Movieland

Chapter 6

Mom worked closing shift at the store. Dad made Eggos and crispy sausages and fried eggs with yolks like freeze-dried yogurt. The Contest deadline was to blame. The counter was up to 30,423 entrants. Time ran out at midnight. Dad hit refresh on his phone every minute.

Frankie texted me relentlessly. First about the film reel, which I had stored in the locked wooden chest in my closet. Then he sent a picture of Harry Potter staring at the Goblet of Fire. Then a picture of a chicken, followed by a meme of Arnold Schwarzenegger with the text, "Do it! Do it now!" And then two chickens. Then the Rocky IV training montage. It kept up until he sent an entire food spread from KFC. I responded with a middle finger and silenced his updates.

Most nights Carolina texted a goodnight gif, something from a movie, like Ben Stiller in a mustache and scrubs saying, "You will go to sleep, or I will put you to sleep." I cherished them without considering her as the girlfriend type. Not because she wasn't the girlfriend type by all accounts: similar tastes (check); beauty (you had me at Molly Ringwald); the IT factor (like the hip sidekick I needed were I ever to embark on a Tolkien-esque quest); similar tastes in movies (yes, BUT).

I didn't think about the Singin' in the Rain debacle often. It had been six years. Except it had imprinted itself on me, and then healed, allowing for another coating of disbelief and just enough distance to form. The longer we were together, the closer she became as a friend. There was that sort of kind of very big deal of me officially having a girlfriend. It wasn't about being gay. Everyone knew that. It was about people seeing me with her, or Mandy, or any girl, and the creeping dread. Would it be okay? Yes. Was I scared? Definitely. Did Carolina also dislike Singin' in the Rain? You bet your ass.

Frankie often reminded me of my stupidity. I couldn't help it.

I checked my phone again.

Nothing.

I typed "Hey" and deleted it. And then "No goodnight message?" I deleted that and wrote, "What's up?" And then simply ''Sup?" I deleted them all.

I looked over at Dad. He worked early mornings and rarely made it past 9:00 PM. Even the excitement of The Contest couldn't match his exhaustion. He nodded off in his recliner, a snort escaping his nose.

"Mr. Theodore told us a good one today," I said with no expectation of a response.

The landline rang from the kitchen. A faded yellow rotary phone stuck to the wall like a bad memory. I let it ring. We hadn't received a relevant phone call on it in years. Dad insisted on keeping it, despite my mother's annoyance. After six rings it went to the answering machine, another ancient device none of my friends knew still existed.

The answering machine clicked, and Mom's greeting played: "You've reached the Magees, namely Art. No one else cares about this machine. We have not answered this phone in seven years but keep it, including paying the monthly service fee, for both the phone and the answering machine, to redirect solicitation calls away from our more frequently used devices. If your message is still important after hearing this, please leave it after the beep."

After the beep, a toneless voice said, "This is not a joke. Due to payments received from an outside source, you owe the IRS significant money and will face severe fines and punishment if you do not pay. Call this number immediately in order to avoid further fines."

"What's that?" Dad said, coughing and grumbling.

"Did you or Mom ever hear about the Lyric Lot? Where they filmed movies back in the day?"

"Lyric Lot? You mean the Cinema? What's coming out next week? We're due for another one. What's the one with Downey Jr. and Ridley from Star Wars? Isn't that soon? Let's do that."