Someday Jennifer

by Risto Pakarinen

  At least, that had been my excuse for spending all that time in front of the screen.

  “Yeah, right,” Tina had said.

  “As long as he keeps his grades up,” Mom had replied, choosing to think the best of her son.

  So many ideas were percolating in my brain that I lost track of time and stayed upstairs until dinner. I also got the new high score, beating every single score I’d achieved in my teens. So much for Tina’s Wikipedia theory about peak brain power!

  Mom had made my favourite food, meatballs and mashed potatoes—smashed potatoes, as Dad called them—and I knew that was her way of sweeping things under the rug. In return, I ate three platefuls.

  Between the first and second, I got to the point.

  “Dad, I have a question,” I started, “and I don’t know anyone else who might have the answer.”

  “Oh, interesting,” he said.

  “You know the old movie theatre in town? The Atlas?”

  “Yeees,” he said, stretching the e to indicate that I should go on.

  “Did you know it’s closed?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t elaborate, so I pressed on.

  “Do you know who owns it?”

  “The theatre? Yes.”

  “I knew it! Who?”

  He gave me a puzzled look.

  “It’s the . . . or at least it used to be the guy whose brother had the video store you used to work at, I forget the name.”

  “Video 2000,” I said.

  “I meant the brothers’ names. Their sister was actually at university with me. But they closed it down. The movie theatre, not the university.”

  “Exactly. I know that. Do you know who owns it now?”

  “I think a developer bought it recently.”

  My hand went to my back pocket, but all I found was the receipt from the coffee shop. No cellphone, no googling to find out if what my father said was true.

  I slammed the table with my hand.

  “Not good?” Mom asked. She offered me some more food.

  “They’re probably going to tear it down, right? That’s what developers do; they won’t want to run a movie theatre.”

  “Probably. It’s a good spot for an apartment building, right downtown. The town council approved the sale not so long ago,” Dad said. “Yes, I remember now. I read about it in the paper.”

  I felt all the blood drain from my face. I leaned on the kitchen table and tried to get some air into my lungs.

  Damn. Of course. Stupid me. I was such an idiot, thinking I could just waltz into town and do whatever I wanted.

  “But a friend of mine told me they won’t be able to tear it down until they get the council’s approval. He works at the town hall. He said that some people will surely file complaints.” Dad balanced the last morsels of food on his fork. “You know, some people don’t like change. Always trying to slow down progress.”

  “Are you feeling all right?” Mom asked me.

  “I think I am,” I said, when Dad’s last words had finally registered.

  “That’s so you, Peter. Only an architect would pay attention to a rundown movie theatre,” Mom said.

  “I’m a web architect, Mom. Not exactly the same thing.”

  “Sounds the same. I just meant that you’ve always had the eye for that sort of thing. And you have always enjoyed the cinema. More food?”

  Dad excused himself. He sat down in his TV chair again and started to flip through the channels. Mom cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.

  “What would you say if I told you that I’d like to reopen the Atlas?”

  I don’t know which one of us was most surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth. I certainly hadn’t been aware of thinking about it until I heard myself say it. Mom looked at me and smiled. Dad said nothing.

  “Did you hear that?” Mom asked Dad, louder.

  “What?”

  “Peter wants to reopen the cinema.”

  Dad looked at me from the chair.

  “I think it’s a fine idea,” he said. “You’ve always liked the movies, haven’t you?”

  “And your father and I love having you at home,” Mom said.

  Again, it felt like my brain was cooking; I had such a flurry of ideas, and yet nothing I could really pin down. Reopening the Atlas was a great idea, and Mom and Dad were right about my love of the movies. I had always wanted to, if not own a movie theatre, then at least work at one.

  I ran upstairs to my bedroom, not even looking at the Spectrum on my way to the desk. I grabbed a pen and started to fill the pages of my old spiral-bound math notebook with thoughts and drawings.

  My brain was cooking.

  By the time the shadow of the pine trees hit the wall of our house and Mom came knocking to tell me she had made tea, the entire floor was covered with pages full of numbers, arrows, short sentences, bullet points, circles, squares, my signatures, and pictures of Smurfs (the only thing I could draw).

  Mom and I had tea in the kitchen while Dad watched TV in the living room. Afterwards, I brushed my teeth, dropped my toothbrush in the yellow plastic mug with my name on it, and retired to my room.

  I decided that writing to Tina would help me formulate my thoughts. In one of my desk drawers, I found a postcard with a picture of Snoopy sitting on the roof of his doghouse, typing It was a dark and stormy night.

  Have arrived safe and sound. Did notice one major disturbance in the space-time continuum and will have to take care of it. You’ll thank me later when I save the world. (Seriously, all is well. Trust me.) P

  Tomorrow I would mail it to Tina.

  I pulled the cords from the Spectrum and reconnected the TV to the VHS.

  I chose a tape at random and started an episode of Hill Street Blues, but I couldn’t focus on the story and had to rewind the tape several times. I was too distracted. Something out there was calling for me.

  The sun had set, but I had to get out of the house.

  I needed a bike ride.

  Chapter 16

  (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life

  WITH THE DANCE firmly in the rear-view mirror, we were all expected to immediately get back to our studies, ignoring our newfound sense of maturity and importance. One day we’re in tuxedos and ball gowns, the next it’s “Sit down, children! Stop fidgeting.”

  The arrival of spring didn’t help.

  There seemed to be a new energy in the air. We were the top dogs now, and some of the teachers seemed a little less able to handle us. Especially teachers in subjects that didn’t require the same kind of discipline as, say, math. Seppo Laine, our science teacher, didn’t let up; he made sure we were preparing for the finals. But others, like our art teacher, just didn’t command similar respect. Her name was Siri, and she was, in a word, “bird-like” (yes, I know that’s two words). She was small, and frail, and she resembled a crow every time she lost and looked around for her keys—which happened every day. The fact that she was always dressed in black didn’t help. Nor that when she got annoyed with us, she would squawk.

  She didn’t have the stamina or the willpower to fight Sami’s arguments, so she often sent us out into the world to do art projects. That day, the task was simple.

  “Go out and document Kumpunotko’s history,” she told the class.

  “How?” yelled Sami.

  “Any way you want to. Paint, draw, make a collage of picked-up litter.”

  “But—”

  “Just get out there and have fun,” she said, and added under her breath, “Just get out.”

  Mikke and I walked to the park across the street from the school. There was a soccer field, and a wading pool that smaller kids used in the summer—although there wasn’t any water in it yet. There were also half a dozen swings and some other playground equipment. Mikke and I sat on the swings and talked about movies. He had just seen The Karate Kid, so he walked around with a scarf around his head, striking dramatic karate poses and squaring up to imaginary adver
saries with an intense warrior look on his face—all while trying to sound profound.

  “It’s all in here,” he said, and pointed to his temples. “All your potential is here. And all the obstacles too. All in your head.”

  Then he jumped up in an attempt to do a helicopter kick and fell down in the sandbox. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the swing.

  “Hey guys, what’s so funny?” said a voice from behind us.

  Jennifer. She was in a blue-and-white striped sweater, blue jeans, and high-top sneakers. No makeup. She didn’t need it.

  “Hi,” we said in unison.

  “We’re just goofing around,” Mikke went on. “That was a move from The Karate Kid.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it. It was okay. The movie, I mean. Your technique, less so.”

  Mikke rolled his eyes and sat on a swing to my right. Jennifer sat down on the one to my left.

  “What are you doing for art class?” she asked me in a way that made me think I was the only person in the world.

  “Nothing,” said Mikke. He scooped a handful of sand from the ground. “I’ll glue this on a piece of paper.”

  “Very mature,” said Jennifer.

  “It’s art.”

  “If you say so,” she said, and turned to face me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Not sure yet. Maybe take photos.”

  “Great idea.”

  “Would be even better if I had my camera with me.”

  “So you’re not going to do anything?”

  She had me there, but I didn’t want to disappoint her like Mikke obviously had, so I told her I was going to write a poem about the playground in the spring.

  “I’ll call it ‘Boys of Summer,’” I said. “What’s your plan? Draw something, obviously.” I nodded at the big sketchpad under her arm.

  “That’s right. Hey, can I draw you?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No! The light’s perfect. I like the shadows,” she said.

  Mikke got up and put his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

  “Well, that’s my cue,” he said. “See you later, Pete.”

  As soon as he got behind Jennifer, he turned around and winked at me. I blushed and hoped that Jennifer wouldn’t notice. Mikke then started licking his lips, blowing me kisses, trying to look like Madonna. I looked away, off into the distance, trying to be the perfect model. Jennifer didn’t seem to notice Mikke; she just took my hand and moved it slightly higher on the swing’s rope, making me sit just right.

  She sat down on a bench in front of the swings and started to sketch. I just sat there on the swing, frozen in place, staring off into the distance while sneakily looking at the way she moved her pencil, with another pencil held sideways in her mouth.

  “You can schpeak,” she said.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Anything. You work at the video store. What’s the best thing you’ve seen lately?”

  “Beverly Hills Cop.”

  “And the worst?”

  “I’ve seen so many bad movies since I started working at Video 2000, but let me think . . . It would have to be this B movie I saw a few weeks back. I still don’t know whether it was supposed to be taken seriously.”

  “Hand up, please,” she said, as I’d let it slip. She smiled. “Tell me about it. Let me be the judge.”

  I told her what I recalled of the plot, which was fairly negligible; all I really remembered was that at the end of the movie a severed head flies through the air and lands in the hands of a mob boss who looks down at the head, surprised.

  “Eww,” she said.

  “And then the head says, ‘Sorry, boss.’”

  Jennifer started to laugh, and the pencil in her mouth dropped out. I broke my pose so I could pick it up for her, and was just carefully rearranging myself on the swing when the air-raid alarm went off.

  I hopped off the swing, swore, took Jennifer’s hand, and started to run. I saw that her sketchpad had fallen to the ground. I didn’t want to stop—“Nothing’s worth getting evaporated for,” they always said—but it was Jennifer’s, so I ran back and grabbed it. We sprinted through the soccer field and across the schoolyard, straight to the back door and down the stairs to the basement. The door to the shelter was closed, and nobody else was clamouring to get in. I was so tired from running that I just leaned against the wall and then slid down to the floor. Jennifer looked at me and did the same.

  “What was that all about?” she asked me.

  “The air-raid siren?”

  “But it’s the last Friday of the month! It’s just a test.”

  My face turned red again, and she patted me on the shoulder.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” she said. “Nobody wants to get nuked.”

  “I know. Sorry. I just panicked. It’s so annoying, this constant Will we get vaporized on the way to school? thing,” I said.

  “I don’t know if this is something I should even say, but I don’t mind the Cold War—as long as it stays cold. If it gets hot, that’s when we’ll all be in trouble.”

  I managed a laugh. “I know. But, you know, my sister’s figure skating team had some visitors from the Soviet Union last Christmas, and I felt bad for them. They had nothing—no money, no decent clothes; they knew Wham! but they didn’t have the tapes. One of them brought over a full set of crystal glasses! They’d had them in the family for years. And she traded them for a pair of Tina’s jeans. Mom was so angry! She told Tina she was taking advantage of the girl. But it was what she wanted. Their lives are so different from ours. But they’re still just people like us, you know?”

  We were silent for a while.

  “You always have your heart in the right place, Peter, and you’re not afraid to show it. I like that.”

  Jennifer finished her drawing there in the basement, from memory, and when the school bell rang, we handed it in as a joint project. Then we got our stuff from our lockers and walked toward the bus terminal together.

  “Sorry, boss,” she said suddenly, in her best mob voice.

  I chuckled.

  “I’m curious now. I want to see the movie,” she said.

  “Come to Video 2000 and I’ll loan it to you. For free.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re there on the weekends, right?”

  “Every Saturday, and sometimes, like today, on Friday afternoons.”

  “Are you going there now?”

  “Yeah. I start at four, work until ten.”

  Again I hesitated, but this time Jennifer didn’t bail me out.

  “Do you want to come and get it now?”

  “Sure, I don’t have anything else to do.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was such a big compliment, but I let it pass. I had mustered up the courage to ask her to Video 2000, and she had said yes. It only took us fifteen minutes to walk to the store, and we stayed side by side, not touching, not even brushing shoulders, just talking the whole time.

  We walked past the record store and talked about music. We walked past Burgerland and talked about food. We walked past the bookstore and talked about our favourite books.

  And when we got to Atlas, we stopped and looked at the posters outside. Supergirl was opening that day.

  “Supergirl!” Jennifer exclaimed.

  “Do you like Supergirl?” I asked her, surprised.

  “I don’t know anything about her!” She laughed.

  “She’s Superman’s cousin. And Clark Kent’s, of course. I don’t know Helen Slater, but Mia Farrow, Faye Dunaway, and Peter O’Toole are amazing, so the cast is great.”

  “You know a lot about movies, don’t you?”

  “I love movies.”

  “Must be a dream to work at a video store, then.”

  “Yeah, but nothing beats the cinema. You have to see films in a real theatre and experience them with all of your senses. It’s not just about seeing the moving pictures—you
have to see them larger than life. The sound isn’t like on your TV at home; the explosions shake your body. It’s like you can smell the gunpowder.”

  She giggled, and I wondered if I’d gotten carried away.

  “Still, a cinema’s where magic happens. It really is. Don’t you think? A group of strangers getting together in a dark room, ready to be transported to another world where everything is possible.”

  “Where even women can be superheroes,” Jennifer said.

  We kept on walking.

  “It’s not always strangers,” she said. “I usually go with a friend or two. Nobody goes by themselves, do they?”

  “I do. I go to movies by myself.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I just told you. I want to get transported to another world. I’m not there to talk, or chat with friends. I want to enjoy the film.”

  “But don’t you like to have someone to talk about it with afterwards?”

  “Of course,” I said, thinking how nice that would be.

  We arrived at Video 2000. I opened the door, like a proper gentleman, and saw Matti, the manager, sitting behind the counter, watching a Chevy Chase movie—I couldn’t tell which one.

  “Hi, Matti,” I yelled out, in a more casual way than usual.

  “In a minute,” he replied, waving vaguely.

  I made my way to the action section and gestured for Jennifer to follow me. I walked along the shelf with my head tilted, trying to find the movie I was looking for. When I found it, I pulled it out and handed it to Jennifer.

  “Here.”

  “Hey, this isn’t a B movie.”

  “I know, that one’s rubbish. I wouldn’t want to inflict it on you. Try this. It’s WarGames. Have you seen it?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s great. You’ll like it, for sure.”

  I walked behind the counter and opened the huge drawer where we kept the movies, found the VHS tape with the corresponding number, opened the plastic case, and put the tape inside. Then I slid it across the counter to Jennifer.