Alaska, and I wanted to go to New York or Paris. We got in a fight and went to our rooms instead.
“Men have a hard time being alone.”
“That’s what Mom said when Dad got married.”
“I guess for a lot of men, it’s true. Not me. I love being alone sometimes. But Tiffany works those twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, so I usually do something with him those nights. He’s pretty lonely when she’s working, and he’s not the same without his kids. It’s not really fair for Mom to get all of us.”
“It’s not really fair that they got a divorce.” I sit on the tailgate, and my feet dangle off the edge.
Carson shouldn’t have such responsibility, and yet the idea of Dad sitting at his house alone is pretty disturbing. I think about Dad’s friends and family up there. Why doesn’t he do things with them? Before I ask, we hear Mac crying from inside the house.
“I’m going with him!”
“Remember when Mac disappeared, and Mom and Dad thought he was kidnapped?”
We laugh at the memory, even though it wasn’t funny at the time. After about a half hour of searching and Mom calling 911, Carson carried in a sheepish Mac.
“For some reason, I just knew he was under my bed,” Carson says with a laugh. “Mac said he was scared he’d be in trouble for hiding, so he didn’t want to come out.”
“He’s always doing things we never would have done.”
“Yeah, remember when he almost got hit by that car?”
We get quiet at that memory. There’s no humor in it. We saw both Mom and Dad cry that day. And sometimes I find it terribly sad that two people could love each other so much, see a miracle occur with their child, and then eventually break up.
“He shouldn’t have lived through it.”
“Yeah,” Carson says solemnly.
“You know, just because they couldn’t stay together, we can’t . . .”
“Yeah, but what do we do?”
Weird how my brother understands what I’m saying. We’re so different, like so different. And yet some things can’t be understood by anyone else in the world.
“We’d better get in for dinner.” Carson hops off the tailgate.
“Yeah, the last supper.”
“Will the guilt ever end?”
“Sorry.”
And we both smile.
“Listen here, little sister, I’m just trying it out. I mean, the truth is, neither house is ideal. If I stay here, I don’t belong among the rich and ultra-educated.”
“And there?”
“Where is home now? Tell me. Is it here? Or is it back in the town we lived in all our lives? In another year I’ll get a house of my own or go to college, maybe even down here. I’m adaptable. It just takes me a little longer.”
A half hour later Carson and I finish eating a piece of Mom’s cheesecake. Mom rarely makes dessert, and I wonder if it’s an attempt to keep Carson longer. Mac and Austin are playing Legos in Mac’s room, so there’s no dramatic departure.
“So call and tell me you made it. There shouldn’t be much traffic. You know how to get to the San Rafael Bridge, right?”
Mom has that fake everything-is-okay tone in her voice, not wanting to make Carson feel guilty but unable to really succeed. I guess that’s what love is though. Someone always gets pain of one kind or another, even if that pain is the love itself.
All the terrible good-bye stuff, kisses, I love yous. Carson nods at me, and I give my unemotional good-bye. My heart feels frozen in my chest, and I know he doesn’t want any more displays of affection.
But when I hear his truck door slam, something in my heart drops. Then the roar of his engine, and I run for the door. He’s staring at the house, not pulling out yet.
I put up my hand as if to stop him, and he rolls down his window.
“Did I forget something?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. Why does it feel like he’s going off to war or leaving for a year in outer space instead of going back to Cottonwood? Maybe because life is changing around me so fast, and it feels I should just hang on tight and see where it takes me. “Tell Dad that I love him.”
“You tell him yourself. See you soon,” he calls and then backs out the driveway and is gone.
How long I stand there, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. My brother will be crossing the San Rafael Bridge now. My dad is probably happy that one of his children will be up there full-time. I don’t know where Mom went, but it certainly wasn’t to the movies like she said—Austin didn’t even go with her. And I’m standing outside in the cold late evening waiting for something to happen, to feel better, for life to miraculously be good, for God to come tell me it’s okay, for my brother to come back and say he’s only kidding.
I walk to the road and sit down, right there on the curb.
Time is passing around me. I don’t really hear the footsteps, and yet some part of my brain does hear because it isn’t a surprise to feel a presence beside me. I want to tell him to go away, that I need a moment alone. He’s been driving me crazy off and on all week, and I sort of want to tell him that too. But I’m too tired to say it. The words feel too heavy to form in my mouth. And it’s strangely nice having him silent beside me. If he talks though . . .
“Are you okay, Rubes?” Mac asks.
I don’t respond. If I do, I might say words I regret, and then the annoying, adorable little guy will be hurt. There’s enough hurt sitting here beside us on the curb, I decide.
“I understand,” he says with a nod in that funny adult voice he sometimes uses. It nearly makes me smile.
We sit together on the curb. A few cars pass, and then we see that
guy with the weird solar unicycle. Mac looks at me with a surprised expression that he must see reflected on my face. It makes us laugh for a moment, and the guy keeps going, silhouetted against the streetlamps, his shadow looking like a strange flamingo on wheels.
The silence comes again. The silence of night and distant cars, someone’s lawn sprinklers, and voices far away. The kind of silence that rests between two people, even if they are fifteen and ten. It’s the silence that can feel awkward or like a warm blanket against the cold.
I feel Mac’s hand touch mine. I open my hand, and his soft little fingers rest curled in my palm. We don’t look at each other, only at the night and the street before us. And I guess it’s such gestures and moments that make the world still beautiful and the night at peace.
chapter fifteen
“We’re a group of students exploring and developing our artistic nature through the medium of filmmaking,” Rob, the leader of the film group, tells me. It’s only the two of us so far, and I fidget in my chair uncomfortably.
This is brave for me—coming even to a familiar location like the Underground—to join a group that I know nothing about. I don’t do things like this. Without London, Frankie, and Kate pushing me to try it, I probably would’ve stayed home, especially knowing the dreaded Blair is part of this group. Frankie isn’t though; he’s taking a hiatus from film since the last Premiere Night. That Kaden might be here may have stirred some of my courage as well. I haven’t seen him at school at all since he gave me the flyer.
I came a few minutes early, and boy, am I regretting that. Rob and I are sitting at one of the long tables that reminds me of a medieval banquet hall. Two employees I hadn’t met before work the counter, though I made my own vanilla almond tea with cream and sugar after introducing myself.
But this is one of those times I should have been late, sitting behind everyone else and listening like an eavesdropper as I decide if this is something I want to join or not. Instead I have to make small talk with Rob. He’s a senior at Marin High and sort of cute, but not at all my type. Though I don’t quite know what is my type.
“Do you have experience in making movies?” he asks.
“None whatsoever.”
“Ah, brand-new. That’s refreshing.”
“Refreshing? I thought that might make it harder.”
“It can be refreshing in that you aren’t showing up ready to take over. We’ve had a few people with years of experience, which is both an asset and a challenge. Some people have left because we couldn’t agree on work ethic, projects, and visions.”
I sip my tea and pour in another packet of natural sugar. “So how long have you been involved in film?”
“I made my first film when I was three years old, with a bit of help from my father.”
“Guess I’m coming to this late in life,” I joke, but wonder if it’s true. It doesn’t seem right that filmmaking should be like, say, ice skating or tennis, where once you hit your twenties, you’re too late. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who don’t start until they’re much older.”
“I guess some. It’s just what I’ve always loved. My dad is a producer.”
“You mean like a movie producer?”
“Yeah. He’s produced a lot of indie type movies and is now doing some major films. He’s in Morocco right now coproducing a film that has Pacino in it. Frank Darabont is directing.”
“Cool,” I say, though I don’t know who Frank Darabont is, and I only know Pacino because he’s my stepdad’s favorite actor. These people may be way beyond me, and this is reaffirmed as they start arriving.
A guy wearing all black right down to his cowboy boots is introduced as Darren Duke. Darren introduces Cass, who’s dressed in a perfect rendition of the fifties, with cute horn-rimmed glasses, a plaid dress, and thick pumps. Next arrive brothers Josef, with the J pronounced like a Y, and Vladamir; then another guy called Sound Guy, or SG; and Olivia, who is obviously one of the actresses in the group.
Still no sign of Kaden. This isn’t a date, I remind myself. He handed me the flyer and didn’t wait to see if I was interested. Maybe he doesn’t even attend.
Rob finds it necessary to introduce me, including that I’m new to the area, which starts a Q&A session that I’d rather avoid.
“Where did you say you’re from?”
“What school do you go to here?”
“I would die in one of those small towns.”
“I thought you looked familiar. How many days a week do you work here?”
“Hey, could I get a Parisian café?” asks Sound Guy, nudging my arm.
I stare at him for a moment, but before I respond, he says, “Rob said you work here.”
“Yeah, I do.” But I can’t figure out if he’s joking or not.
“Great. I’d like extra whip on that.” He smiles widely and waits.
“It’s her day off,” a voice says, and a foot kicks the guy’s chair from behind.
I turn in my seat to see Kaden taking a seat behind us.
Sound Guy laughs. “Just wondered if I could make her do it anyway.”
Before anyone says more, Rob brings the group back to the topic. “Okay, let’s get started. We’re missing Blair, but we’ll proceed.”
“Blair has arrived,” someone says, and she certainly has.
She walks up with confidence and pride and a frown on her face. She’s Queen Elizabeth I in Vera Wang.
“Don’t let me keep you from proceeding.” She pulls a chair up beside me, and the scent of expensive perfume follows as she leans close to me and whispers, “So you’re interested in making Christian films to spread the gospel?”
Rob speaks before I can respond. “This month we’re going to watch the movies directed by Tony Scott, and then if you want a jump start on next month, we’ll be checking out the work of his brother, Ridley Scott.”
“So Top Gun and Gladiator,” Darren Duke says.
Cass says dramatically, “Two months of watching action flicks. Wonderful.”
“You’ll be surprised at some of their lesser-known films,” Rob says with confidence. He hands out papers with a list of films that Tony Scott directed and a short bio about his life.
Blair leans near me and whispers, “You might not be able to watch some of those films. I think they’re rated R.”
“We have two months before the final Premiere Night of this school year, and since a few of us will be graduating right after— including me—this will truly be my final one. So let’s break into our groups. We’ll come back together to talk about last month’s theme—Alfred Hitchcock’s early works.”
Two groups form, and I wait, glancing around in time to see Kaden going back outside.
Rob turns a chair backward and sits down. “I have some introductory papers if you want to read them. Our meetings vary. The first one of the month—this one—is usually more business at first, then we discuss a movie or a director. We get into our groups for a while. The two groups often work on two different films. But now we’re working together on a few projects, and we’ll perfect one for the end-of-school-year premiere.” He hands me a packet of papers. “At the end of the summer, we hope to present a longer film at Film in the Park.”
“Sounds amazing.”
Rob leaves me to read over the papers.
Soon the group comes back together to discuss the production of their own films. Sitting within the dialogue that even Blair gets into, I’m drawn to what they are saying, fascinated by the idea that they are actually making their own films from beginning to end. These aren’t YouTube amateurs; this group takes their work seriously.
My heart actually beats faster as my nervousness disappears, though I’m the outsider. But it’s as if someone throws cold water in my face, that’s how strong the realization is . . . I want this. I want to take those ideas I worked on the other night and see them come to life. All the times I’ve dissected movies, the way I imagine and visualize things, the hard work and teamwork it take
s to create something . . . so many things come together as I listen in.
I forget Marin and Cottonwood and all the sadness and weirdness, leaning in to take in the buzz of words and energy within the group. And the puzzle piece finally fits. I fit. I’ve opened a door and found a whole world waiting for me.
The group moves on to discussing Rebecca, one of Alfred Hitchcock’s films from the novel by Daphne du Maurier. I haven’t seen it, but I make notes and decide to get it online as soon as possible. And before I want the meeting to end, people start leaving.
“So what did you think of our little group?” Rob asks.
I want to say that this is exactly what I’ve been searching for—it’s always been in me; I just didn’t know it yet. But I want to act nonchalant, not overly emotional. So I nod my head. “Yes. It’s . . . really great.” I can’t withhold a smile.
Rob smiles back. “I saw you taking notes. That’s a good indicator. If you want to join, we’ll get you into a group and you can jump right in.”
“Yes, I’d love that.” Especially if it’s with Kaden’s group, I find myself thinking. He’s strange, but interesting. And, yeah, very cute. “Though I don’t know anything.”
“At first they’ll have you doing the jobs they don’t want, but as you learn, you’ll get more into the actual production. So next week I’ll assign you to a group.”
I’m more afraid and more excited than I’ve felt in a long, long, long, long time. As in, a long time. Maybe since, well, I don’t even know when.
Kaden came back when I didn’t notice. I see him talking with Sound Guy. As I head toward the front door to see if Austin has arrived to pick me up, Kaden’s voice stops me.
“Something that helped me was watching movies in themes. Like the top hundred best films, or the best films of 1960. It’s surprising how much you start understanding when you do that.”
“Sounds like good advice.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Passion of the Christ?” Blair asks sarcastically as she walks by.
“Probably The Princess Bride,” I say, and Blair gives a backwards smirk.
Sound Guy says, “I love that movie! ‘No more rhymes, now I mean it!’”
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