Autumn unceremoniously chucked Andrew’s backpack to the ground, dragging the chair closer to the monitors. “Well, maybe I can help?”
“How so?”
Autumn shrugged. “Music is my oxygen. Unless you, too, have 15,000 songs on an iPod to draw from, maybe you should let me try.”
Andrew stared briefly then smiled. “I am so grateful for your very existence right now. I will buy you a lifetime of hot chocolate if you can help.”
Autumn shook her head, laughing. “That is indeed the sound of midterm desperation! Okay, start from the beginning: what’s the film about?”
Hitting rewind, Andrew explained, “Well, I spent some time down at Occupy Toronto, interviewing people involved with the movement, police, local residents, the works. I didn’t know what I wanted exactly, so I just shot everything. But it was the interviews and time I spent with the homeless in St. James Park that stuck out more than anything. The movement’s trying to nurture and support them for the most part, but there is such skepticism and this… I guess a lack of faith in humanity. They were invisible people, in their own words, so to suddenly be seen, it’s like, ‘What’s in it for them?’ Does that make sense?”
Autumn nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. So are you still using other footage from the movement, or just a focus on the homeless and that intersection?”
“The latter. It seems like the story that needs more attention. But because I shot it over three days and nights, it’s kind of all over the place. I didn’t know that was what I wanted to do, so there’s no straight narrative in the questions.”
Andrew hit play, and the monitors came alive with footage of an older male, perhaps late forties, speaking about begging for money in the financial district. The way it was shot was raw but beautifully framed: the sun was nearly set, lending an ethereal glow to the subject. Andrew had a gift for storytelling of another kind.
“Well, who says it needs to be coherent or linear? Tarantino’s made a whole career of breaking that rule,” Autumn mused aloud. “Maybe instead, you should focus on something that sums up the overall message of the piece. Not the conclusion or final point, but the question the film’s asking the audience to consider.”
Andrew nodded slowly. “That could definitely work. Gretchen loves it when you toss convention out the window and go wild. I thought of it, but I was worried it might be confusing to watch.”
Autumn shook her head. “Not at all. And hey, it’s a rough edit, right? Meaning you could tweak it a bit later?”
“True… So, what about music, then?”
Autumn bit her lip, staring at the footage for a moment. “Well, you have to decide what you’re going for in terms of each song. Are you looking for something a little darker in tone to open with, and something more hopeful at the end? Are you going for dark and darker still? Did you want instrumentals, lyrics or does it matter? Canadian content or anything that works?”
“Whoa, whoa, hold up, music maven!” Andrew blurted out. “I get what you were saying now about your expertise. I’m honestly not sure. I’ve just been playing my music while I edit, hoping something will jump out.”
“That’s the best way. It’s how I approach writing – oh, shit!” Autumn felt herself blanch as she remembered the whole reason she’d come tonight: her short story.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew asked gently.
“Midterm crisis of my own,” Autumn groaned. “I have a short story due Friday and haven’t a single freaking word of it done.”
“Oh hell, and I’m going on about my project! I’m so sorry. I should let you get back to it.”
Autumn shrugged. “Get back to what? I was hoping coming over here would get things started, but it hasn’t worked out well.”
Andrew glanced at his wrist, wincing. “Okay, look: you have about an hour before you should make tracks back to the dorms. The couch is super comfortable. You can stay here and write while I edit. That way, security won’t hassle you.”
Autumn mulled his offer, sipping the hot chocolate as an excuse to remain quiet. Had it already been, what, twenty minutes since she’d come to see him? It felt like mere seconds had passed. It was so natural talking to Andrew. There was no pretense, no sexual tension overriding all intellectual discourse and casual camaraderie. Not dealing with security was a huge boon, too.
“Okay, thank you. Are you sure I won’t be distracting or anything?”
Andrew laughed. “No way! When I’m in the zone, I don’t notice much around me. I’m pretty sure when the zombies come, they’ll catch me editing and take a chunk out of my neck without me blinking.”
“That’s a disturbing image,” Autumn replied, settling onto the couch near the door.
“I swear, the first person I’m going to eat as a zombie is Grant. I hate that prick,” Andrew declared lightly.
“I’m going after Logan. I want to see her fuss over blood on her pristine blouse,” Autumn countered, flipping open her notebook.
“Ooh! That would be pretty awesome.”
It hit her then: a plot bunny. Her Muse was back with a vengeance, and it was thanks to Andrew and his strange sense of humour. Relieved, she began scribbling wildly, quickly jotting down an outline and character sketches before her inspiration was lost. Instinctively, Andrew remained quiet, the clicking of keys and flipped switches the only sound from his side of the room. Tucking her left ear bud in, she wove her comedic tale on the page, humming triumphantly at key moments and underlining words destined for a thesaurus upgrade later on.
Eleven pages later, Autumn felt a gentle tapping upon her arm and startled, glancing up to see a weary Andrew beside her.
“It’s ten to. We should bail before they sic the hounds on us.”
“Whoa, I didn’t even notice it had been so long.”
Tucking her things quickly into her purse, Autumn was somewhat embarrassed to note that Andrew had shut down his terminal and packed his things without her noticing.
“You seemed to be on a roll. Story finally taking shape?” he asked warmly.
Autumn nodded, following him out into the hall. “Whole thing is outlined. Now, I just have to finish writing it. If I can hammer the rest out tomorrow, I can type it up Thursday for class.”
Andrew locked the suite door, pocketing the key. “Well, it seems we both were granted mercy by the midterm gods: I picked the footage for the intro of my film and slapped it together into rough shape. A little fine tuning and music and it’ll be ready for Gretchen’s eyes.”
“That’s great!” Autumn enthused. “I love the feeling of things just falling into place.”
They took the stairs briskly, well aware of the clock ticking invisibly. Were they to swipe into the dorms even a few seconds late, there would be a report emailed automatically to Logan’s office for review the next morning. Autumn knew this because Veronica had been busted the previous week. She’d been let off with a warning, but given Autumn’s status, the consequences could be far more dire.
“I’ll walk you back to Ashbury,” Andrew announced as they stepped into the cold.
“You don’t-”
“It’s a whole thirty second detour for me. Besides, you’re my lucky editing charm. I can’t chance anything happening to you before finals,” Andrew teased.
“Oh God forbid!” Autumn replied sacrastically.
“Seriously, though: if writing in there helps you, you’re welcome to share my space. I could probably even get Gretchen to write you a note in case someone ever questions you.”
Autumn turned to stare at him, completely confused. “Why would you do that?”
“Why not? I don’t see the point in the restrictions to begin with, and I told you that Gretchen’s super nice. I only ask for one thing in return.”
Autumn swallowed hard, suddenly anxious. “What’s that?”
“You have to help me find the right songs for the final film, because you are blatantly more knowledgeable in the realm of music,” Andrew answered casually. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
They’d reached the front steps of Ashbury in record time. A twinge of disappointment struck Autumn as she dug her FOB out of her purse. Why had she even begun to worry? Andrew really was a Veronica – and the offer for a writing hideaway was too good to resist, what with her unwanted roommate wreaking havoc on her study time and sleep.
Enough living in the past. This place is safe enough. He’s not here and he doesn’t know your whereabouts, Crazy Girl.
“See you tomorrow, then?” Andrew asked.
Autumn smiled a little. “Yeah, I’ll be there, with music in hand. Eight-ish maybe?”
“I’ll ready the hot chocolate. Goodnight, Autumn!”
“Night.”
He jogged off down the road towards Trudeau Hall without a backward glance, backpack slapping lightly against his coat. She slipped inside her own dorm at two minutes to curfew, nodding to her housemother and muttering about midterms and the library. Lorraine, thankfully, seemed unfazed – she couldn’t be the only student returning just in time for bed, after all. With a weary sigh, she unlocked her room and entered, tossing her purse onto her desk with a resounding thump. Too tired to do much of anything, she hit the bathroom quickly then peeled her clothes off as she headed towards her bed.
She yawned and stretched as she slipped beneath the sheets, her eyes fluttering heavily. It was nice having a friend who understood the crafting of a story, who knew what it meant to need to submerge in a narrative, to breathe characters and build the skeletons of dialogue and meaning. Andrew was a guy, but so was Keenan. Evan was a guy, too. It was unfair to brand everyone with a penis with the same warning label.
“Not every man is a monster,” Autumn whispered to herself, struggling to believe it.
A quiet sobbing from within the walls begged to differ.
FIFTEEN
Oakville; October 25th, 2011
“Do you think Jesus Calculus has a girlfriend?”
Autumn glanced up from her homework, eyeing Veronica in confusion. “Um, random?”
Veronica continued, oblivious to her friend’s stare. “Or a boyfriend, although I don’t get Gay-dar from him. Don’t you ever wonder? I mean, the staff live on campus, for the most part. How awkward would that be?”
Dropping her pencil, she reached across the table and slapped Veronica’s arm lightly. “Okay, do you need the nurse? Why do you want to even consider the staff… ick!”
“I don’t know. It just came to mind.” Veronica shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich. “What did you get for thirteen, by the way?”
“Still on that one,” Autumn replied. “Also, I prefer not to ever think of the staff here that way. It’s the same as thinking of parents having sex.”
“What’s wrong with that? My mom needs to get laid. I’d be cheering her on.”
Autumn gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yuck! I’m trying to eat here!”
Veronica tossed her hair over her shoulder, twisting it loosely. “Fine, fine. Let’s talk about my love life then.”
“And how is Evan?” Autumn asked, grinning as Veronica immediately flushed.
“He’s lovely. Wonderful. I mean, we’ve hung out a few times – nothing huge – but he’s so funny, and he’s really smart. Three more days…” With a wistful sigh, Veronica shoved her books aside. “You know, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I don’t do dances, V,” Autumn mumbled.
Veronica pouted, leaning forward and snatching her friend’s pencil away. “But you should be there to make sure I don’t make an idiot of myself! We could dance and spike the punch and possibly find a way to trip Logan down some stairs! It won’t be the same without you.”
With every plea, it grew increasingly difficult to dodge the subject of dating with Veronica. Autumn was at her wit’s end, wavering between a claim of being asexual and telling Veronica about him – and neither option was particularly appealing. Her third option – a phobia of disco balls – had been shot down by the lack of such an atrocity in the planned décor for the Halloween dance.
“Veronica, I told you: I don’t do dances. I’m sorry, but it’s not an option.”
Her voice was harsher than she’d intended, and she regretted it immediately. Veronica shrunk slightly in her chair, her attention returning to the mountain of homework they’d been given for their test review. With a sad sigh, she drummed out a melody on her textbook, struggling to dislodge the apology she was choking on. Veronica meant well. She couldn’t be blamed for not knowing the history behind Autumn’s aversion to dresses and DJs.
“I’m sorry, V. It’s complicated.”
Veronica shrugged, sipping her Coke. “Whatever. I’ll drop it.” Setting the can down noisily, she added, “Why’s he looking this way?”
“Huh?”
Autumn’s eyes followed Veronica’s, her lips curling into a smile as she spotted Andrew near the entryway. He smiled and waved, a gesture she returned quickly before he turned around and exited.
“Okay, you are going to spill!” Veronica squealed, shoving her books aside and leaning forward. “What the hell was that?”
“A greeting?” Autumn offered weakly.
“Well, no shit! I was referring to the fact that you were greeting Andrew Daniels, the guy who never talks to anyone.”
Autumn’s eyes widened. “Whoa, wait a second: what do you mean?”
Veronica glanced around, lowering her voice. “I mean that Andrew doesn’t talk to anyone female, and scarcely anyone male. It’s not for lack of trying – there are plenty of girls falling over themselves to date him. But he’s quiet, dodges conversations. Hasn’t talked to many people for the entire time he’s been here.”
“That’s so odd,” Autumn said softly. “I talk to him for hours at a time.”
“How have you been hiding this from me?” Veronica demanded excitedly.
“Spring Awakening rehearsals. And besides, I didn’t… well, it’s no big deal. I write a lot in Media Studies, and he’s always editing upstairs for his documentary.” Autumn shrugged, eyes averted. “I didn’t know this was a new thing for him.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “When a guy talks to you for hours at a go, it’s a big deal to begin with. But when he’s the recluse orphan-”
“Orphan? Back up, V.”
Veronica took a deep breath, calming herself. “Okay, so here’s the story: almost two years ago, Andrew’s parents died. His aunt took custody as his only living relative, but she’s apparently a loner and also rich as hell. She pays extra to keep him housed in a single room, and he lives here all summer, too.”
“You mean, she won’t let him stay with her?”
Veronica shrugged. “Apparently not. He seems pretty happy with the arrangement, though. I’d probably want to be alone too if my mom died. In any case, this is why him talking to you is a huge deal beyond the obvious reasons. How long have you been talking?”
Autumn debated her answer, eventually settling on semi-truths. “Just over a week?”
“No more secrets!” Veronica admonished lightly. “What’s he like?”
Autumn rolled her eyes. “I’m not dating him, V.”
Veronica was not dissuaded. “Whatever! I still wanna know.”
Giving up on her homework, Autumn shut her textbook and packed it away. “He’s funny. He plays on words a fair bit, and he’s smart. He knows politics, which is refreshing. He reminds me of you, actually.”
“How so?”
“It’ll sound silly to you,” Autumn began, hesitating. “He just… I feel relaxed. Like we’ve been friends a while. Kind of how we hit it off.”
“That’s not silly at all. Maybe we should all hang out sometime.” Crumpling the remains of her lunch, Veronica rose to her feet. “I’ve got class in ten. Did you want to finish up this stupid test package at dinner? I have rehearsals at seven thirty but that still gives us time.”
Autumn nodded, slipping back into her coat. “Definitely. Maybe we should sp
lit the questions in half and trade solutions to save time. Not like he checks, anyway.”
“Ooh! Good call!”
Blowing her a kiss, Veronica departed, her mood significantly improved by whatever imaginary relationship she was silently scheming about. At least it’ll keep her busy, Autumn decided, heading out to her own afternoon classes. Her mind was drawn instead to Andrew’s story, images of a lonely summer shut in on Casteel’s expansive property blurring into a personal movie screening in her skull. He’s broken, she mused sadly, thinking back to his solitary strumming on the bench and the way his face seemed to fall when they parted ways. If she truly was the only person he spoke to…
He’s so much like me.
What a soothing and yet sobering thought.
***
It had taken the promise of a detailed chat over breakfast and a pleading stare complete with puppy eyes to convince Veronica to not swing by the film editing suites to meet Andrew, but Autumn had managed it in the end. Veronica feigned a sulking fit before smiling and ushering her upstairs to see… a friend? That’s all Andrew was, all he would ever be.
Friends don’t dream of friends, even if in said dream the purported friend is a partner in zombie-slaying crime.
It had been one hell of a dream, a rarity for her these days. Seldom did she sleep long enough to cycle into REM state before the alarm chirped and chimed. There were shades of Zombieland and a dash of Shaun of the Dead, what with her cricket bat of choice and the irrational stop to drink tea, but it was the ease with which she and Andrew traded sarcastic quips and slept on adjacent couches that lingered now. Things were so simple, so innocent in her dreamscape. The shadows were hollow, empty of threats, and no one died who wasn’t already undead.
Stop it! Dreams are dreams; this is real life! And real life is…. not friendly. Not safe.
Neither are zombies.
Grr!
Knocking lightly on the door to the suite, she opened the door, smiling slightly as Andrew obliviously clicked the mouse and spun dials, headphones firmly planted on his ears. Shutting the door gently, she sank into the impossibly comfortable leather couch, curious as to how long it would take him to notice her.
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