With the filming part of movie-making done and the editing well underway, I've come to realise a few things:
1. My two college years are coming to an end...
2. Along with all the massive friend gatherings to which I am completely and shamelessly addicted;
3. Summer is coming
4. As is my trip to France with Eva and Kitty, followed by my trip to TEJAS to visit Lyx;
5. I have plenty of finals to pass;
6. I am both excited and scared shitless by university;
7. This summer will be so badass. It better be.
Tonight, Gabriel is hosting a bonfire at his mansion in the woods. Okay, mansion is a bit of an exaggeration, but he has a huge house in the woods anyway. He and PB have sworn to prepare a banner to inaugurate the start of "Party Season".
Drew and Mitch, on their part, have created a group for all our quality friends (and we have quite a few) titled "Boys and Girls of Summer", where we intend to share invitations to all the parties and excursions. Mitch's role is to manage the beer, apparently.
To my deepest regret, I'll be in France when my team presents its movie at the year-end ceremony. It's a shame, mostly because watching your work on the big screen can be compared to nothing at all. But then, it's Paris...
Not to mention that if our movie is selected as one of the three best (VERY likely) in our college, it's going off to the Intercollegiate Contest in the north of Quebec, and my team has already decided to go there whether we win or not, for three nights. Which sounds just about like SOMETHING AWESOME.
On top of my whole program going camping somewhere for three days (and I'm fairly certain Dom and Gen would be too lame to go, meaning it'd be a party of strictly awesome people).
Anyway, I am torn up inside. Because nothing can beat France, right? I'll only be missing a month of amazing parties with my friends. I'll catch up when I come back.
I'd be a liar to say I don't think it's a shame, though. Especially since this is our last summer all together. After that, PB is going to Québec City, half our friends have to stay in college to finish their DECs, and everyone else is splitting up among five or six different universities.
The only people I am certain of still seeing on a fairly regular basis are Gabriel and Slim, who have entered the same program as me.
It's a big step for me, since only Wednesday I was appreciating the big group we are. We were all lounging on the grass in front of the school, talking for two hours straight, playing guessing games. I couldn't believe how many of us there were, and we were still missing some, but I counted AA, Iva, Maria, Anthony, Melanie, Slim, PB, Gabriel, Josie, Gabie, Guy, Ban, Liz, Max, Michelle, Mitch, Isa, Matt, Sophie, and a good six or seven people I've never mentioned here but who usually hang out with us.
I'm going to go from those twenty something people down to... three? I wouldn't usually say this, but it kind of makes me sentimental. I mean, it's like a massive loss here.
Slim is feeling the same kind of loss, but I can tell he's fighting it with all his energy. He's convinced me the only way to fight the inevitable was to enjoy what you have left.
Which is what I intend to do.
As soon as I finish my finals.
And burn my notes (yay!).
Love,
CM
Showing posts with label Dom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dom. Show all posts
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Where I've Been
And whaaaaaaaaaat IIIIIIIIIIIIII've DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
That was the musical moment of the day. Don't expect anything more. Seriously. Don't.
Anyway, I figured you needed a little news update to confirm that I have not been kidnapped by white-slave traders and been sold to a very handsome and intelligent man's harem for a few months of delicious toe-curling sex.
Yeah, I know. I wish.
No, instead I'm juggling school and friends.
On the school front, I am pleasantly surprised. Not only are my grades kickass (and by this I mean that they haven't been this kickass since the sixth grade, where I got regular 90s/100), but on top of that, I'm pulling them off IN SPITE of my increasing social life.
And trust me, no one is more surprised than I am about that last detail.
I was accepted in pretty much every university program I applied to, EXCEPT the one Slim and I really want. We're still waiting for the mid-April summons to see if we were selected for interviews.
At least, though, we know we both have the option of attending the screenwriting certificate at the UQÀM together: we both got our confirmation letters last Wednesday.
I really hope we can enter the baccalaureate, though. I hate waiting for this kind of thing.
School is also awesome in that all my team projects are rockin' on. Honestly. My Mass Media team, composed of Slim and Gabie, earned us a 91.9% grade on both the ten-page analysis and our oral presentation.
"You'd have had 98% if I hadn't been on your team," Slim joked when we received the highest grade in the promotion. Gabie and I ignored him and giggled like idiots.
Most of my teams are with either Slim, Gabie or one of my movie-making teammates.
And since we're on the subject, let's mention them.
They.
Rock.
So much.
Actually, I believe that anyone who read this blog last term would know that after my LAST movie-making experience, this one could only be better.
And oh. It SO is.
The pure irony of my new team is that we share a supervisor with none other than... Dom and Gen's new team!!! This is Slim and my cue to laugh aloud.
From the very first class, we knew we were going to get even with them. I mean, seriously. It had started that day where we were supposed to present our film ideas to the class. Everyone had to come in with a movie synopsis and present it to the group. Our group is composed only of two teams, so half the class was directly concerned by your suggestion while the other half only listened out of courtesy.
Dom, our esteemed (not) ex-producer, had insisted on going first.
Oh man, you had to be there. Slim and I had folded our arms on the table and were trying not to quake with barely suppressed laughter. Every time we'd gather our composure, we'd glance at each other and stifle new guffaws.
Dom has a reputation now. Of having incomprehensible and obscure (and boring) film ideas. He thinks that to be artsy, the film has to be inaccessible. Which is wrong on so many levels that I'm not even going to delve into the matter.
If you have trouble grasping what I mean, think of it this way: he's like an annoying dude on FF.Net who would write dark poetry without structure, grammar, or logic, then claim that it's interpretive art if anyone tells him he sucks.
That's Dom. Except he doesn't limit the damage to writing. He also spreads it to sound capture, images, AND screenplays.
It's a disaster, and so Slim and I can't help but hold in our wailing laughter in order not to look too suspicious.
We thought we hid it rather well. I'd only gotten one evil glance from Gen in the whole fifteen minutes that Dom had been up there explaining his idea (which no one understood, and not because we were laughing). It was something about a man in a forest cutting a tree, and then the tree started bleeding, and he had to go get medication for his daughter― anyway, it was weeeeird.
"Wait, Dom," Pierre, our film teacher, had interrupted him. "I don't quite understand."
At this, Slim had made a high-pitched sound and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking so obviously that I had tears in my eyes in my attempt to keep from laughing.
"What," Pierre asks, "is your motivation for making this film, Dom?"
This was our undoing. Dom just stood there...
And found nothing to say.
To this day, the image still makes Slim and I laugh to tears. Especially since I was the next in line, and my idea had garnered a lot of enthusiasm. It was a movie about sorcery: a girl found a spellbook in her attic and decided to try the spells... only to realise that the only reason her problems were solved was because she actually chose to do something about them. Bottom line was that magic was everywhere, and we never really notice it unless we pay attention.
"And your motivation, CM?" Pierre had asked me at the end of my presentation.
"Well, honestly," I said, "it's because for some reason I always seem to receive books and information on sorcery ―don't ask me how! I'm not a witch, I promise!" This had made everyone laugh. "And so I know a lot about witchcraft; this would be an easy film to write for me. Not to mention that I'm really up for doing a lighthearted movie. We get too much sombre student films about paranoids and schizos. This would make for a nice change."
See? That's what Pierre needed to hear.
Slim had gone right after me. He, too, had a good film synopsis. He even managed to pull off a one-line pitch, which is rather hard to do: "It's the story of a guy who complains all the time and finally decides to solve all his problems in one day."
This had made Pierre interrupt to congratulate him on his one-line summary, which is essential to any film pitch. Slim had laughed.
"And my motivation," he added at the end, glancing at me and trying not to laugh some more, "is because this movie has a lot of comedic potential, and I agree with CM on not having enough funny films made. And it also rings true, since I'm the kind who complains a lot in silence and hardly ever does anything to help myself. what can I say? I'm a whiner."
This was greeted with chuckles, but only I knew how much further the meaning went. He was referring to our film experience from last term: our bad movie with obscure and depressing themes, and our keeping silent on how much we hated our teammates until the very end...
The whole class was really excited by our ideas. I have to say that our whole team had really great ideas.
Speaking of my new teammates, I may as well introduce you.
Of course, there's Slim and I. You know us, so just be assured that we chose to stick together for this term, once again, because we work and get along so well. We also hand-picked our new teammates by checking their past references in secret and ensuring that we would have good-workers with us.
We couldn't, however, predict the chemistry of the final group, so I cannot explain to you how glad I am of the result.
Our appointed producer is Gabriel. He's a smart guy, excellent in theatre, with good improvisation skills and a sort of humour that you don't expect. He seems quiet and introspective, but he's actually the funniest of us all. You never expect his jokes. He also has a great leadership potential because of his calm attitude; he has more film experience than the rest of us ―he's been around longer― and he is open to everyone's ideas. Slim and he worked together on a few extracurricular shows, so I knew that he would fit in. (Basically, he's the exact opposite of Dom.)
Our assistant producer is AA. She's loud and she likes to wave her arms around a lot. Still, she's sweet, no-nonsense, and as ready to laugh as anyone. We don't know if she's cut out for the post: she seems rather average as far as organisation goes, but she commads attention from us when she wants it ―meaning she can call us back to order― and she seems very determined to do a good job ―which will make up for her average sense of organization.
Our camera woman is Iva, though she shares jobs with our photographic director, Maria. Iva seems quiet and meek. She's the typical gorgeous-but-doesn't-know-it quiet girl whom everyone likes and that every guy has a major crush on. I'd hate her for it if she weren't so funny. You never expect her to, but sometimes she quietly speaks up and says the most hilarious things, you can't help but crack up. She's almost as random as me, and that's saying something.
Maria, on her part, is sometimes hysterical but mostly, she looks out for everyone's welfare. She rarely initiates any insanity, but she'll go along with it until the end. High-pitched, loud, arms-flailing, she's hard to miss. She's also talented, patient, and knows how to get a job done properly. Her suggestions are always sound and well-grounded, so her ability to look at things differently is invaluable.
Our scripter is Laura, who is mostly the most outcast of us. She's prudish, a little meek to hang out with the bold group that we are, but she can force her way in and have her word be heard. Organised and structured, we know she'll do a good job of keeping track of everything we do. She's also our artistic director, which we're grateful for since she has a practical view on costumes and décor, which are a vast domain that would freak us out otherwise.
Then, of course, there's Slim and I, who do the same jobs as last term because we got so good at them. Slim holds the mic', and I am in charge of sound recording. Then, Slim gets to do the editing in post-prod.
Gabriel and I are in charge of writing the scenario, and I have to say that it ROCKS. I am, in fact, stunned by its successful start.
We took Slim's main character, thrust it into Iva's storyline, and used my stylistic approach.
Pierre, in our individual team meetings, had actually been shocked to see us mix his top three favourite plot ideas (from our team) into one. He had openly admitted that stories rarely ever mixed so well.
We'd laughed, but then Pierre had added, very seriously, "Honestly, when I saw all your names in one team, I almost freaked out. I went, 'This is the dream-team'."
We were so flattered, and it hasn't stopped. Every week, during the team meetings, Pierre's jaw drops even more.
At the first scenario deposit, he had been stunned by how clear and structured Gabriel and I were, not to mention how funny and exciting our screenplay was. He had said, "In all my years as a cinema teacher, I have never seen a student film that was so good on its first draft."
Which was immediately followed by a full hour of excited improvements we could make. Slim and I had exchanged a glance and smiled.
Last week, we'd held the team meeting with him, and talked amongst ourselves very seriously, and had almost forgotten Pierre was even there. At that point he'd stopped us ―we'd been surprised― and said with a broad smile, "You guys amaze me."
This, coming from a guy who worked for the National Film Board and done a couple of professional movies himself, was so flattering that we could only chuckle nervously.
"You know what I love the most?" Slim had confessed over lunch downtown last weekend. He'd chosen a table next to a fountain for the two of us in the food court ('Loooook, it's so romantic, and it'll distract you from my gross table manners!'), and we had been talking for over an hour, just sitting there. "It's that... I know we're a good team and all, but it's the fact that other people confirm it. I have such a great feeling about this term..."
"I know what you mean. Honestly, though, every time I look back on it, I can't help but be grateful that you were there last term. I think I'd have gone insane without you in my team."
Slim looked horrified. "Geez, you think you're the only one who feels that way? What would I have done without you? Imagine! I wouldn't have had the guts to revolt if you hadn't been there."
"I AM more outspoken," I admitted, teasing him. He's the kind who has strong opinions but won't let anything show on the surface. I'm a little more transparent, and we both know it. "... You know what my favourite part of last term was?"
"What?"
"When you cheered me up after Dom and Gen insulted me. You know, with the emails? God, I'd been on the verge of tears that night. Those assholes. And then, you come back from work, get online, and you just... I mean, that was so sweet, yet twisted, of you. The way you cheered me up, I mean."
"Oh, you mean the 'how will they bitch against us when they have no friends' thing?" Slim looked pleased with himself. He shoots me a gentle smile, the tender kind that he won't make unless we're alone. "Hey, I couldn't have you become a basketcase on me."
"Jerk." I pull my tongue at him.
"Honestly, though," and here I see the sweetest expression come over him. He's a real sweetheart, but he usually hides it under a blank, loud or teasing exterior. I always feel privileged when he softens up like this, "I am really grateful that we were together in that one, and that we're in it together this time too." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "I really hope we can continue working together next year, in university."
It was hard to keep from smiling, so I didn't hold back. "I hope so, too."
So now it's a matter of time before we know what happens. I have to say that going downtown regularly for application matters and museum visits with him is part of what makes our friendship fun, especially since we spend most of our traveling time discussing the survival story that I'm writing for him and the boys... starring him and the boys in a military context where Montreal is under siege.
Yes, I know, I'm not writing fanfiction at the moment. I know. But I am still writing, and I may publish the story online at some point. It's just that, for a change, this story is original.
One might argue that using people who already exist as main characters would make it partial fanfiction, but I'm not so sure. The fact is that the idea was spawned in one of my numerous talks with Slim about Montreal's underground city, and he wanted to make a movie about it, but then I went proactive and chose to write it as a literary fiction rather than wait for us to get funds we would never have.
I've heard no complaints so far. In fact, all the guys are heavily urging me to continue. It stars Slim, but he co-stars with PB, Rick, Guy, Drew, Mitch, Ban, Fred, and any other of our friends who didn't think it was too weird.
"Man," I'd confessed to Slim once, on the bus home, "you know, though, what bugs me about the story? The fact that Guy is obsessively pressuring me to continue. I mean, I appreciate feedback and encouragement, but the pressure is a little too much to take sometimes. I love the story, but he makes me a little nervous."
Slim had listened to my rant for a good fifteen minutes. I have to say that I'm used to the pressure. I'd felt it, towards the end, from the online community. It's no one's fault but mine, of course, but I figured that if I could no longer stand the heat, it was time for me to step back and cool down.
Which was what I was doing by writing for a more restricted audience... before I realised that my writing skills hadn't cooled down and that they actually did cause a hype anyway, even faster than it happened online, only this time it was amongst my friends.
And that is a little harder to ignore.
I was flattered, and I still am. Except that Guy had taken a massive interest in it and was pressuring me to rival the big sci-fi authors of our time. Honestly. I hadn't dared to tell him that I probably wasn't going to fight to meet his expectations. I mean, that would be a little callous.
So Slim listened to me rant about this before he shook his head. In the slanting rays of the sun, he was half-red, half-shadow, and I noticed that he had natural blonde highlights in his brown hair that looked like threads of gold.
"Don't worry about Guy. You're not writing for him, are you?"
I was surprised by this, and tried not to look too nervous. I mean, you know how I keep encouraging people to write for themselves, and not for the reviews...
"You mean I should write for myself?" I ask, trying not to freak out.
"No."
Blink. Blink.
"I mean you should write for me." His face breaks into a huge, laughing grin. "I'm the main character, and it was my original idea, and it's not like I'm pressuring you or anything. And you know that if I do, it's only for fun. I don't want you to feel pressured."
He cracks up at my dumbfounded expression. "Oh, man, you don't get it. Don't write for people who make you miserable." He looks straight into my eyes. "CM, think of it this way. You're writing for me. Only for me."
He looks intent and I can't look away. It's the contrast of the sun and the shadows on his face.
"I won't make you miserable because of it. I won't pressure you. I love that story. Write. For. Me." He shrugs. "That way, you won't be disappointed."
I am still stunned, and I feel a little mushy on the inside, dammit.
Love,
CM
That was the musical moment of the day. Don't expect anything more. Seriously. Don't.
Anyway, I figured you needed a little news update to confirm that I have not been kidnapped by white-slave traders and been sold to a very handsome and intelligent man's harem for a few months of delicious toe-curling sex.
Yeah, I know. I wish.
No, instead I'm juggling school and friends.
On the school front, I am pleasantly surprised. Not only are my grades kickass (and by this I mean that they haven't been this kickass since the sixth grade, where I got regular 90s/100), but on top of that, I'm pulling them off IN SPITE of my increasing social life.
And trust me, no one is more surprised than I am about that last detail.
I was accepted in pretty much every university program I applied to, EXCEPT the one Slim and I really want. We're still waiting for the mid-April summons to see if we were selected for interviews.
At least, though, we know we both have the option of attending the screenwriting certificate at the UQÀM together: we both got our confirmation letters last Wednesday.
I really hope we can enter the baccalaureate, though. I hate waiting for this kind of thing.
School is also awesome in that all my team projects are rockin' on. Honestly. My Mass Media team, composed of Slim and Gabie, earned us a 91.9% grade on both the ten-page analysis and our oral presentation.
"You'd have had 98% if I hadn't been on your team," Slim joked when we received the highest grade in the promotion. Gabie and I ignored him and giggled like idiots.
Most of my teams are with either Slim, Gabie or one of my movie-making teammates.
And since we're on the subject, let's mention them.
They.
Rock.
So much.
Actually, I believe that anyone who read this blog last term would know that after my LAST movie-making experience, this one could only be better.
And oh. It SO is.
The pure irony of my new team is that we share a supervisor with none other than... Dom and Gen's new team!!! This is Slim and my cue to laugh aloud.
From the very first class, we knew we were going to get even with them. I mean, seriously. It had started that day where we were supposed to present our film ideas to the class. Everyone had to come in with a movie synopsis and present it to the group. Our group is composed only of two teams, so half the class was directly concerned by your suggestion while the other half only listened out of courtesy.
Dom, our esteemed (not) ex-producer, had insisted on going first.
Oh man, you had to be there. Slim and I had folded our arms on the table and were trying not to quake with barely suppressed laughter. Every time we'd gather our composure, we'd glance at each other and stifle new guffaws.
Dom has a reputation now. Of having incomprehensible and obscure (and boring) film ideas. He thinks that to be artsy, the film has to be inaccessible. Which is wrong on so many levels that I'm not even going to delve into the matter.
If you have trouble grasping what I mean, think of it this way: he's like an annoying dude on FF.Net who would write dark poetry without structure, grammar, or logic, then claim that it's interpretive art if anyone tells him he sucks.
That's Dom. Except he doesn't limit the damage to writing. He also spreads it to sound capture, images, AND screenplays.
It's a disaster, and so Slim and I can't help but hold in our wailing laughter in order not to look too suspicious.
We thought we hid it rather well. I'd only gotten one evil glance from Gen in the whole fifteen minutes that Dom had been up there explaining his idea (which no one understood, and not because we were laughing). It was something about a man in a forest cutting a tree, and then the tree started bleeding, and he had to go get medication for his daughter― anyway, it was weeeeird.
"Wait, Dom," Pierre, our film teacher, had interrupted him. "I don't quite understand."
At this, Slim had made a high-pitched sound and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking so obviously that I had tears in my eyes in my attempt to keep from laughing.
"What," Pierre asks, "is your motivation for making this film, Dom?"
This was our undoing. Dom just stood there...
And found nothing to say.
To this day, the image still makes Slim and I laugh to tears. Especially since I was the next in line, and my idea had garnered a lot of enthusiasm. It was a movie about sorcery: a girl found a spellbook in her attic and decided to try the spells... only to realise that the only reason her problems were solved was because she actually chose to do something about them. Bottom line was that magic was everywhere, and we never really notice it unless we pay attention.
"And your motivation, CM?" Pierre had asked me at the end of my presentation.
"Well, honestly," I said, "it's because for some reason I always seem to receive books and information on sorcery ―don't ask me how! I'm not a witch, I promise!" This had made everyone laugh. "And so I know a lot about witchcraft; this would be an easy film to write for me. Not to mention that I'm really up for doing a lighthearted movie. We get too much sombre student films about paranoids and schizos. This would make for a nice change."
See? That's what Pierre needed to hear.
Slim had gone right after me. He, too, had a good film synopsis. He even managed to pull off a one-line pitch, which is rather hard to do: "It's the story of a guy who complains all the time and finally decides to solve all his problems in one day."
This had made Pierre interrupt to congratulate him on his one-line summary, which is essential to any film pitch. Slim had laughed.
"And my motivation," he added at the end, glancing at me and trying not to laugh some more, "is because this movie has a lot of comedic potential, and I agree with CM on not having enough funny films made. And it also rings true, since I'm the kind who complains a lot in silence and hardly ever does anything to help myself. what can I say? I'm a whiner."
This was greeted with chuckles, but only I knew how much further the meaning went. He was referring to our film experience from last term: our bad movie with obscure and depressing themes, and our keeping silent on how much we hated our teammates until the very end...
The whole class was really excited by our ideas. I have to say that our whole team had really great ideas.
Speaking of my new teammates, I may as well introduce you.
Of course, there's Slim and I. You know us, so just be assured that we chose to stick together for this term, once again, because we work and get along so well. We also hand-picked our new teammates by checking their past references in secret and ensuring that we would have good-workers with us.
We couldn't, however, predict the chemistry of the final group, so I cannot explain to you how glad I am of the result.
Our appointed producer is Gabriel. He's a smart guy, excellent in theatre, with good improvisation skills and a sort of humour that you don't expect. He seems quiet and introspective, but he's actually the funniest of us all. You never expect his jokes. He also has a great leadership potential because of his calm attitude; he has more film experience than the rest of us ―he's been around longer― and he is open to everyone's ideas. Slim and he worked together on a few extracurricular shows, so I knew that he would fit in. (Basically, he's the exact opposite of Dom.)
Our assistant producer is AA. She's loud and she likes to wave her arms around a lot. Still, she's sweet, no-nonsense, and as ready to laugh as anyone. We don't know if she's cut out for the post: she seems rather average as far as organisation goes, but she commads attention from us when she wants it ―meaning she can call us back to order― and she seems very determined to do a good job ―which will make up for her average sense of organization.
Our camera woman is Iva, though she shares jobs with our photographic director, Maria. Iva seems quiet and meek. She's the typical gorgeous-but-doesn't-know-it quiet girl whom everyone likes and that every guy has a major crush on. I'd hate her for it if she weren't so funny. You never expect her to, but sometimes she quietly speaks up and says the most hilarious things, you can't help but crack up. She's almost as random as me, and that's saying something.
Maria, on her part, is sometimes hysterical but mostly, she looks out for everyone's welfare. She rarely initiates any insanity, but she'll go along with it until the end. High-pitched, loud, arms-flailing, she's hard to miss. She's also talented, patient, and knows how to get a job done properly. Her suggestions are always sound and well-grounded, so her ability to look at things differently is invaluable.
Our scripter is Laura, who is mostly the most outcast of us. She's prudish, a little meek to hang out with the bold group that we are, but she can force her way in and have her word be heard. Organised and structured, we know she'll do a good job of keeping track of everything we do. She's also our artistic director, which we're grateful for since she has a practical view on costumes and décor, which are a vast domain that would freak us out otherwise.
Then, of course, there's Slim and I, who do the same jobs as last term because we got so good at them. Slim holds the mic', and I am in charge of sound recording. Then, Slim gets to do the editing in post-prod.
Gabriel and I are in charge of writing the scenario, and I have to say that it ROCKS. I am, in fact, stunned by its successful start.
We took Slim's main character, thrust it into Iva's storyline, and used my stylistic approach.
Pierre, in our individual team meetings, had actually been shocked to see us mix his top three favourite plot ideas (from our team) into one. He had openly admitted that stories rarely ever mixed so well.
We'd laughed, but then Pierre had added, very seriously, "Honestly, when I saw all your names in one team, I almost freaked out. I went, 'This is the dream-team'."
We were so flattered, and it hasn't stopped. Every week, during the team meetings, Pierre's jaw drops even more.
At the first scenario deposit, he had been stunned by how clear and structured Gabriel and I were, not to mention how funny and exciting our screenplay was. He had said, "In all my years as a cinema teacher, I have never seen a student film that was so good on its first draft."
Which was immediately followed by a full hour of excited improvements we could make. Slim and I had exchanged a glance and smiled.
Last week, we'd held the team meeting with him, and talked amongst ourselves very seriously, and had almost forgotten Pierre was even there. At that point he'd stopped us ―we'd been surprised― and said with a broad smile, "You guys amaze me."
This, coming from a guy who worked for the National Film Board and done a couple of professional movies himself, was so flattering that we could only chuckle nervously.
"You know what I love the most?" Slim had confessed over lunch downtown last weekend. He'd chosen a table next to a fountain for the two of us in the food court ('Loooook, it's so romantic, and it'll distract you from my gross table manners!'), and we had been talking for over an hour, just sitting there. "It's that... I know we're a good team and all, but it's the fact that other people confirm it. I have such a great feeling about this term..."
"I know what you mean. Honestly, though, every time I look back on it, I can't help but be grateful that you were there last term. I think I'd have gone insane without you in my team."
Slim looked horrified. "Geez, you think you're the only one who feels that way? What would I have done without you? Imagine! I wouldn't have had the guts to revolt if you hadn't been there."
"I AM more outspoken," I admitted, teasing him. He's the kind who has strong opinions but won't let anything show on the surface. I'm a little more transparent, and we both know it. "... You know what my favourite part of last term was?"
"What?"
"When you cheered me up after Dom and Gen insulted me. You know, with the emails? God, I'd been on the verge of tears that night. Those assholes. And then, you come back from work, get online, and you just... I mean, that was so sweet, yet twisted, of you. The way you cheered me up, I mean."
"Oh, you mean the 'how will they bitch against us when they have no friends' thing?" Slim looked pleased with himself. He shoots me a gentle smile, the tender kind that he won't make unless we're alone. "Hey, I couldn't have you become a basketcase on me."
"Jerk." I pull my tongue at him.
"Honestly, though," and here I see the sweetest expression come over him. He's a real sweetheart, but he usually hides it under a blank, loud or teasing exterior. I always feel privileged when he softens up like this, "I am really grateful that we were together in that one, and that we're in it together this time too." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "I really hope we can continue working together next year, in university."
It was hard to keep from smiling, so I didn't hold back. "I hope so, too."
So now it's a matter of time before we know what happens. I have to say that going downtown regularly for application matters and museum visits with him is part of what makes our friendship fun, especially since we spend most of our traveling time discussing the survival story that I'm writing for him and the boys... starring him and the boys in a military context where Montreal is under siege.
Yes, I know, I'm not writing fanfiction at the moment. I know. But I am still writing, and I may publish the story online at some point. It's just that, for a change, this story is original.
One might argue that using people who already exist as main characters would make it partial fanfiction, but I'm not so sure. The fact is that the idea was spawned in one of my numerous talks with Slim about Montreal's underground city, and he wanted to make a movie about it, but then I went proactive and chose to write it as a literary fiction rather than wait for us to get funds we would never have.
I've heard no complaints so far. In fact, all the guys are heavily urging me to continue. It stars Slim, but he co-stars with PB, Rick, Guy, Drew, Mitch, Ban, Fred, and any other of our friends who didn't think it was too weird.
"Man," I'd confessed to Slim once, on the bus home, "you know, though, what bugs me about the story? The fact that Guy is obsessively pressuring me to continue. I mean, I appreciate feedback and encouragement, but the pressure is a little too much to take sometimes. I love the story, but he makes me a little nervous."
Slim had listened to my rant for a good fifteen minutes. I have to say that I'm used to the pressure. I'd felt it, towards the end, from the online community. It's no one's fault but mine, of course, but I figured that if I could no longer stand the heat, it was time for me to step back and cool down.
Which was what I was doing by writing for a more restricted audience... before I realised that my writing skills hadn't cooled down and that they actually did cause a hype anyway, even faster than it happened online, only this time it was amongst my friends.
And that is a little harder to ignore.
I was flattered, and I still am. Except that Guy had taken a massive interest in it and was pressuring me to rival the big sci-fi authors of our time. Honestly. I hadn't dared to tell him that I probably wasn't going to fight to meet his expectations. I mean, that would be a little callous.
So Slim listened to me rant about this before he shook his head. In the slanting rays of the sun, he was half-red, half-shadow, and I noticed that he had natural blonde highlights in his brown hair that looked like threads of gold.
"Don't worry about Guy. You're not writing for him, are you?"
I was surprised by this, and tried not to look too nervous. I mean, you know how I keep encouraging people to write for themselves, and not for the reviews...
"You mean I should write for myself?" I ask, trying not to freak out.
"No."
Blink. Blink.
"I mean you should write for me." His face breaks into a huge, laughing grin. "I'm the main character, and it was my original idea, and it's not like I'm pressuring you or anything. And you know that if I do, it's only for fun. I don't want you to feel pressured."
He cracks up at my dumbfounded expression. "Oh, man, you don't get it. Don't write for people who make you miserable." He looks straight into my eyes. "CM, think of it this way. You're writing for me. Only for me."
He looks intent and I can't look away. It's the contrast of the sun and the shadows on his face.
"I won't make you miserable because of it. I won't pressure you. I love that story. Write. For. Me." He shrugs. "That way, you won't be disappointed."
I am still stunned, and I feel a little mushy on the inside, dammit.
Love,
CM
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Technical difficulties
"I will say only one thing," Slim announces, his curt tone drawing attention from the rest of our group and teammates gathered around us. He rarely uses the emphasis he's using now, that pretty much calls attention from anyone within a ten meter radius.
But he's not looking at the attention he's garnering. He's looking at me.
I have a sneaking suspicion about what he's going to say, yet I prefer not to speak just yet. I've been badgering him for a piece of his KitKat chocolate bar for the past five minutes, to no avail. He always refuses to share food, especially since he regained his appetite after his three-month-long cold. So I'd pretty much pushed my limits of annoying him, and I'd decided I would lay low for now. I know where his limits are, and I don't want to actually piss him off.
There's a difference between toying and annoying, the same way he knows when it's safe to insult me to make me smile along, as opposed to when he'd actually risk hurting my feelings.
"I will say only one sentence," he repeats, looking straight into my eyes, as he's wont to do whenever he's eager to avoid everybody else's searching looks, like during oral presentations and arguments. "And you'll know..." He hesitates on how to phrase his sentence. He's speaking in English, as we sometimes slip into it. "...Anyway, you'll know."
I know that he's not talking about something so trivial as a KitKat chocolate bar.
"I," he starts, brown eyes boring into mine as I politely gaze back, "am fucking pissed. There." And with that, he walks off to greet Mitch, eager to let his theatrics sink into my conscious and, I'm sure, to let me wonder at his reasons.
Everyone around us blinks in confusion. Slim and I have the annoying tendency of leaving many things unsaid, especially when speaking with one another. He particularly loves riddles, and I sincerely appreciate metaphors. This tends to piss people off, or at least confuse them beyond repair. This time is no exception. Slim has just thrown a phrase too insignificant and commonplace that it leaves little to wonder at.
But I know exactly what he's talking about, just as he'd said I would. There's so much lying below the words, so many subtle hints in demeanour, that only I can grasp by now. Charming.
And I cannot believe it.
I stalk up to him and demand, "Wait. Does this mean that tonight... You're not going to... 'yeah'?"
'Yeah' is the term he and I use to refer to his shameless making-out with Renee. Usually, no one really understands why I always grimace openly whenever he shows up and tells me, before greeting anybody else, 'Hey, CM, last Tuesday... "yeah".' This, as I said, usually prompts a disgusted grimace on my part, a very amused smirk from Slim at my reaction, and a seriously confused ripple of incomprehension from any onlookers. As usual.
And so, when I draw my conclusion and inquire about his reason for being so pissed, I drag a very bewildered look from Mitch, but a scowl from Slim.
"What's 'yeah'?" Mitch asks, but gets no answer.
Slim walks past me, striding some ways away, and I follow him, knowing that I'm right without him having to say a single word.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
He frowns at nothing in particular. "Yeah."
I knew he was meant to see her tonight, as grim as that prospect seemed to me. The connection wasn't obvious, as Renee hadn't been mentioned since Sunday, but I'd known. I'd just known.
"She cancelled on you, didn't she?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah. And for the dumbest reason imaginable. Something about homework due in three days. Like she can't do it last minute the way we do."
Ugh. Yeah, just this morning we'd finished our project. At two in the morning, to be exact.
I try to conjure up some sympathy for him, but I can't. All I can find in me is morbid curiosity and shameful satisfaction. I'm about to ask a new question, but he continues, anticipating my inquiry.
"It's the third time she's cancelled on me." He shakes his head and says, not looking particularly upset, "So I'm not going to keep on trying. If she wants to see me, it's her turn to ask me out. I'm tired of making a schmuck of myself."
I find this a little extreme. I can't blame him for wanting to be wanted, but he's got a tendency to be rough with these things.
"Wait. Was it three times in a row?" I ask, hoping that at least his anger will be justified this time. Three cancellations in a row would warrant this disgruntled sulking, but three times overall in the span of their, er, relationship would be extreme, and I'm getting ready to tell him as much.
"Yeah! In a row!"
Oh, nevermind the chiding, then.
Many things are fighting within me. For one, a hunger for chocolate that he hasn't quelled by Bogarting his own KitKat bar. For two, cheerful satisfaction that he's not going to be smooching Renee tonight. For three, shameful common sense reminding me that I should probably feel bad that his not-romantic-I-swear-it's-not-romantic endeavours have proved fruitless, on account of my being his friend and nothing more and all that. For four...
Well, something has just slipped my mind and I'm trying to remember what it was before Slim's talking breaks into my thoughts again.
"I swear," he's saying, "that girl keeps making up stupid excuses, and delaying then cancelling all our meetings."
Meetings, he says, but they're more like dates.
Anyway, whatever, I can't say I understand him. Why anyone would want to see Renee on a regular basis pretty much escapes me. Maybe because I'm a straight female, but then a lot of male acquaintances have expressed the same kind of disgust for Renee's well-disguised-beneath-good-girl-looks sluttishness that I have.
But hey, it's none of my business who Slim snogs and who he steers clear of. I'm just there to help him sort it out and help him find good one-line comebacks for when his psychotic exes get pissed at him because he won't get back together with them. Oh, and I get lost with him downtown.
"We should go back to class," Gabriel ―the only other male in our movie team, also composed of me, Slim, AA, Iva, Laura and Maria― suggests. He's a good comedian, but he seems composed most of the time, a subtle grin always playing on his lips, the only sign that he's a little nutter.
As we walk up the stairs (that's five flights of stairs, friends), I express my sympathy to Slim for his disappointment. But after his theatrical yet very mysterious announcement, he doesn't look particularly concerned with his suddenly free evening. He even spreads out his arms and smiles, genuinely comfortable with it, as he says, "Hey, do I look overly concerned? It's not like I'm in love with her or anything."
Surprisingly, I'm actually inclined to believe him this time, judging from his expression.
But what am I forgetting? I'm forgetting something, and the thought haunts me as we enter the classroom.
It's the day where we pitch our film ideas to the whole class and basically explain our synopses to the teacher. Slim and I had gone before the break, as had Dom and Gen (speaking of which, Slim and my ideas gathered a lot more general enthusiasm than theirs did, but whatever, we already knew we rock a lot more than them), and a couple other students. So Slim and I had nothing better to do for the rest of the class than listen to the story ideas and exchange notes.
A guy is explaining his movie idea when suddenly something dawns on me.
I already mentioned that Slim and I are working on an audioplay for our university applications. I'd written it, he'd edited it, we'd done the voices, blah blah blah. It was a cute play, and it sounds okay. We'd finished it on Sunday, save for one detail.
At one point in the audioplay, the two characters kiss, audibly, in the middle of an argument. Oh, the arguing had been easy for us to record. One might say it came naturally.
But I could distinctly recall our obvious avoidance of the kissing sound until it became inevitable that we confront it. It was, on Sunday, the only thing left to record, and we'd agreed with shared horror that no, we would not be recording the sound ourselves, nor could we download a sound clip because it sounded too fake. Slim had, instead, announced that he would 'request Renee's help' in recording this particular sound.
If you see what I mean.
I'd shrugged it off. Whatever. It's true kissing Slim would make things very awkward. So I'd gamely grimaced and let him smirk some more in anticipation, the mysteries of his attraction beyond me.
Now, though, with the deadline quickly approaching (and no opportunity for mistakes), it dawned on me that...
'Hey, if you're not going "yeah" tonight, where are we going to get the kissing sound?' I ask, in a note, which I slide towards him.
Slim, as means of reply, simply draws ' :*( '
I am exasperated. 'That's not a reply. We need a solution, buddy.'
'I'm thinking about it,' he answers, and I can tell by his face that he hasn't got any ideas either.
A few seconds pass, before I ask, 'How about your sister and François?'
'They're not hot enough.'
I can't help but laugh at this. He's holding down a smirk.
In a whisper, I hiss, "Well, I certainly don't feel like asking your parents to help us."
He appears reasonably horrified by the prospect, but he can't help a chuckle as he whispers back, "Yeah, no, I'm not going to go up to them and ask them to smooch in my face―"
We interrupt ourselves to keep from laughing and from offending the person currently talking in front of us.
But we are still bereft of any ideas.
And time is running out.
Love,
CM
P.S. NO, KISSING HIM IS NOT AN OPTION.
P.P.S. I Don't CARE what Jesus Says about Stetsons, Lyx, I Am NOT Kissing Slim!
But he's not looking at the attention he's garnering. He's looking at me.
I have a sneaking suspicion about what he's going to say, yet I prefer not to speak just yet. I've been badgering him for a piece of his KitKat chocolate bar for the past five minutes, to no avail. He always refuses to share food, especially since he regained his appetite after his three-month-long cold. So I'd pretty much pushed my limits of annoying him, and I'd decided I would lay low for now. I know where his limits are, and I don't want to actually piss him off.
There's a difference between toying and annoying, the same way he knows when it's safe to insult me to make me smile along, as opposed to when he'd actually risk hurting my feelings.
"I will say only one sentence," he repeats, looking straight into my eyes, as he's wont to do whenever he's eager to avoid everybody else's searching looks, like during oral presentations and arguments. "And you'll know..." He hesitates on how to phrase his sentence. He's speaking in English, as we sometimes slip into it. "...Anyway, you'll know."
I know that he's not talking about something so trivial as a KitKat chocolate bar.
"I," he starts, brown eyes boring into mine as I politely gaze back, "am fucking pissed. There." And with that, he walks off to greet Mitch, eager to let his theatrics sink into my conscious and, I'm sure, to let me wonder at his reasons.
Everyone around us blinks in confusion. Slim and I have the annoying tendency of leaving many things unsaid, especially when speaking with one another. He particularly loves riddles, and I sincerely appreciate metaphors. This tends to piss people off, or at least confuse them beyond repair. This time is no exception. Slim has just thrown a phrase too insignificant and commonplace that it leaves little to wonder at.
But I know exactly what he's talking about, just as he'd said I would. There's so much lying below the words, so many subtle hints in demeanour, that only I can grasp by now. Charming.
And I cannot believe it.
I stalk up to him and demand, "Wait. Does this mean that tonight... You're not going to... 'yeah'?"
'Yeah' is the term he and I use to refer to his shameless making-out with Renee. Usually, no one really understands why I always grimace openly whenever he shows up and tells me, before greeting anybody else, 'Hey, CM, last Tuesday... "yeah".' This, as I said, usually prompts a disgusted grimace on my part, a very amused smirk from Slim at my reaction, and a seriously confused ripple of incomprehension from any onlookers. As usual.
And so, when I draw my conclusion and inquire about his reason for being so pissed, I drag a very bewildered look from Mitch, but a scowl from Slim.
"What's 'yeah'?" Mitch asks, but gets no answer.
Slim walks past me, striding some ways away, and I follow him, knowing that I'm right without him having to say a single word.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
He frowns at nothing in particular. "Yeah."
I knew he was meant to see her tonight, as grim as that prospect seemed to me. The connection wasn't obvious, as Renee hadn't been mentioned since Sunday, but I'd known. I'd just known.
"She cancelled on you, didn't she?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah. And for the dumbest reason imaginable. Something about homework due in three days. Like she can't do it last minute the way we do."
Ugh. Yeah, just this morning we'd finished our project. At two in the morning, to be exact.
I try to conjure up some sympathy for him, but I can't. All I can find in me is morbid curiosity and shameful satisfaction. I'm about to ask a new question, but he continues, anticipating my inquiry.
"It's the third time she's cancelled on me." He shakes his head and says, not looking particularly upset, "So I'm not going to keep on trying. If she wants to see me, it's her turn to ask me out. I'm tired of making a schmuck of myself."
I find this a little extreme. I can't blame him for wanting to be wanted, but he's got a tendency to be rough with these things.
"Wait. Was it three times in a row?" I ask, hoping that at least his anger will be justified this time. Three cancellations in a row would warrant this disgruntled sulking, but three times overall in the span of their, er, relationship would be extreme, and I'm getting ready to tell him as much.
"Yeah! In a row!"
Oh, nevermind the chiding, then.
Many things are fighting within me. For one, a hunger for chocolate that he hasn't quelled by Bogarting his own KitKat bar. For two, cheerful satisfaction that he's not going to be smooching Renee tonight. For three, shameful common sense reminding me that I should probably feel bad that his not-romantic-I-swear-it's-not-romantic endeavours have proved fruitless, on account of my being his friend and nothing more and all that. For four...
Well, something has just slipped my mind and I'm trying to remember what it was before Slim's talking breaks into my thoughts again.
"I swear," he's saying, "that girl keeps making up stupid excuses, and delaying then cancelling all our meetings."
Meetings, he says, but they're more like dates.
Anyway, whatever, I can't say I understand him. Why anyone would want to see Renee on a regular basis pretty much escapes me. Maybe because I'm a straight female, but then a lot of male acquaintances have expressed the same kind of disgust for Renee's well-disguised-beneath-good-girl-looks sluttishness that I have.
But hey, it's none of my business who Slim snogs and who he steers clear of. I'm just there to help him sort it out and help him find good one-line comebacks for when his psychotic exes get pissed at him because he won't get back together with them. Oh, and I get lost with him downtown.
"We should go back to class," Gabriel ―the only other male in our movie team, also composed of me, Slim, AA, Iva, Laura and Maria― suggests. He's a good comedian, but he seems composed most of the time, a subtle grin always playing on his lips, the only sign that he's a little nutter.
As we walk up the stairs (that's five flights of stairs, friends), I express my sympathy to Slim for his disappointment. But after his theatrical yet very mysterious announcement, he doesn't look particularly concerned with his suddenly free evening. He even spreads out his arms and smiles, genuinely comfortable with it, as he says, "Hey, do I look overly concerned? It's not like I'm in love with her or anything."
Surprisingly, I'm actually inclined to believe him this time, judging from his expression.
But what am I forgetting? I'm forgetting something, and the thought haunts me as we enter the classroom.
It's the day where we pitch our film ideas to the whole class and basically explain our synopses to the teacher. Slim and I had gone before the break, as had Dom and Gen (speaking of which, Slim and my ideas gathered a lot more general enthusiasm than theirs did, but whatever, we already knew we rock a lot more than them), and a couple other students. So Slim and I had nothing better to do for the rest of the class than listen to the story ideas and exchange notes.
A guy is explaining his movie idea when suddenly something dawns on me.
I already mentioned that Slim and I are working on an audioplay for our university applications. I'd written it, he'd edited it, we'd done the voices, blah blah blah. It was a cute play, and it sounds okay. We'd finished it on Sunday, save for one detail.
At one point in the audioplay, the two characters kiss, audibly, in the middle of an argument. Oh, the arguing had been easy for us to record. One might say it came naturally.
But I could distinctly recall our obvious avoidance of the kissing sound until it became inevitable that we confront it. It was, on Sunday, the only thing left to record, and we'd agreed with shared horror that no, we would not be recording the sound ourselves, nor could we download a sound clip because it sounded too fake. Slim had, instead, announced that he would 'request Renee's help' in recording this particular sound.
If you see what I mean.
I'd shrugged it off. Whatever. It's true kissing Slim would make things very awkward. So I'd gamely grimaced and let him smirk some more in anticipation, the mysteries of his attraction beyond me.
Now, though, with the deadline quickly approaching (and no opportunity for mistakes), it dawned on me that...
'Hey, if you're not going "yeah" tonight, where are we going to get the kissing sound?' I ask, in a note, which I slide towards him.
Slim, as means of reply, simply draws ' :*( '
I am exasperated. 'That's not a reply. We need a solution, buddy.'
'I'm thinking about it,' he answers, and I can tell by his face that he hasn't got any ideas either.
A few seconds pass, before I ask, 'How about your sister and François?'
'They're not hot enough.'
I can't help but laugh at this. He's holding down a smirk.
In a whisper, I hiss, "Well, I certainly don't feel like asking your parents to help us."
He appears reasonably horrified by the prospect, but he can't help a chuckle as he whispers back, "Yeah, no, I'm not going to go up to them and ask them to smooch in my face―"
We interrupt ourselves to keep from laughing and from offending the person currently talking in front of us.
But we are still bereft of any ideas.
And time is running out.
Love,
CM
P.S. NO, KISSING HIM IS NOT AN OPTION.
P.P.S. I Don't CARE what Jesus Says about Stetsons, Lyx, I Am NOT Kissing Slim!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I'm jealous of Goofy.
"Hey!" Slim greeted me yesterday, his smile uncharacteristically wide. "CM! I'm so glad to see you―"
I raise a hand. He shuts up. I love that I can do that. "Slim, come see me when you go on break. I have something for you before you go."
"What?" He furrows a brow and looks confused. I've seen this expression so often that I know it doesn't mean he doesn't understand. It just means he's curious.
"No questions, just do it."
"Okay... Hey, it's my last day here!"
I pout. "I know." He looks so damn happy, the bastard. I guess I kind of liked having him around, in spite of his annoying tendency to jump me from behind to stun me into a heart-attack. "You don't have to be so cocky about it."
He grins charmingly. "What can I say? It's what I do. I love making you jealous. I mean, while you'll be here tomorrow, folding children's socks, I'll be..." He leaves the sentence hanging, just long enough for me to shoot him the expected jealous death glare. "...That's right, CM, I'll be on the plane to Florida and the coolest theme park in the world!" He whoops, raising a fist and pumping it in the air. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Beat that, beat that."
I can't help but smile and squeak, "I'm so jealous, but I'm so excited for you, too."
He returns the smile with obvious good humour, his cockiness gone. "Yeah, it'll be good to see Rick hugging Mickey Mouse."
"But it also means you're finished with Sears..."
He doesn't look too disappointed. "Well, it was fun while it lasted, but I'm also ready to try new stuff out." He shoots me an eloquent look. "I mean, I really appreciate the opportunity I got to try out department store work," I think this is his way of saying thank you to me for having him hired in the first place, "but I think I'll try my hand at waitering at the same restaurant as Rick and Ban."
"I can't believe you're going to Disney World with your family and Rick, of all people, and didn't invite me."
He knows I'm joking, but he replies with the same indignation anyway, "Hey, we've been planning this for months now. Besides, I've known Rick for years. No offence but―"
"I know, Slim, it's okay, I was just kidding."
He snorts. "Well, you're the one who's planning an uber-cool trip to Europe and France for next summer with Kitty and Eva, and look who isn't invited this time."
He crosses his arms childishly and we last no more than five seconds before we start laughing.
"Anyway," Slim continues, "I should get back to my own department. Not that it matters because they can't fire me at this point."
I smirk. "Jerk. ... Hey, when's your lunch break?"
"1:30. You?"
"I'll arrange to have lunch with you, so come get me when it's time."
"Okay. See you in two minutes when I find another pretext to swing by your dept again."
"Slacker."
"It's what I do best."
Time passes agonizingly slowly, broken up only by Slim's occasional incursions into my territory. By 1:30, he comes to the counter where I'm folding children's pyjamas, grabs my arm, and says, "We are leaving. Now."
The cashiers around me shoot us quizzical glances. I disengage myself and say, to Slim, "Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but it's a little dramatic. You're freaking everybody out."
He grins broadly. "I know. Come on, though, I'm hungry."
I roll my eyes and grab my purse, as well as a nondescript envelope that I'd prepared the day before. "You're such a guy. Oh, speaking of lunch, will you―"
"Please say you want a Teenburger too."
"Um. Yeah, okay, but will you―"
"Because I would kill for a Double Teen right about now, and I don't want to walk all the way across the mall on my own."
"Yeah, fine, sure. Hey," I say, trying to match his purposely long strides (he's the only one who can actually make me jog to catch up with him―everyone else jogs to catch up to me!), "but hey, Sliiiim...?"
"What?" He glances at me over his shoulder, smirking at my light jog.
"Will you pay for my lunch?"
"Okay."
"Because you know, you owe me for that one time― wait, seriously?"
He blinks at me confusedly. "Yeah. Well, sure."
"Oh. ... Um, okay." I was only half-kidding, but hey, free food! "Uh... thanks."
"No problem. Hey, can't you keep up?"
I jog again to match his strides. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"
Fifteen minutes later, we re-enter the employee room with our A&W bag. Slim grabs the seat across from me and begins devouring his Double Teenburger. I watch him in amusement and eat my own. After a minute of quiet eating, Slim finally says, "You know what kind of disappoints me lately?"
I glance up and take a long sip of my ice tea. "What?"
He puts his hamburger down and wipes his fingers on a napkin, then motions to my ice tea questionningly. I nod, because I don't mind sharing drinks. I do it often enough at school with Josie, Kitty, Guy or Rick. He takes a small sip, then admits, "Well, I've been spending all my free time at Rick's lately, because I realised that not having a girlfriend leaves this sort of gaping hole in my social agenda."
I refrain from laughing. "Well, that's how it is. Don't you dare pick up with her again though."
He snorts.
"I saw your girlfriend here the other day."
He shoots me a good-humoured smile and raises a brow. "I'm sorry, what? You used a word in there that isn't―"
"Oh my god, sorry. I meant 'ex'. I saw your ex the other day." He nods and looks satisfied, before processing what I just said. I raise my brows. "You know, when you called in sick―you were hungover from the session party, though, weren't you?"
"Yeah, and are you kidding me? Katie? Here? Are you sure?" He makes a funny oops-I-hope-she-doesn't-want-to-wear-my-guts-for-garters face. "What did she, um, look like?"
"Pissed off and a little depressed."
He purses his lips. "That's it?"
"Well, and maybe a bit murderous. But shouldn't that worry you enough?"
"Not really." He eats a slow bite of hamburger. "Truth be told, the more I think about it and the more I realise she was always like that. I was just too blind to see it." He chews, swallows, and says, thoughtfully, "I think the only time I ever saw her smiling was when I was personally overseeing her general happiness."
I cringe and bluntly offer, "You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?"
He shrugs helplessly. "Mostly I think I did the right thing. Which doesn't change the fact that, well, Rick doesn't exactly make up for the girlfriend benefits..."
And because he's trying to be so subtle, I break the hints and plainly say, "You mean you can't snog Rick the way you snogged her?"
He smiles at my destruction of his allusions, then chokes a little as he laughs. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."
"Well, give it some time. It's not like you have a deadline."
"I know." He watches as I finish my Teenburger off, and finishes his a couple of bites later.
Something weird happens then. We just sit there in silence. This very rarely happens, as we usually have so much to say, so much to reply to, so much to share, so much laughter to cause. I can tell he's not thinking of anything in particular, and I know I don't feel the necessity of rekindling conversation. There's nothing awkward. We're just sitting there, each in our own thoughts. I absently examine his traits. Mom says that while most of my guy friends are really attractive, Slim has a little special something. In her words, 'CM, you can say what you want, but Slim is really gorgeous. I mean, really.'
I think I know what she means. Not only does Slim have the most expressive and likeable face I know, his traits also make him rather handsome. While most of the time I focus on his funny expressions and grimaces, all those faces that make him the fun friend that he is, I rarely take the time to appreciate his actual face.
It's not perfect. His skin is sometimes broken by a zit or two. He only shaves once a week, so most of the time his chin has an uneven start of beard. He says that the fact that one of his cheeks tends to be hairier than the other is embarrassing and that it's the reason he'll never grow a full beard, but I don't see it. He's cute, in a ruffled way.
His lower lip juts out a little more than the top lip, giving him the sort of strange edge you find on gritty drawings, but it's so subtle that it makes him look thoughtful more than menacing. It curls a little. It made me wonder what it'd be like to trace it with a finger. His lips aren't chapped, like Rick's tend to be, so I'd imagine it'd be soft.
He's got a larger nose than Rick or PB or Guy. He says that if he had a smaller nose, he could be hot. While he says this with a smile, I know it bothers him. One day I'll tell him that if he had a smaller nose, he wouldn't be nearly as handsome. It's not huge or anything, and could never evoke the image of a hawk or eagle. It's strong, but it's got a smooth bridge, so it doesn't stick out. In a face that manages to balance softness with expressiveness, his nose is actually more than adequate. Not to mention that, caught in the right angle, it makes him cuter than some TV actors.
His eyes are my favourite, though. A mix between brown, gold and green, they're so easy to read, but only if he lets them be. They're not sad; they don't droop. Often, his cheekbones bunch up below them and give them that mirthful upward curve that make him look so cheerful and amused. He's got crinkles on the corners from smiling all the time, and if the light catches on properly, you can tell that his lashes are as long as mine (very).
His face, overall, is much like the rest of him: long. It's oval-shaped, his chin is well-defined but doesn't jut out, and it's framed by dark auburn hair (with lighter streaks that sometimes catch the light and seem dark blonde) that covers his ears. Perhaps my favourite after his eyes, his hair has the same big waves that mine does. His bangs spread at the middle of his forehead, giving him an understated "Link" look. They rise a little, fall over his outer-brows, before curving out a little. They're always clean, too, and very soft to the touch. (He doesn't mind me placing his hair when it's crazy with static from the dry winter, so I've gathered this much information.)
I assess all this with a bit of wistfulness, and only get back to normal when I notice he's staring back. His look, though, isn't a teasing glower, the way he usually looks at me. He's just staring back openly, without any intentions, without any shame or embarrassment. I don't feel any omen, good or bad, from his look. Somehow, it's comforting.
Suddenly, he says, "You know, I can't believe we're reaching the end of 2007. It was insane, don't you think?"
I smile. "It was. I wouldn't have made it through the past few months without you, either. You kept me sane with all that thing with Dom and Gen. Seriously."
He chuckles a little. "It was a pleasure to learn how to manipulate, lie, procrastinate, bitch against people behind their backs, miss sleep hours and backstab with you this term."
I laugh. "Hey, it's what we learned in high school."
"It's what you learned in high school. I was in the regular program. Non-IEP, remember? I only did three years in your class before dropping down into the normal one."
"You could have stayed."
"What? To get a diploma that says I know how to bullshit my way through a writing assignment? Bah. I could do it on my own time."
"As you proved this term when you helped me bullshit in all our projects."
"Yeah." He smiles at nothing in particular. "Remember that time you came over to work and we did nothing but play Portal, A Link to the Past, Link's Awakening, Majora's Mask, watch Six Feet Under in my room until one in the morning when Dom had told us to get work done, and when he saw the unchanged project..."
"He was really impressed by the progress we'd made, even though we hadn't touched it since the last time he'd seen it?" I try not to giggle too loud. "Yeah, that was it. He lost all his credibility for me that day."
"I know. Me too. It told me he was as full of it as we were. Funny, though, you didn't lose your credibility for me. Probably because you were my partner in crime―What the?"
I just handed him the envelope I'd been carrying around for the whole lunch. He eyes it suspiciously, like he doesn't know what to do with it. I shake, and he takes it carefully, then shoots me a questionning look.
"What is this?"
I smile and take a long sip of my ice tea. "It's for you."
He blinks. The envelope isn't thick or heavy. In fact, it contains almost nothing. He shoots me a confused look, this one genuinely confused.
"For me?" He can't seem to process this information. "What for?"
I shoot him a flat look. "Slim, just―"
He peers inside it, his expression a little dark in suspicion.
I don't expect his sudden reaction though, and I just sit back in happy shock as his face brightens up like a thousand watt light bulb. He reveals a row of perfect white teeth ―seriously, I maintain that he bleaches, no way can they be like this naturally; as for their straightness, it's due to orthodontia, if I recall from our early high school years― and shoots me the biggest beaming smile I ever saw him give me. Especially since this one is neither sarcastic or stupid. It's just... well, happy.
"It's...! It's...!" He can't seem to keep from grinning as he pulls out a single sheet of paper from the envelope. He's laughing nervously, like he has trouble containing his joy and mirth. "It's my diploma!"
He bursts into sincere laughter when he sees the fake diploma I made for him. It says:
At the bottom left, I signed on a line titled "Person who is well-respected in their field of study but whom no one else has ever heard about", and on the other side is a fake seal that says "Seal of Authenticity; Absolutely Credible, Much Like Slim's Work".
He is cracking up as he reads this, and shoots me one of the happiest, most laughing smiles I ever got from him. "This," he says between laughs, "is the best freaking present I got this year."
I shoot him a flat look as I try to hide my own amusement.
He seems to concede to my raised brow. "Okay, best gift so far. But still, it's genius work. Thank you."
I raise my ice tea. "Hey, a toast to the two of us not losing our edge in dire moments."
"Cheers," he replies. "And now our break is over. I'll got put this with my coat in the locker room."
"Okay. I'll get back to work."
"Thanks again, CM, seriously."
"You deserved it. Believe me."
He laughs again.
The end of the day rolls around. Something tells me there's something off.
And then it hits me.
It's Slim's last day. I won't see him again at work, let alone this year. Because he'll be off partying in Walt Disney World with his family and Rick.
... I guess you could say I'm kind of sad...?
I hurry into his department, where he's using his last fifteen minutes to fix the sock bundles in the men's department. He doesn't seem to understand why I'm standing in front of him awkwardly.
"Um..." I start. "Hey. I'm, uh, done for the day, so..."
"Okay, bye."
"Well..." God, does he have to be so casual about it? "It's just, um, I probably won't see you before the end of the year, so, uh..."
He turns and shoots me a are-you-okay-why-won't-you-just-spit-it-out-you-weirdo look. Not exactly the best look he can give me.
"I guess... I guess I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year." This is really strange. I never wish this to people who aren't family. It was only in a surprising access of maturity that PB and I had exchanged these polite wishes last week, and it had left me with an inexplicable sense of pride in our group of friends.
Slim, though, doesn't seem won by the polite maturity of wishing one another happy holidays. He just stands there, shooting me his usual stern CM-I-think-you-should-have-your-brain-checked-for-irregularities-you-nutter look.
"Um. Okay. You too."
And he turns to get back to work. I feel like grabbing one of the sock bundles and whacking him with it. Just as I reach for one, our big cheese of a boss stops in front of us. This man is pretty much the most feared in the whole store. My heart leaps as I hurry to think of an excuse to justify me distracting Slim in his work.
"Um. Hi, sir."
"Is everything alright?" He asks with his usual efficient smile.
"Um. Yeah. Yes." I motion to Slim, awkwardly, who is avoiding my gaze and our boss'. "I was just, uh... it's his last day and I won't see him again before the end of the year so I was just saying bye."
Our boss nods in understanding, leaning forward to raise an eloquent brow. "Well, you better hug him now, then, before he slips away."
I freeze, and I can feel the awkwardness radiating off Slim like heat.
"Um. Yeah. Haha. Yeah. I'll keep that in mind."
Slim and I don't hug. We don't kiss cheeks, we don't hug, we don't massage. We just don't. Occasionally, we grab one another's shoulders or arms, or shake each other a little for emphasis, or, if we're just the two of us and feeling distressed, we pass one arm around the other's shoulder, but this is rare and only in particular situations.
But hugs? Yeah, no.
But I turn to Slim anyway, and we exchange testy glances, wondering if I'm going to dare, and if he's going to go along with it. It's awkward, and it's freaky, and I don't know what I want. On one hand, a hug would be nice, I guess. But then, I don't have practice in giving genuine hugs. Especially not to guys who are six feet two.
And then I figure, hell, I won't be seeing him before another month when school starts again, so whatever. He'll have forgotten by then.
So I open my arms and shoot him an inquiring look.
He stands there, screwing his lips into a pensive pout. I sigh, roll my eyes, and make the two steps forward that bring my arms around his neck. I feel him tentatively reach up to encircle my waist, and we both squeeze a little, and then, as I stare up at his ear and a few locks of his hair, I say, with a laugh, "This is really awkward, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he says. "It is."
"Okay." I hurry to let go of him, and he does the same. "Um. Yeah. Let's, uh... strike that from memory."
"Good plan."
"So, um, have a nice trip. Give my best wishes to Rick. I haven't gotten the occasion to speak to him myself."
"You know I'm going to forget that."
"Whatever. Write it in your own blood or something. And um, yeah. Have a nice winter break." I back away, mortified by the awkward encounter. He's gone back to placing socks. I just want to run home now.
But before I can make the final few steps away, he looks up, frowns, and says, "Don't make it sound so final."
"What?"
He looks down at the socks. "I'll see you in January, right?" He peers up at me again.
"Um. Yeah. When school starts again―"
"No, I'll see you before that."
This surprises me. He has no obligation to seek my company during the break. In fact, I'd have suspected him of being tired of me, considering all the badgering I've been doing. So I don't know what to say to this.
"Um... how―"
He shoots me a grin. "I mean, we have our own movie screenplay to write."
This stuns me. Our movie... He had suggested that we make our own movie on the side during the term, but I'd chucked it up to another wouldn't-it-be-cool-if plan that wouldn't actually get done. Of course I'd be overpsyched to work on another movie with him, but I hadn't expected him to remember something he'd suggested three months ago.
So I beam back. "Yeah. You're right. Call me."
"I will." He grins brightly again, then returns to his socks.
And I return home.
And so, as of the 22nd of December, until the 29th, Slim, his family, and Rick are in Disney World.
It would be a lie to say that I don't miss him a little. Of course I'm not losing sleep over him, and I still eat properly, but it sucks that I keep expecting to see him or hear from him before remembering that he's down south and therefore impossible to contact.
He better take a good picture with Goofy, though.
Love,
CM
P.S. FG still moving along. I'm three pages away from the 100 pages mark!
I raise a hand. He shuts up. I love that I can do that. "Slim, come see me when you go on break. I have something for you before you go."
"What?" He furrows a brow and looks confused. I've seen this expression so often that I know it doesn't mean he doesn't understand. It just means he's curious.
"No questions, just do it."
"Okay... Hey, it's my last day here!"
I pout. "I know." He looks so damn happy, the bastard. I guess I kind of liked having him around, in spite of his annoying tendency to jump me from behind to stun me into a heart-attack. "You don't have to be so cocky about it."
He grins charmingly. "What can I say? It's what I do. I love making you jealous. I mean, while you'll be here tomorrow, folding children's socks, I'll be..." He leaves the sentence hanging, just long enough for me to shoot him the expected jealous death glare. "...That's right, CM, I'll be on the plane to Florida and the coolest theme park in the world!" He whoops, raising a fist and pumping it in the air. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Beat that, beat that."
I can't help but smile and squeak, "I'm so jealous, but I'm so excited for you, too."
He returns the smile with obvious good humour, his cockiness gone. "Yeah, it'll be good to see Rick hugging Mickey Mouse."
"But it also means you're finished with Sears..."
He doesn't look too disappointed. "Well, it was fun while it lasted, but I'm also ready to try new stuff out." He shoots me an eloquent look. "I mean, I really appreciate the opportunity I got to try out department store work," I think this is his way of saying thank you to me for having him hired in the first place, "but I think I'll try my hand at waitering at the same restaurant as Rick and Ban."
"I can't believe you're going to Disney World with your family and Rick, of all people, and didn't invite me."
He knows I'm joking, but he replies with the same indignation anyway, "Hey, we've been planning this for months now. Besides, I've known Rick for years. No offence but―"
"I know, Slim, it's okay, I was just kidding."
He snorts. "Well, you're the one who's planning an uber-cool trip to Europe and France for next summer with Kitty and Eva, and look who isn't invited this time."
He crosses his arms childishly and we last no more than five seconds before we start laughing.
"Anyway," Slim continues, "I should get back to my own department. Not that it matters because they can't fire me at this point."
I smirk. "Jerk. ... Hey, when's your lunch break?"
"1:30. You?"
"I'll arrange to have lunch with you, so come get me when it's time."
"Okay. See you in two minutes when I find another pretext to swing by your dept again."
"Slacker."
"It's what I do best."
Time passes agonizingly slowly, broken up only by Slim's occasional incursions into my territory. By 1:30, he comes to the counter where I'm folding children's pyjamas, grabs my arm, and says, "We are leaving. Now."
The cashiers around me shoot us quizzical glances. I disengage myself and say, to Slim, "Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but it's a little dramatic. You're freaking everybody out."
He grins broadly. "I know. Come on, though, I'm hungry."
I roll my eyes and grab my purse, as well as a nondescript envelope that I'd prepared the day before. "You're such a guy. Oh, speaking of lunch, will you―"
"Please say you want a Teenburger too."
"Um. Yeah, okay, but will you―"
"Because I would kill for a Double Teen right about now, and I don't want to walk all the way across the mall on my own."
"Yeah, fine, sure. Hey," I say, trying to match his purposely long strides (he's the only one who can actually make me jog to catch up with him―everyone else jogs to catch up to me!), "but hey, Sliiiim...?"
"What?" He glances at me over his shoulder, smirking at my light jog.
"Will you pay for my lunch?"
"Okay."
"Because you know, you owe me for that one time― wait, seriously?"
He blinks at me confusedly. "Yeah. Well, sure."
"Oh. ... Um, okay." I was only half-kidding, but hey, free food! "Uh... thanks."
"No problem. Hey, can't you keep up?"
I jog again to match his strides. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"
Fifteen minutes later, we re-enter the employee room with our A&W bag. Slim grabs the seat across from me and begins devouring his Double Teenburger. I watch him in amusement and eat my own. After a minute of quiet eating, Slim finally says, "You know what kind of disappoints me lately?"
I glance up and take a long sip of my ice tea. "What?"
He puts his hamburger down and wipes his fingers on a napkin, then motions to my ice tea questionningly. I nod, because I don't mind sharing drinks. I do it often enough at school with Josie, Kitty, Guy or Rick. He takes a small sip, then admits, "Well, I've been spending all my free time at Rick's lately, because I realised that not having a girlfriend leaves this sort of gaping hole in my social agenda."
I refrain from laughing. "Well, that's how it is. Don't you dare pick up with her again though."
He snorts.
"I saw your girlfriend here the other day."
He shoots me a good-humoured smile and raises a brow. "I'm sorry, what? You used a word in there that isn't―"
"Oh my god, sorry. I meant 'ex'. I saw your ex the other day." He nods and looks satisfied, before processing what I just said. I raise my brows. "You know, when you called in sick―you were hungover from the session party, though, weren't you?"
"Yeah, and are you kidding me? Katie? Here? Are you sure?" He makes a funny oops-I-hope-she-doesn't-want-to-wear-my-guts-for-garters face. "What did she, um, look like?"
"Pissed off and a little depressed."
He purses his lips. "That's it?"
"Well, and maybe a bit murderous. But shouldn't that worry you enough?"
"Not really." He eats a slow bite of hamburger. "Truth be told, the more I think about it and the more I realise she was always like that. I was just too blind to see it." He chews, swallows, and says, thoughtfully, "I think the only time I ever saw her smiling was when I was personally overseeing her general happiness."
I cringe and bluntly offer, "You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?"
He shrugs helplessly. "Mostly I think I did the right thing. Which doesn't change the fact that, well, Rick doesn't exactly make up for the girlfriend benefits..."
And because he's trying to be so subtle, I break the hints and plainly say, "You mean you can't snog Rick the way you snogged her?"
He smiles at my destruction of his allusions, then chokes a little as he laughs. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."
"Well, give it some time. It's not like you have a deadline."
"I know." He watches as I finish my Teenburger off, and finishes his a couple of bites later.
Something weird happens then. We just sit there in silence. This very rarely happens, as we usually have so much to say, so much to reply to, so much to share, so much laughter to cause. I can tell he's not thinking of anything in particular, and I know I don't feel the necessity of rekindling conversation. There's nothing awkward. We're just sitting there, each in our own thoughts. I absently examine his traits. Mom says that while most of my guy friends are really attractive, Slim has a little special something. In her words, 'CM, you can say what you want, but Slim is really gorgeous. I mean, really.'
I think I know what she means. Not only does Slim have the most expressive and likeable face I know, his traits also make him rather handsome. While most of the time I focus on his funny expressions and grimaces, all those faces that make him the fun friend that he is, I rarely take the time to appreciate his actual face.
It's not perfect. His skin is sometimes broken by a zit or two. He only shaves once a week, so most of the time his chin has an uneven start of beard. He says that the fact that one of his cheeks tends to be hairier than the other is embarrassing and that it's the reason he'll never grow a full beard, but I don't see it. He's cute, in a ruffled way.
His lower lip juts out a little more than the top lip, giving him the sort of strange edge you find on gritty drawings, but it's so subtle that it makes him look thoughtful more than menacing. It curls a little. It made me wonder what it'd be like to trace it with a finger. His lips aren't chapped, like Rick's tend to be, so I'd imagine it'd be soft.
He's got a larger nose than Rick or PB or Guy. He says that if he had a smaller nose, he could be hot. While he says this with a smile, I know it bothers him. One day I'll tell him that if he had a smaller nose, he wouldn't be nearly as handsome. It's not huge or anything, and could never evoke the image of a hawk or eagle. It's strong, but it's got a smooth bridge, so it doesn't stick out. In a face that manages to balance softness with expressiveness, his nose is actually more than adequate. Not to mention that, caught in the right angle, it makes him cuter than some TV actors.
His eyes are my favourite, though. A mix between brown, gold and green, they're so easy to read, but only if he lets them be. They're not sad; they don't droop. Often, his cheekbones bunch up below them and give them that mirthful upward curve that make him look so cheerful and amused. He's got crinkles on the corners from smiling all the time, and if the light catches on properly, you can tell that his lashes are as long as mine (very).
His face, overall, is much like the rest of him: long. It's oval-shaped, his chin is well-defined but doesn't jut out, and it's framed by dark auburn hair (with lighter streaks that sometimes catch the light and seem dark blonde) that covers his ears. Perhaps my favourite after his eyes, his hair has the same big waves that mine does. His bangs spread at the middle of his forehead, giving him an understated "Link" look. They rise a little, fall over his outer-brows, before curving out a little. They're always clean, too, and very soft to the touch. (He doesn't mind me placing his hair when it's crazy with static from the dry winter, so I've gathered this much information.)
I assess all this with a bit of wistfulness, and only get back to normal when I notice he's staring back. His look, though, isn't a teasing glower, the way he usually looks at me. He's just staring back openly, without any intentions, without any shame or embarrassment. I don't feel any omen, good or bad, from his look. Somehow, it's comforting.
Suddenly, he says, "You know, I can't believe we're reaching the end of 2007. It was insane, don't you think?"
I smile. "It was. I wouldn't have made it through the past few months without you, either. You kept me sane with all that thing with Dom and Gen. Seriously."
He chuckles a little. "It was a pleasure to learn how to manipulate, lie, procrastinate, bitch against people behind their backs, miss sleep hours and backstab with you this term."
I laugh. "Hey, it's what we learned in high school."
"It's what you learned in high school. I was in the regular program. Non-IEP, remember? I only did three years in your class before dropping down into the normal one."
"You could have stayed."
"What? To get a diploma that says I know how to bullshit my way through a writing assignment? Bah. I could do it on my own time."
"As you proved this term when you helped me bullshit in all our projects."
"Yeah." He smiles at nothing in particular. "Remember that time you came over to work and we did nothing but play Portal, A Link to the Past, Link's Awakening, Majora's Mask, watch Six Feet Under in my room until one in the morning when Dom had told us to get work done, and when he saw the unchanged project..."
"He was really impressed by the progress we'd made, even though we hadn't touched it since the last time he'd seen it?" I try not to giggle too loud. "Yeah, that was it. He lost all his credibility for me that day."
"I know. Me too. It told me he was as full of it as we were. Funny, though, you didn't lose your credibility for me. Probably because you were my partner in crime―What the?"
I just handed him the envelope I'd been carrying around for the whole lunch. He eyes it suspiciously, like he doesn't know what to do with it. I shake, and he takes it carefully, then shoots me a questionning look.
"What is this?"
I smile and take a long sip of my ice tea. "It's for you."
He blinks. The envelope isn't thick or heavy. In fact, it contains almost nothing. He shoots me a confused look, this one genuinely confused.
"For me?" He can't seem to process this information. "What for?"
I shoot him a flat look. "Slim, just―"
He peers inside it, his expression a little dark in suspicion.
I don't expect his sudden reaction though, and I just sit back in happy shock as his face brightens up like a thousand watt light bulb. He reveals a row of perfect white teeth ―seriously, I maintain that he bleaches, no way can they be like this naturally; as for their straightness, it's due to orthodontia, if I recall from our early high school years― and shoots me the biggest beaming smile I ever saw him give me. Especially since this one is neither sarcastic or stupid. It's just... well, happy.
"It's...! It's...!" He can't seem to keep from grinning as he pulls out a single sheet of paper from the envelope. He's laughing nervously, like he has trouble containing his joy and mirth. "It's my diploma!"
He bursts into sincere laughter when he sees the fake diploma I made for him. It says:
CONGRATULATIONS!
The superior beings of the planet confirm that
SLIM D.
has attained a maximum level of mastery in
BULLSHIT and OTHER CONSPIRINGS
on Dec. 13th, 2007
At the bottom left, I signed on a line titled "Person who is well-respected in their field of study but whom no one else has ever heard about", and on the other side is a fake seal that says "Seal of Authenticity; Absolutely Credible, Much Like Slim's Work".
He is cracking up as he reads this, and shoots me one of the happiest, most laughing smiles I ever got from him. "This," he says between laughs, "is the best freaking present I got this year."
I shoot him a flat look as I try to hide my own amusement.
He seems to concede to my raised brow. "Okay, best gift so far. But still, it's genius work. Thank you."
I raise my ice tea. "Hey, a toast to the two of us not losing our edge in dire moments."
"Cheers," he replies. "And now our break is over. I'll got put this with my coat in the locker room."
"Okay. I'll get back to work."
"Thanks again, CM, seriously."
"You deserved it. Believe me."
He laughs again.
The end of the day rolls around. Something tells me there's something off.
And then it hits me.
It's Slim's last day. I won't see him again at work, let alone this year. Because he'll be off partying in Walt Disney World with his family and Rick.
... I guess you could say I'm kind of sad...?
I hurry into his department, where he's using his last fifteen minutes to fix the sock bundles in the men's department. He doesn't seem to understand why I'm standing in front of him awkwardly.
"Um..." I start. "Hey. I'm, uh, done for the day, so..."
"Okay, bye."
"Well..." God, does he have to be so casual about it? "It's just, um, I probably won't see you before the end of the year, so, uh..."
He turns and shoots me a are-you-okay-why-won't-you-just-spit-it-out-you-weirdo look. Not exactly the best look he can give me.
"I guess... I guess I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year." This is really strange. I never wish this to people who aren't family. It was only in a surprising access of maturity that PB and I had exchanged these polite wishes last week, and it had left me with an inexplicable sense of pride in our group of friends.
Slim, though, doesn't seem won by the polite maturity of wishing one another happy holidays. He just stands there, shooting me his usual stern CM-I-think-you-should-have-your-brain-checked-for-irregularities-you-nutter look.
"Um. Okay. You too."
And he turns to get back to work. I feel like grabbing one of the sock bundles and whacking him with it. Just as I reach for one, our big cheese of a boss stops in front of us. This man is pretty much the most feared in the whole store. My heart leaps as I hurry to think of an excuse to justify me distracting Slim in his work.
"Um. Hi, sir."
"Is everything alright?" He asks with his usual efficient smile.
"Um. Yeah. Yes." I motion to Slim, awkwardly, who is avoiding my gaze and our boss'. "I was just, uh... it's his last day and I won't see him again before the end of the year so I was just saying bye."
Our boss nods in understanding, leaning forward to raise an eloquent brow. "Well, you better hug him now, then, before he slips away."
I freeze, and I can feel the awkwardness radiating off Slim like heat.
"Um. Yeah. Haha. Yeah. I'll keep that in mind."
Slim and I don't hug. We don't kiss cheeks, we don't hug, we don't massage. We just don't. Occasionally, we grab one another's shoulders or arms, or shake each other a little for emphasis, or, if we're just the two of us and feeling distressed, we pass one arm around the other's shoulder, but this is rare and only in particular situations.
But hugs? Yeah, no.
But I turn to Slim anyway, and we exchange testy glances, wondering if I'm going to dare, and if he's going to go along with it. It's awkward, and it's freaky, and I don't know what I want. On one hand, a hug would be nice, I guess. But then, I don't have practice in giving genuine hugs. Especially not to guys who are six feet two.
And then I figure, hell, I won't be seeing him before another month when school starts again, so whatever. He'll have forgotten by then.
So I open my arms and shoot him an inquiring look.
He stands there, screwing his lips into a pensive pout. I sigh, roll my eyes, and make the two steps forward that bring my arms around his neck. I feel him tentatively reach up to encircle my waist, and we both squeeze a little, and then, as I stare up at his ear and a few locks of his hair, I say, with a laugh, "This is really awkward, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he says. "It is."
"Okay." I hurry to let go of him, and he does the same. "Um. Yeah. Let's, uh... strike that from memory."
"Good plan."
"So, um, have a nice trip. Give my best wishes to Rick. I haven't gotten the occasion to speak to him myself."
"You know I'm going to forget that."
"Whatever. Write it in your own blood or something. And um, yeah. Have a nice winter break." I back away, mortified by the awkward encounter. He's gone back to placing socks. I just want to run home now.
But before I can make the final few steps away, he looks up, frowns, and says, "Don't make it sound so final."
"What?"
He looks down at the socks. "I'll see you in January, right?" He peers up at me again.
"Um. Yeah. When school starts again―"
"No, I'll see you before that."
This surprises me. He has no obligation to seek my company during the break. In fact, I'd have suspected him of being tired of me, considering all the badgering I've been doing. So I don't know what to say to this.
"Um... how―"
He shoots me a grin. "I mean, we have our own movie screenplay to write."
This stuns me. Our movie... He had suggested that we make our own movie on the side during the term, but I'd chucked it up to another wouldn't-it-be-cool-if plan that wouldn't actually get done. Of course I'd be overpsyched to work on another movie with him, but I hadn't expected him to remember something he'd suggested three months ago.
So I beam back. "Yeah. You're right. Call me."
"I will." He grins brightly again, then returns to his socks.
And I return home.
And so, as of the 22nd of December, until the 29th, Slim, his family, and Rick are in Disney World.
It would be a lie to say that I don't miss him a little. Of course I'm not losing sleep over him, and I still eat properly, but it sucks that I keep expecting to see him or hear from him before remembering that he's down south and therefore impossible to contact.
He better take a good picture with Goofy, though.
Love,
CM
P.S. FG still moving along. I'm three pages away from the 100 pages mark!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
'tis always sweet...
...to know you're good.
I just received our evaluation for the movie. You know, the reason Slim and I have become such good friends, and the reason we grew to hate the rest of our team, and the reason I got a white hair two days ago (yeah, I know, freaky!).
Overall, here are the credits for the movie (important to understand why I'm just so gleeful right now):
Producer (and also, apparently, screenwriter, even though it was supposed to be me, which would have made our movie good, but noooo, let's make our movie crappy): Dom
Assistant producer (and supposed to be scripter, but she never got around to doing it, which sucked hardcore for Slim and I later on): Gen, Dom's girlfriend
Cameraman (in theory; most of the time, Dom was the one doing it 'cause he's a control freak): Mac
Sound capture (console), sound editor, artistic director, making-of camcording: Me
Editor, sound capture (microphone), musician (mixing), guy who fetched and paid for the timbits: Slim
Musician (composing): Dague, Slim's friend
Actor: John, Dom's friend
And here's the translation of the teacher's comments...
"In spite of interpersonal difficulties," understatement of the year, "you managed to put aside your differences and lead your project to the finish. Your movie is very introspective―" Sucky, if you ask me. "―but you managed to make it accessible to the spectator. The movie gives us hints (notably through the sound work) all the while keeping its subtlety and poetry.
"As far as picture goes, you have few shots, but they all have their importance in the movie. The first shots put us straight into the ambience. The editing for the car scene is very well done―" Yay for Slim! "―though the tracking shot with the character waking up was a bit too long." This made me laugh out loud, because Slim and I spent the whole production telling our pig-headed producer the exact same thing to no avail. Well, that'll teach him. "You worked it well on editing and sound, however." Well, what do you know.
And here's where it gets good.
"Your strong point is without any doubt your sound editing." Oh yeah. It's the beloved child of Slim's and my combined efforts, so this is very, very good to hear. "Be it the ambience in the garage or the music throughout the movie, everything is well coordinated to give another meaning to your images. I loved the sound of the car wipers that turn into a heart-beat. The off-voices added here and there―" Executive decision on my part, it was late at Slim's place, we were a few hours away from the deadline, and we decided to go against Dom's wishes and add dialogue after all. "―contribute to making your film more accessible without making it lose its subtlety. You've done some excellent work."
Well, thaaaaannnkkk yooouuu. I hope Dom thinks twice now before saying I'm a burden on the team.
Oh, wait, he's going to CHINA, so who gives a flying fuck what he thinks anymore?
We'll see how his girlfriend handles Slim's usurpation tomorrow night... or this night, rather, as I've just glanced at the time... Anyway. Will proceed to a massive edit in less than 24 hours, so hold out for that. It will be the official boom that ends the Cold War forever.
I can hardly wait.
Love,
CM
EDIT:
Ah, the showing. I convinced my parents to get there early. The show was set to start at 6:30, but I told them we should be there at 6:00, at the latest, if only to get good seats.
I lead them downstairs to the theatre, which was, it turned out, closed until 6:15. Still, outside the theatre, I immediately ran into Slim, who hadn't slept much in the past night, mostly because he was, as I was, finishing his photography project, our last project, and had, as per usual, taken the bad decision of doing it at the last minute. As I had, but shush, you don't want my Mom to know.
His face lit up when he saw me, and his previously tired face grew into an overexcited grin. The kind that shines like a thousand watts to dissimulate a less-than-shining state of mind. He looked exhausted, though nobody else seemed to notice.
"Hey!" He greeted me loudly. "CM!" His voice was so loud and tired that it cracked and echoed in the entrance hall. "Guess what??"
I took a step closer and motioned for him to keep it down. There weren't a lot of people yet, but you never let a friend embarrass himself, right?
"What is it, Slim?" I asked, watching as my mother shot me an eloquent look ―she'd love to have Slim as her son-in-law; she thinks he's funny and smart and polite, which I guess he is, but come on, awkward!
"I really missed you last night!" He says, prompting a few eloquent glances from the people around us. I do my best to keep a straight face.
"What? Why?"
He smirks and teases. "Well, I finished my project at four in the morning, and by two I was so tired I wanted to do it military-shifts style, except I had no one to shift with! I practically wanted to call you in the middle of the night to get you to do my work for a couple of hours, so I'd catch some sleep."
I laugh. "I feel somewhat exploited."
He grins. "Yeah, next time I'll be sure to give you that call."I shoot him a straight look. "Tired much?"
"I've been here for the past ten hours!" He says, his face split into a freaky, slightly psychotic smile.
"Okay, that happens to the best of us. Why?"
He shrugs. "Well, I came in at nine to give in my photography project, and then PB dragged me here―" He motions around at the improvised photo gallery around us. "―to help put up the frames because I'm tall, and then he left me all alone and I helped anyway. Out of the goodness of my own heart."
I tease him. "You have a heart?"
He looks self-righteous. "Shocking as it may seem, yes. And then I went to rehearse the presentation for tonight with Fred."
"Oh. So, ready for a game of Giant Twister?"
He frowns. "Turns out we won't be doing any Giant Twister. We didn't have time to set it up."
"You just had ten hours."
"Don't look at ME like that, blame Gabriel!"
"I resent that!" Gabriel called from across the gallery.
I laughed and turned back to Slim. "Yeah, didn't Gen complain about you taking over?"
He frowned in disappointment. "Not even. She just said I'd be better off doing it anyway. Because I'm so theatrical or something."
My brother, next to me, burst out laughing.
I pouted. "Wait. You mean there's no more Cold War? At all? No finale? Nothing?"
Slim chuckled and looked at me with sympathy. "Yeah, I guess not. I guess the Cold War is now the Lukewarm War. Boring and plain, just like that."
"That sucks! No explosions!"
He grinned. "Hey, whatever. We should still have a good time. I mean, nothing could possibly go wrong. Dom is in CHINA."
I smiled too. "Yeah, I guess. ... Hey," I glanced around. "Aren't your parents coming?"
He looked a little uncertain. "Well, they're supposed to. I wasn't sure if they'd all come or none at all, so I have enough tickets, but... Well, they're meant to."
I nodded. "Don't worry, we'll know in good time."
Anyway, by the time we enter the theatre, I've left Slim, now our team's representative, to PB, who made a movie based on my scenario from last year, and their own devious devices, and we find a row near the front to settle down. My brother and I, insane that we are, make origami out of the presentation booklets.
Eventually, Gabie and her boyfriend, then Mitch and a couple of other people from our gang, settle down in my row. The other end is taken by a couple of strangers. I notice that PB and his family have settled in the back, but I can't find Slim.
I notice that Gen is a few feet behind me, though, and she shoots me a mild death glare. Oh damn, now I'll have trouble not to laugh during the crappy movie her boyfriend got us to make!
And yes, let's be sincere here. Our movie, on a score of five, is a two.
Yeah. You got that. Our movie is a number two. In every possible and imaginable way you can think of.
We were set to pass second-to-last, with PB's movie (and my scenario) being the very last one to play.
I must say I was very, very, very anxious to see how PB and his team had modified and adapted my scenario from last term. I'd done a good job, and word was that three teams had fought over who would get my screenplay because it was the only one that didn't deal with 1. mental illness, 2. melodramatic self-pitying, or 3. homosexuals, beggars and other outcasts.
My story was the story of a woman who woke up in Hell and tried to convince Satan that she deserved to go to paradise.
Yeah. Nothing more, nothing less. But you probably understand that it was rather humorous and ended with a punch (she decided Hell wasn't so bad after all, especially since humans were now more populous than demons, and besides, demons don't eat or torture humans because it's a waste of time and energy). Maybe you could give my primary idea a taste of politics, but that wasn't the point. I was just trying to make something light-hearted and funny.
Turns out my screenplay was the ONLY light-hearted and funny story in the whole batch.
Which is why so many people fought over it.
Anyway, I was pretty psyched when I heard that PB was the one who obtained rights to my screenplay. I was pretty confident that he wouldn't let things get too out-of-hand, and since he's a pretty smart and funny type, he would be able to give it the flair and humour I so wanted in the first place, but never got from the movie I worked on.
So tonight I would get to see the final result. I was excited.
I glance around again to look for Slim, and nearly receive a whack on the back of the head.
Slim ALWAYS does something like that. Either he throws his coat over my head, or he pushes me, or he pokes me. Never with the intention of hurting me, obviously, but only enough to make me jump or scream or freak out. I think he enjoys bursting my personal bubble a little too much. Maybe I shouldn't react so much, but hey, you'd freak out too. And I'm guilty of always being a little airheaded or absentminded that it isn't hard to make me jump a mile high.
Anyway, I turn around and glare at him. He's standing with his father in the alley right behind us, and I can tell that, as he surveys the row where we chose to sit, and as he concludes that there is no space left, Slim is disappointed.
And I think I didn't imagine his disappointment to be related to the fact that there is no free space next to me in particular, either. Maybe I'm insane, but I very clearly saw him shoot my brother and Gabie subtle but frustrated glances.
...
But I shouldn't dwell on this, because hey, I would have wanted to sit next to the guy I spent so many hours with on the day where we present the result of all our efforts. I can't blame him for wanting someone to cackle nervously with.
As it was, I spent the whole presentation cackling with Gabie, which was just as hilarious, but I totally saw Slim throw me a sad puppy look over his shoulder when he and his father settled in the row just ahead of us. Mom, who was sitting closer to them, leaned towards my brother and whispered, "You know, you should get the same haircut."
My brother looked at Slim's chin-length hair (which I happen to know is very soft and silky, from fixing it for him all the time) with a frown. "My hair is already that long, Mom."
"I meant the coupe. You should have it do the same."
My brother shot her a flat look. The lights dimmed.
Thank god the weird moment was over.
Gabriel appeared on stage, and the final presentation started.
Nine movies were presented tonight. Nine of them. On a scale of zero to five, only one of them deserved a 5, two of them deserved 4s, the rest deserved 3s, 2s, and one of them deserved a 1, but only because I'm not heartless enough to give it a zero. Because of pity.
One of the movies presented was based on a screenplay by Slim! I hadn't known that his scenario had been up for selection, so it was a little surprising. The story would have been good, but because it was so poorly treated by the team that took it up, it unfortunately got an average 3.
One of the movies was about an obsessive-compulsive freak à la Psycho by Hitchcock, and I must say that while it took two playthroughs for me to understand it fully, it deserves a 4. It was good, in this freaky but funny way.
Another one was about a violinist who learned to play a part for her dead mother. As morbid as the subject was, it was extremely well treated and the sound work was impressive considering that the girl who did the job had no clue what she was doing, as she so openly admitted to us during class. This one also got a 4 in my mind.
But ah.
One of the movies' screenplay was by none other than... our very own dumb Dom.
I noticed Slim's eyes widened suddenly at this, and he turned in his seat in a flash to shoot me a hilarious, high-browed, cracking, open-mouthed smile, one that asked very clearly, 'Oh my god, do you see what I'm seeing?'
My friends, I can now officially tell you that, as cruel as Slim and I were during our badmouthings, we were indeed right on one thing.
Dom will NEVER become a big name in the cinematographic industry.
Somehow, this comforts me, but also makes me wonder where, for the love of god, that moronic asshole could possibly have gotten the massive ego problem he now suffers from, if screenplays like that are what's been falling out of his head all this time.
Seriously.
It was the story of a guy who was walking on the street and who tried to talk to a deaf-mute hobo.
That's IT. END OF STORY.
Try making a screenplay that could warrant an eight minute movie with THAT.
Dom succeeded. He succeeded in making the most boring, pointless, incomprehensible screenplay in the history of the planet.
I thought OUR movie was bad, but clearly he was keeping the 'best' of his two ideas for us, and left the world with his other insignificant idea.
And if you think this is my personal bias against him talking, you should have heard the clapping that followed. It is the kind of clapping that Slim and I humourously refer to as 'the regular-beat clapping'. The kind that goes 'Clap. Clap. Clap.' Not, 'CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!!!!!' We never thought we'd hear it for real tonight, but there it was.
Yeah. It was so bad that even the clapping was dismally punctuated. You'll excuse me for admitting that Slim and I were holding in our tears of mirth by biting our fists, thus making us look like we were choking on a chicken bone and enjoying every second of it.
Then came the time for Gabriel to introduce Slim.
Slim climbed on stage and had to lean down to talk into the microphone, which he did with good humour.
"Good evening, everybody," he started, and a couple of people cheered. Yeah, Slim is well-known and extremely well-liked.
"Hey, I'm Slim, and I was the editor, mic-holder and stage manager on this movie, and before we start, I'd like to make a few thank you notes to a couple of people. I'm doing this on behalf of our producer, Dom, who couldn't be here tonight because he's away. In China. On a, uh... cultural trip."
We laughed at this, because we all actually know that he's going there to visit his friend and gain some 'foreign exchange' credit for his university application, because without that in his portfolio nobody will even consider him.
"So, on the behalf of our esteemed and respected producer," Slim says, earning a few cynical chuckles from those of us who know Slim's real opinion on Dom and the man's general way of being, "I'd like to thank Gen, the assistant-producer, and Mac, our cameraman, and... CM, at the sound capture." At this he pauses, smiles, and says, "With whom I spent a good twenty hours every weekend over the session, making for some of the craziest and most amusing workdays I've known so far. I personally think we've done a great job on the sound editing, so I'd ask you all to keep an ear out for that."
He shifts his weight from foot to foot when Max, a few rows ahead of me, lets out a cynical snort. Max isn't very subtle when he suggests that Slim and I hook up. I hate him sometimes.
"Additionally," Slim continues with the same easy smile, "since I'm technically speaking on Dom's behalf, I'd like to thank myself, Slim D., for the exceptional work I put into this film―" This earns him a general laugh from the audience, who chuckles at his fake ego trip. "―and for all the wonderful editing you will soon be spectator to. My final thanks go straight to Dague, my best buddy, who composed the music of our movie exclusively for us. He couldn't be here tonight, but I think you'll agree soon that if it hadn't been for him, our movie would have been a flop."
He's right on that one.
"So, with all that said, thanks to everybody else who worked with us, I hope you enjoy the movie, and I wish you all a pleasant evening."
He steps off stage to the sound of amused clapping, and the lights dim again.
I lean forward right before our movie starts, and call him. He turns around in his seat with a smirk.
"Did you plan all that out?" I ask.
He purses his lips as the movie starts. "Not really. I had a general outline, but... Why?"
I smile. "Nothing. It was good."
He grins.
Our movie came and went with the regular polite clapping, though I suspect we only got the claps because the music in our movie was bloody amazing.
And then Gabriel comes back onstage and introduces PB, whose movie was the last to be played. By then I was really excited, and telling everybody around me, 'They chose my screenplay! They chose my screenplay!' like some hyperactive child on crack. But it's alright, I didn't mind. I was confident that everything would be good.
PB leans into the microphone. "Yeah, hey everybody. So while we might have gotten a few good movies so far, we've now reached the end of the evening, and it's time for the final punch, also-known-as our movie." The crowd laughs good-humouredly. "I have to say we've worked bloody hard, had long days, and it wasn't always easy, but I think that we've learned a lot from this experience and that we're all ready to move on. No offence, guys, but I never want to hear from you again... Just kidding."
The audience chuckles.
"Thank you to the whole team, we were a lot, so don't hate me for not naming you. Your names are immortalized in the credits anyway. Not all of us are schmoozing schmucks like my best bud' Slim." This earns him another round of laughter, accompanied by a loud 'HEY!' from Slim.
"I'd also like to extend my thank-yous to all those who gave us their time and energy to allow us to film in public places during closing times, notably the Traffik dance club and the general hospital. This extends to the staff and managers, the technicians, and all the people who helped us make this movie a reality. To all of you, a very sincere and heartfelt thank you. I owe you a drink."
More chuckles.
"And finally, since this is already the end of the evening, I'll take the personal initiative of thanking Gabriel for his hilarious animation throughout the presentation."
The audience claps with a lot of enthusiasm.
PB leans into the microphone one last time and says, with the charming hunky smile that gets so many girls, "I hope you enjoy the final punch. Good night!"
And the movie starts.
What's the first thing that appears on screen?
"Based on an original screenplay by CM."
W00T!
And my friends, this movie was awesome. In fact, I'm not even speaking from bias. The movie derived a lot from my original idea, but PB had added to it a little bit of down-to-earth humor that made the audience laugh out loud at least five times. Notably, he'd added a character to represent St-Peter, and the interactions of this man with the one who played Satan were just so hilarious, not to mention the talent of the main actress was undeniable.
And the locations were amazing. They'd filmed her initial death scene in a real hospital, with real hospital beds and real doctors running around the ER in a panic. I'm not even kidding!!
Bottom line, I could rave about this movie for ages. And I don't even hate PB for changing the final punch-line. In this new screenplay, he'd arranged for the lead to show reluctance to return to heaven, but got St-Peter to dab cream cheese across her lip. The lines go like this:
Annie (main character): "Wow... You know what, this ain't so bad..."
St-Peter: (while carrying the brunt of her suddenly relaxed and drugged form) "Yeah, come on, let's get you upstairs."
Satan: "Wait... how..."
St-Peter: "It's a really old trick. ... Philadelphia."
And the credits start rolling. I remember PB sharing with me his anxiety that the audience wouldn't think this joke funny, but the audience burst into so much laughter that his worries must have gone away instantly. I was so happy and so proud of the work they'd done, I cannot even tell you.
So what have we learned from this?
"Hey, CM, going home too?"
I turn to look at Slim as he joins me on the stairs back to the main floor.
"Yeah, well, my parents are tired."
He nods and looks back down at the mass of people who are all excitedly talking about the presentation that just finished.
"I'm glad with how things turned out after all," he confesses. "The movie based on my scenario wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible, and it turns out we miraculously saved one of Dom's ideas from utter failure, which is more than others can say, and your screenplay made the audience stand up for an ovation, and PB's moment of glory has come, and Dom is on the other side of the planet..." He chuckles. "So I guess things aren't half-bad tonight, huh?"
I laugh. "Yeah. To think we expected the worst..."
He nods, and glances at a few of our future teammates as they wave at us from below. The girls we've teamed up with have all done excellent work on their respective movies, it turns out, not to mention that we get along so well it's freaky, so Slim and I are pretty glad with our future team prospect.
"You know what?" Slim says, turning back to smile brightly at me, his gaze tired but still satisfied.
Somehow I know exactly what he's about to say again.
"Slim, I think I want to make another movie now."
His grin turns into a broad smile that makes his eyes glint in amusement. "How did you know that was what I was going to say?"
I laugh and roll my eyes. "On second thought, maybe we should keep our distances for a while."
"Yeah, this kind of awareness can't be healthy."
"My thoughts exactly."
"It's too bad you got me hired at your own place of employment. You'll see me every day at work now." His amusement and teasing lilt are so obvious.
I sigh and giggle. "Is there no escape?"
He laughs. "Never! You are fated to forever see me. You will never escape my clutches."
I fake panic, but motion I need to go. "Hey, my parents are waiting upstairs I think, so..."
"Yeah, alright." He looks a little lost, but then says, "I need to find my dad anyway."
I smile. "Alright then. Um... See you?"
"See you," he assures me, and I step all the way up the stairs.
But I don't see my parents. My brother comes up behind me. I turn and ask, "Hey, where are Mom and Dad?"
"They're coming," Lord Llama assures me, turning to look back at the stairs. I immediately meet Slim's gaze, who found his father remarkably quickly, as the two of them are climbing the stairs right behind Mom and Dad. I avert my gaze and start walking away towards the door, but Slim catches up to me in two or three long strides ―damn his long legs!― and starts singing a French song that goes, roughly...
"You were waiting for me,
Admit it,
You were waiting for me,
Until the end of the world..."
Or something like that. Slim was singing this. To me. Weird.
I turn and say, defensively, "No, I wasn't. I was waiting for my parents to come up the stairs."
"Waiting for me," he repeats. "Waiting for meeeee..."
I know I'm blushing, but dammit, what the fuck is he attempting, here?
"Slim," I say, resorting to my last... well, resort: insults, "who would wait for you?"
He looks offended, but smirks and says, on the same tone, "Well, you, obviously. For the same reasons that you'll never throw me in front of an approaching truck even though you always threaten to do it."
Oh god. The last time I'd jokingly suggested that I would push him in the oncoming traffic as we walked to our bus stop―he'd insulted me by saying that I didn't know anything of anything about drums―, he'd very seriously declared: 'No, you wouldn't. If I got hurt, you would cry.' Like I would cry for no one else but him.
This had upset me. I'd been in shock a little too long, long enough for him to turn to me with a knowing smile, before I'd thrown back a flustered 'No, I wouldn't. You don't know anything of anything about me.'
And we'd left it at that.
But now Slim was bringing that up again. God, did he want to kill me?
He was walking away, to fetch his coat, probably. I hurried to get in a final word, and called back to him, "Nobody would wait for you!"
He laughingly called back, "You would!"
And, because I was freaking out, and because my whole family, including his father, was looking at me with these very eloquent raised brows, I called out a final, "Keep telling yourself that!" And hurried out of the school.
And I'm sure that I heard Slim burst into laughter. Not 'Haha, she is so funny' laughter. I mean the scary 'Haha, I'm not the delusional one here, poor fool!' laughter. The kind you so don't want a guy to be laughing like.
Overall, though, in spite of the increasingly annoying suggestions that Slim and I form a couple and be done with it ―seriously, this is starting to get on my nerves for reasons I cannot really pinpoint― the evening was good and satisfying, and a proper end to what was my third term in cegep.
One term to go, and I'm off to university.
Love,
CM
I just received our evaluation for the movie. You know, the reason Slim and I have become such good friends, and the reason we grew to hate the rest of our team, and the reason I got a white hair two days ago (yeah, I know, freaky!).
Overall, here are the credits for the movie (important to understand why I'm just so gleeful right now):
Producer (and also, apparently, screenwriter, even though it was supposed to be me, which would have made our movie good, but noooo, let's make our movie crappy): Dom
Assistant producer (and supposed to be scripter, but she never got around to doing it, which sucked hardcore for Slim and I later on): Gen, Dom's girlfriend
Cameraman (in theory; most of the time, Dom was the one doing it 'cause he's a control freak): Mac
Sound capture (console), sound editor, artistic director, making-of camcording: Me
Editor, sound capture (microphone), musician (mixing), guy who fetched and paid for the timbits: Slim
Musician (composing): Dague, Slim's friend
Actor: John, Dom's friend
And here's the translation of the teacher's comments...
"In spite of interpersonal difficulties," understatement of the year, "you managed to put aside your differences and lead your project to the finish. Your movie is very introspective―" Sucky, if you ask me. "―but you managed to make it accessible to the spectator. The movie gives us hints (notably through the sound work) all the while keeping its subtlety and poetry.
"As far as picture goes, you have few shots, but they all have their importance in the movie. The first shots put us straight into the ambience. The editing for the car scene is very well done―" Yay for Slim! "―though the tracking shot with the character waking up was a bit too long." This made me laugh out loud, because Slim and I spent the whole production telling our pig-headed producer the exact same thing to no avail. Well, that'll teach him. "You worked it well on editing and sound, however." Well, what do you know.
And here's where it gets good.
"Your strong point is without any doubt your sound editing." Oh yeah. It's the beloved child of Slim's and my combined efforts, so this is very, very good to hear. "Be it the ambience in the garage or the music throughout the movie, everything is well coordinated to give another meaning to your images. I loved the sound of the car wipers that turn into a heart-beat. The off-voices added here and there―" Executive decision on my part, it was late at Slim's place, we were a few hours away from the deadline, and we decided to go against Dom's wishes and add dialogue after all. "―contribute to making your film more accessible without making it lose its subtlety. You've done some excellent work."
Well, thaaaaannnkkk yooouuu. I hope Dom thinks twice now before saying I'm a burden on the team.
Oh, wait, he's going to CHINA, so who gives a flying fuck what he thinks anymore?
We'll see how his girlfriend handles Slim's usurpation tomorrow night... or this night, rather, as I've just glanced at the time... Anyway. Will proceed to a massive edit in less than 24 hours, so hold out for that. It will be the official boom that ends the Cold War forever.
I can hardly wait.
Love,
CM
EDIT:
Ah, the showing. I convinced my parents to get there early. The show was set to start at 6:30, but I told them we should be there at 6:00, at the latest, if only to get good seats.
I lead them downstairs to the theatre, which was, it turned out, closed until 6:15. Still, outside the theatre, I immediately ran into Slim, who hadn't slept much in the past night, mostly because he was, as I was, finishing his photography project, our last project, and had, as per usual, taken the bad decision of doing it at the last minute. As I had, but shush, you don't want my Mom to know.
His face lit up when he saw me, and his previously tired face grew into an overexcited grin. The kind that shines like a thousand watts to dissimulate a less-than-shining state of mind. He looked exhausted, though nobody else seemed to notice.
"Hey!" He greeted me loudly. "CM!" His voice was so loud and tired that it cracked and echoed in the entrance hall. "Guess what??"
I took a step closer and motioned for him to keep it down. There weren't a lot of people yet, but you never let a friend embarrass himself, right?
"What is it, Slim?" I asked, watching as my mother shot me an eloquent look ―she'd love to have Slim as her son-in-law; she thinks he's funny and smart and polite, which I guess he is, but come on, awkward!
"I really missed you last night!" He says, prompting a few eloquent glances from the people around us. I do my best to keep a straight face.
"What? Why?"
He smirks and teases. "Well, I finished my project at four in the morning, and by two I was so tired I wanted to do it military-shifts style, except I had no one to shift with! I practically wanted to call you in the middle of the night to get you to do my work for a couple of hours, so I'd catch some sleep."
I laugh. "I feel somewhat exploited."
He grins. "Yeah, next time I'll be sure to give you that call."I shoot him a straight look. "Tired much?"
"I've been here for the past ten hours!" He says, his face split into a freaky, slightly psychotic smile.
"Okay, that happens to the best of us. Why?"
He shrugs. "Well, I came in at nine to give in my photography project, and then PB dragged me here―" He motions around at the improvised photo gallery around us. "―to help put up the frames because I'm tall, and then he left me all alone and I helped anyway. Out of the goodness of my own heart."
I tease him. "You have a heart?"
He looks self-righteous. "Shocking as it may seem, yes. And then I went to rehearse the presentation for tonight with Fred."
"Oh. So, ready for a game of Giant Twister?"
He frowns. "Turns out we won't be doing any Giant Twister. We didn't have time to set it up."
"You just had ten hours."
"Don't look at ME like that, blame Gabriel!"
"I resent that!" Gabriel called from across the gallery.
I laughed and turned back to Slim. "Yeah, didn't Gen complain about you taking over?"
He frowned in disappointment. "Not even. She just said I'd be better off doing it anyway. Because I'm so theatrical or something."
My brother, next to me, burst out laughing.
I pouted. "Wait. You mean there's no more Cold War? At all? No finale? Nothing?"
Slim chuckled and looked at me with sympathy. "Yeah, I guess not. I guess the Cold War is now the Lukewarm War. Boring and plain, just like that."
"That sucks! No explosions!"
He grinned. "Hey, whatever. We should still have a good time. I mean, nothing could possibly go wrong. Dom is in CHINA."
I smiled too. "Yeah, I guess. ... Hey," I glanced around. "Aren't your parents coming?"
He looked a little uncertain. "Well, they're supposed to. I wasn't sure if they'd all come or none at all, so I have enough tickets, but... Well, they're meant to."
I nodded. "Don't worry, we'll know in good time."
Anyway, by the time we enter the theatre, I've left Slim, now our team's representative, to PB, who made a movie based on my scenario from last year, and their own devious devices, and we find a row near the front to settle down. My brother and I, insane that we are, make origami out of the presentation booklets.
Eventually, Gabie and her boyfriend, then Mitch and a couple of other people from our gang, settle down in my row. The other end is taken by a couple of strangers. I notice that PB and his family have settled in the back, but I can't find Slim.
I notice that Gen is a few feet behind me, though, and she shoots me a mild death glare. Oh damn, now I'll have trouble not to laugh during the crappy movie her boyfriend got us to make!
And yes, let's be sincere here. Our movie, on a score of five, is a two.
Yeah. You got that. Our movie is a number two. In every possible and imaginable way you can think of.
We were set to pass second-to-last, with PB's movie (and my scenario) being the very last one to play.
I must say I was very, very, very anxious to see how PB and his team had modified and adapted my scenario from last term. I'd done a good job, and word was that three teams had fought over who would get my screenplay because it was the only one that didn't deal with 1. mental illness, 2. melodramatic self-pitying, or 3. homosexuals, beggars and other outcasts.
My story was the story of a woman who woke up in Hell and tried to convince Satan that she deserved to go to paradise.
Yeah. Nothing more, nothing less. But you probably understand that it was rather humorous and ended with a punch (she decided Hell wasn't so bad after all, especially since humans were now more populous than demons, and besides, demons don't eat or torture humans because it's a waste of time and energy). Maybe you could give my primary idea a taste of politics, but that wasn't the point. I was just trying to make something light-hearted and funny.
Turns out my screenplay was the ONLY light-hearted and funny story in the whole batch.
Which is why so many people fought over it.
Anyway, I was pretty psyched when I heard that PB was the one who obtained rights to my screenplay. I was pretty confident that he wouldn't let things get too out-of-hand, and since he's a pretty smart and funny type, he would be able to give it the flair and humour I so wanted in the first place, but never got from the movie I worked on.
So tonight I would get to see the final result. I was excited.
I glance around again to look for Slim, and nearly receive a whack on the back of the head.
Slim ALWAYS does something like that. Either he throws his coat over my head, or he pushes me, or he pokes me. Never with the intention of hurting me, obviously, but only enough to make me jump or scream or freak out. I think he enjoys bursting my personal bubble a little too much. Maybe I shouldn't react so much, but hey, you'd freak out too. And I'm guilty of always being a little airheaded or absentminded that it isn't hard to make me jump a mile high.
Anyway, I turn around and glare at him. He's standing with his father in the alley right behind us, and I can tell that, as he surveys the row where we chose to sit, and as he concludes that there is no space left, Slim is disappointed.
And I think I didn't imagine his disappointment to be related to the fact that there is no free space next to me in particular, either. Maybe I'm insane, but I very clearly saw him shoot my brother and Gabie subtle but frustrated glances.
...
But I shouldn't dwell on this, because hey, I would have wanted to sit next to the guy I spent so many hours with on the day where we present the result of all our efforts. I can't blame him for wanting someone to cackle nervously with.
As it was, I spent the whole presentation cackling with Gabie, which was just as hilarious, but I totally saw Slim throw me a sad puppy look over his shoulder when he and his father settled in the row just ahead of us. Mom, who was sitting closer to them, leaned towards my brother and whispered, "You know, you should get the same haircut."
My brother looked at Slim's chin-length hair (which I happen to know is very soft and silky, from fixing it for him all the time) with a frown. "My hair is already that long, Mom."
"I meant the coupe. You should have it do the same."
My brother shot her a flat look. The lights dimmed.
Thank god the weird moment was over.
Gabriel appeared on stage, and the final presentation started.
Nine movies were presented tonight. Nine of them. On a scale of zero to five, only one of them deserved a 5, two of them deserved 4s, the rest deserved 3s, 2s, and one of them deserved a 1, but only because I'm not heartless enough to give it a zero. Because of pity.
One of the movies presented was based on a screenplay by Slim! I hadn't known that his scenario had been up for selection, so it was a little surprising. The story would have been good, but because it was so poorly treated by the team that took it up, it unfortunately got an average 3.
One of the movies was about an obsessive-compulsive freak à la Psycho by Hitchcock, and I must say that while it took two playthroughs for me to understand it fully, it deserves a 4. It was good, in this freaky but funny way.
Another one was about a violinist who learned to play a part for her dead mother. As morbid as the subject was, it was extremely well treated and the sound work was impressive considering that the girl who did the job had no clue what she was doing, as she so openly admitted to us during class. This one also got a 4 in my mind.
But ah.
One of the movies' screenplay was by none other than... our very own dumb Dom.
I noticed Slim's eyes widened suddenly at this, and he turned in his seat in a flash to shoot me a hilarious, high-browed, cracking, open-mouthed smile, one that asked very clearly, 'Oh my god, do you see what I'm seeing?'
My friends, I can now officially tell you that, as cruel as Slim and I were during our badmouthings, we were indeed right on one thing.
Dom will NEVER become a big name in the cinematographic industry.
Somehow, this comforts me, but also makes me wonder where, for the love of god, that moronic asshole could possibly have gotten the massive ego problem he now suffers from, if screenplays like that are what's been falling out of his head all this time.
Seriously.
It was the story of a guy who was walking on the street and who tried to talk to a deaf-mute hobo.
That's IT. END OF STORY.
Try making a screenplay that could warrant an eight minute movie with THAT.
Dom succeeded. He succeeded in making the most boring, pointless, incomprehensible screenplay in the history of the planet.
I thought OUR movie was bad, but clearly he was keeping the 'best' of his two ideas for us, and left the world with his other insignificant idea.
And if you think this is my personal bias against him talking, you should have heard the clapping that followed. It is the kind of clapping that Slim and I humourously refer to as 'the regular-beat clapping'. The kind that goes 'Clap. Clap. Clap.' Not, 'CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!!!!!' We never thought we'd hear it for real tonight, but there it was.
Yeah. It was so bad that even the clapping was dismally punctuated. You'll excuse me for admitting that Slim and I were holding in our tears of mirth by biting our fists, thus making us look like we were choking on a chicken bone and enjoying every second of it.
Then came the time for Gabriel to introduce Slim.
Slim climbed on stage and had to lean down to talk into the microphone, which he did with good humour.
"Good evening, everybody," he started, and a couple of people cheered. Yeah, Slim is well-known and extremely well-liked.
"Hey, I'm Slim, and I was the editor, mic-holder and stage manager on this movie, and before we start, I'd like to make a few thank you notes to a couple of people. I'm doing this on behalf of our producer, Dom, who couldn't be here tonight because he's away. In China. On a, uh... cultural trip."
We laughed at this, because we all actually know that he's going there to visit his friend and gain some 'foreign exchange' credit for his university application, because without that in his portfolio nobody will even consider him.
"So, on the behalf of our esteemed and respected producer," Slim says, earning a few cynical chuckles from those of us who know Slim's real opinion on Dom and the man's general way of being, "I'd like to thank Gen, the assistant-producer, and Mac, our cameraman, and... CM, at the sound capture." At this he pauses, smiles, and says, "With whom I spent a good twenty hours every weekend over the session, making for some of the craziest and most amusing workdays I've known so far. I personally think we've done a great job on the sound editing, so I'd ask you all to keep an ear out for that."
He shifts his weight from foot to foot when Max, a few rows ahead of me, lets out a cynical snort. Max isn't very subtle when he suggests that Slim and I hook up. I hate him sometimes.
"Additionally," Slim continues with the same easy smile, "since I'm technically speaking on Dom's behalf, I'd like to thank myself, Slim D., for the exceptional work I put into this film―" This earns him a general laugh from the audience, who chuckles at his fake ego trip. "―and for all the wonderful editing you will soon be spectator to. My final thanks go straight to Dague, my best buddy, who composed the music of our movie exclusively for us. He couldn't be here tonight, but I think you'll agree soon that if it hadn't been for him, our movie would have been a flop."
He's right on that one.
"So, with all that said, thanks to everybody else who worked with us, I hope you enjoy the movie, and I wish you all a pleasant evening."
He steps off stage to the sound of amused clapping, and the lights dim again.
I lean forward right before our movie starts, and call him. He turns around in his seat with a smirk.
"Did you plan all that out?" I ask.
He purses his lips as the movie starts. "Not really. I had a general outline, but... Why?"
I smile. "Nothing. It was good."
He grins.
Our movie came and went with the regular polite clapping, though I suspect we only got the claps because the music in our movie was bloody amazing.
And then Gabriel comes back onstage and introduces PB, whose movie was the last to be played. By then I was really excited, and telling everybody around me, 'They chose my screenplay! They chose my screenplay!' like some hyperactive child on crack. But it's alright, I didn't mind. I was confident that everything would be good.
PB leans into the microphone. "Yeah, hey everybody. So while we might have gotten a few good movies so far, we've now reached the end of the evening, and it's time for the final punch, also-known-as our movie." The crowd laughs good-humouredly. "I have to say we've worked bloody hard, had long days, and it wasn't always easy, but I think that we've learned a lot from this experience and that we're all ready to move on. No offence, guys, but I never want to hear from you again... Just kidding."
The audience chuckles.
"Thank you to the whole team, we were a lot, so don't hate me for not naming you. Your names are immortalized in the credits anyway. Not all of us are schmoozing schmucks like my best bud' Slim." This earns him another round of laughter, accompanied by a loud 'HEY!' from Slim.
"I'd also like to extend my thank-yous to all those who gave us their time and energy to allow us to film in public places during closing times, notably the Traffik dance club and the general hospital. This extends to the staff and managers, the technicians, and all the people who helped us make this movie a reality. To all of you, a very sincere and heartfelt thank you. I owe you a drink."
More chuckles.
"And finally, since this is already the end of the evening, I'll take the personal initiative of thanking Gabriel for his hilarious animation throughout the presentation."
The audience claps with a lot of enthusiasm.
PB leans into the microphone one last time and says, with the charming hunky smile that gets so many girls, "I hope you enjoy the final punch. Good night!"
And the movie starts.
What's the first thing that appears on screen?
"Based on an original screenplay by CM."
W00T!
And my friends, this movie was awesome. In fact, I'm not even speaking from bias. The movie derived a lot from my original idea, but PB had added to it a little bit of down-to-earth humor that made the audience laugh out loud at least five times. Notably, he'd added a character to represent St-Peter, and the interactions of this man with the one who played Satan were just so hilarious, not to mention the talent of the main actress was undeniable.
And the locations were amazing. They'd filmed her initial death scene in a real hospital, with real hospital beds and real doctors running around the ER in a panic. I'm not even kidding!!
Bottom line, I could rave about this movie for ages. And I don't even hate PB for changing the final punch-line. In this new screenplay, he'd arranged for the lead to show reluctance to return to heaven, but got St-Peter to dab cream cheese across her lip. The lines go like this:
Annie (main character): "Wow... You know what, this ain't so bad..."
St-Peter: (while carrying the brunt of her suddenly relaxed and drugged form) "Yeah, come on, let's get you upstairs."
Satan: "Wait... how..."
St-Peter: "It's a really old trick. ... Philadelphia."
And the credits start rolling. I remember PB sharing with me his anxiety that the audience wouldn't think this joke funny, but the audience burst into so much laughter that his worries must have gone away instantly. I was so happy and so proud of the work they'd done, I cannot even tell you.
So what have we learned from this?
"Hey, CM, going home too?"
I turn to look at Slim as he joins me on the stairs back to the main floor.
"Yeah, well, my parents are tired."
He nods and looks back down at the mass of people who are all excitedly talking about the presentation that just finished.
"I'm glad with how things turned out after all," he confesses. "The movie based on my scenario wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible, and it turns out we miraculously saved one of Dom's ideas from utter failure, which is more than others can say, and your screenplay made the audience stand up for an ovation, and PB's moment of glory has come, and Dom is on the other side of the planet..." He chuckles. "So I guess things aren't half-bad tonight, huh?"
I laugh. "Yeah. To think we expected the worst..."
He nods, and glances at a few of our future teammates as they wave at us from below. The girls we've teamed up with have all done excellent work on their respective movies, it turns out, not to mention that we get along so well it's freaky, so Slim and I are pretty glad with our future team prospect.
"You know what?" Slim says, turning back to smile brightly at me, his gaze tired but still satisfied.
Somehow I know exactly what he's about to say again.
"Slim, I think I want to make another movie now."
His grin turns into a broad smile that makes his eyes glint in amusement. "How did you know that was what I was going to say?"
I laugh and roll my eyes. "On second thought, maybe we should keep our distances for a while."
"Yeah, this kind of awareness can't be healthy."
"My thoughts exactly."
"It's too bad you got me hired at your own place of employment. You'll see me every day at work now." His amusement and teasing lilt are so obvious.
I sigh and giggle. "Is there no escape?"
He laughs. "Never! You are fated to forever see me. You will never escape my clutches."
I fake panic, but motion I need to go. "Hey, my parents are waiting upstairs I think, so..."
"Yeah, alright." He looks a little lost, but then says, "I need to find my dad anyway."
I smile. "Alright then. Um... See you?"
"See you," he assures me, and I step all the way up the stairs.
But I don't see my parents. My brother comes up behind me. I turn and ask, "Hey, where are Mom and Dad?"
"They're coming," Lord Llama assures me, turning to look back at the stairs. I immediately meet Slim's gaze, who found his father remarkably quickly, as the two of them are climbing the stairs right behind Mom and Dad. I avert my gaze and start walking away towards the door, but Slim catches up to me in two or three long strides ―damn his long legs!― and starts singing a French song that goes, roughly...
"You were waiting for me,
Admit it,
You were waiting for me,
Until the end of the world..."
Or something like that. Slim was singing this. To me. Weird.
I turn and say, defensively, "No, I wasn't. I was waiting for my parents to come up the stairs."
"Waiting for me," he repeats. "Waiting for meeeee..."
I know I'm blushing, but dammit, what the fuck is he attempting, here?
"Slim," I say, resorting to my last... well, resort: insults, "who would wait for you?"
He looks offended, but smirks and says, on the same tone, "Well, you, obviously. For the same reasons that you'll never throw me in front of an approaching truck even though you always threaten to do it."
Oh god. The last time I'd jokingly suggested that I would push him in the oncoming traffic as we walked to our bus stop―he'd insulted me by saying that I didn't know anything of anything about drums―, he'd very seriously declared: 'No, you wouldn't. If I got hurt, you would cry.' Like I would cry for no one else but him.
This had upset me. I'd been in shock a little too long, long enough for him to turn to me with a knowing smile, before I'd thrown back a flustered 'No, I wouldn't. You don't know anything of anything about me.'
And we'd left it at that.
But now Slim was bringing that up again. God, did he want to kill me?
He was walking away, to fetch his coat, probably. I hurried to get in a final word, and called back to him, "Nobody would wait for you!"
He laughingly called back, "You would!"
And, because I was freaking out, and because my whole family, including his father, was looking at me with these very eloquent raised brows, I called out a final, "Keep telling yourself that!" And hurried out of the school.
And I'm sure that I heard Slim burst into laughter. Not 'Haha, she is so funny' laughter. I mean the scary 'Haha, I'm not the delusional one here, poor fool!' laughter. The kind you so don't want a guy to be laughing like.
Overall, though, in spite of the increasingly annoying suggestions that Slim and I form a couple and be done with it ―seriously, this is starting to get on my nerves for reasons I cannot really pinpoint― the evening was good and satisfying, and a proper end to what was my third term in cegep.
One term to go, and I'm off to university.
Love,
CM
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
