honey → dallas winston

11

Dairy Queen
August 25, 1968

The drive was short. Dally tried to make conversation, but Georgia was not talking.

"Wait, you have the movie right?" Dally asked as they walked upstairs.

"Yeah, I needed it in high school and for some reason, I brought it with me. Bad idea since it's terrible," Georgia unlocked her front door. Last time, Dally had opted to stay outside. This was the first time anyone but she had been in her apartment. "Welcome to the pad."

"Roomy," Dally said. Her apartment opened into a living room and a small kitchen. There was a hall to the left that led to the bathroom and bedroom. The walls were light blue. There were a couch and a coffee table in the living room. A small counter came off the kitchen that served as a bar. Georgia tossed her keys onto the counter and went into the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?" she asked pulling a box of pancake mix out of the cabinet. Dally had already made his way to the couch.

"Nope," he took his jacket off and laid it over the arm of the couch.

"Well you need to eat so," she poured some mix into a bowl and added some water, "do you want chocolate chips?"

"Girly pancakes?"

"They're chocolate chips," Georgia shook her head, "but suit yourself."

Georgia quickly whipped up the food and brought it over to the coffee table, along with forks, and syrup.

"I'm gonna grab the movie, so wait for me," Georgia left to dig through her room for the tape. She couldn't remember where she'd left it. She hardly ever watched it, so it was bound to be in the back of her closet. Once all her clothes were in a pile, she found it sitting behind a shoebox.

"Prepare yourself," Georgia walked from the hallway to the VCR, "for the worst movie ever made."

"Can you stop ruinin' my dreams for like, a day?" Dally grumbled, mouth full of food.

"Okay, okay," she started the film, "But don't say I didn't warn you."

For the first forty minutes, Georgia had to explain what was going on. The accents were too hard to decipher, and even with Georgia's explanations, he was lost.

Georgia thought back to the paper she'd written on the movie in high school. It had been incomprehensible. English was her strong suit, but the movie had given her no inclination on what to write a paper on. It was easily her least favorite film, and Dally's half-interest in it irked her. She had tuned out most of what was happening on screen.

Finally, the scene she waited for came rolling onto the screen. The piles of things in Charles Foster Kane's house were being incinerated. One by one his things were tossed into a fire. Ending, with the sled. Painting on the bottom, through the flickering flames, was neatly painted 'Rosebud'. The credits rolled. Dally's mouth hung open.