I always loved movies growing up, even more than books, honestly, and that's saying something. I never get tired of books, It was always just a little bit easier to get lost in the visuals of a film, watch expressions for the subtext in a story instead of being hoping to understand the author's best grasp of creative subtlety. It was this love of movies that lead me to become a screen writer, which ultimately lead me to you. So I supposed they are even more precious to me now.
.
.
.
"Great job today, guys. I almost hate to say it, but that's a wrap." I yell. Applause ripples through the crowd, hugs and handshakes are passed around. It's been six months since the funeral and wherever I go I still hear your voice in my head. There have been several nights that I could swear I felt you kiss me goodnight or snuggle up next to me in bed. Those are probably the only things that have kept me from retreating into myself; putting life on hold because it hurts too much. As it is, almost every day I have to spend my lunch break huddled in a corner by myself to get a handle on my anxiety, it's been getting so much worse since you... since you left.
"Hey!" Kenny yells, getting everyone's attention, "Let's hear it for our fearless Director and his abounding patience!" I blush a little bit at the cheering I recieve, clapping Kenny on the back and pulling him into a manly hug. If only they knew.
As much as I was hoping to slip out without a big ceremony, I can't leave Kenny hanging like that, so I guess I'm stuck here just a little bit longer.
"Thanks man, this wouldn't have happened without you."
"Any time, dude. If you ever need a Co-Director."
"I know who to call." He gets pulled away by one of our gaffers, and I'm about to excuse myself, the close crowd not helping the anxiety I feel creeping in, but I'm stopped by someone calling me,
"Hey, Evans, I wanna introduce you to someone." Shelly, my Wardrobe Wizard comes shuffling over, toting along a resistant, and fairly flustered, young woman.
She looks somewhat familiar, I know I've run into her a few times over the last few months, but I've never had a chance to talk to her. There are several crew members I haven't met, I always feel a little guilty when that happens.
"Meet your Senior Script Supervisor, and your biggest fan." I chuckle at your groan and stretch out my hand,
"Nice to meet you..."
"Y/N, and it's nice to meet you too. It's been a pleasure being under you." I see the jolt as her wording dawns on her, "Working! Working under you—For you!" her eyes get so big I can't help it. I bark out a loud laugh, nearly doubling over. It feels good. I can't remember the last time I really laughed, I had forgotten how much it helps to decompress. She covers her face with a resigned and thoroughly humiliated groan, her ears an angry red,
"Hey, don't worry about it, I'm glad we had you in our ranks. Good job keeping our stars in line, too. Thanks." You peek between your fingers before sighing and dropping your hands,
"No problem. I really did enjoy this project, You're a great Director, it's easy to work with people when they know how they want things to go." You choose your words with amusing care, but the compliment isn't lost,
"Wow, well thank you. Maybe we'll get to work together again."
"Hey, if you need a script supervisor or a screen writer in the, preferably very near, future, let me know."
"Screen writer, huh? I will definitely keep that in mind." We chatted a little while longer, and it wasn't until you got called away for a group picture with a few of your buddies that I realized how much I had needed to get out of there. I slip away fairly unnoticed, spouting some bogus excuse to anyone who asked why I was leaving so soon. Six months is not long enough to be able to get back to that after-party scene.
On the way home that night I keep thinking about that blush. The horror at saying one of the worst things you could when you meet your boss. Every time I think about it, I'm convinced it's one of the cutest blushes I've ever seen.
The thought takes me completely by surprise and I immediately feel guilty.
"Sorry babe." I whisper into the quiet car; in my mind you are always in the passenger seat, sometimes nagging me for taking a wrong turn or a less prudent route.
'I know.' My head offers. 'It's okay. She was cute, seemed pretty smart, too... maybe you should have gotten her number.'
I shake my head. Now you—I'm not making any sense. It's only been six months, I'm not ready for that.
'Maybe not now...'
I don't think I ever will be. "I never will be."
'You don't think you will... But you did promise me.'
I never promised to replace you.
