by L. B. Dunbar
I noticed my father standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Jack Scott leaned on the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest, looking tired and old. His hair was more salt-and-pepper than I remembered. His solid body was still strong looking, but his skin was weathered from too much sun. His face looked grim and drawn with dark circles under his eyes. I released my mother and approached my father. I pasted on my best Hollywood smile and extended my hand, pulling Dad in for a half hug and handshake, a classic Californian move. Dad quickly pulled back from me. He was not the affectionate one of my two parents. He looked at me as if he didn’t recognize me, and I felt a slight stab in my chest.
I knew I’d been away too long, and I knew Dad was still angry all these years later that I hadn’t stayed. It was my destiny to run the family farm, an inheritance I strongly opposed and verbally declined whenever I could. When I received an old camcorder as a gift from my grandparents, I knew what my destiny should be, and it didn’t involve cherries or farms. That fate passed to Ethan, whom I learned had also escaped his inheritance to the other mecca of the film industry, New York City.
Of course, Ethan wasn’t in the movie business. If there was anything worse than movie making in Jack Scott’s eyes for his sons, it was Ethan’s profession of cooking. Ethan had gone to New York to study culinary arts and pursue his dream of becoming a chef after he’d met Jacob Vincent, the famous author, and fallen in love with Jacob’s niece, Ella. I hadn’t seen Ethan in years either, but the whole family would be reunited next week for the upcoming wedding of Jess Carter and Emily Post.
Mum guided me into the kitchen where dinner was heating. I’d like to say cooking, but it appeared as if the meal had been pre-prepared and involved only one dish. I watched as my father opened the stove and checked the bubbling casserole, and I realized I’d left the bottle of wine I purchased to go with dinner in the car. I didn’t think we’d need wine with this dinner, but a stiff drink was certainly going to be in order later. I had other gifts for my parents as well.
When I heard Mum was going through chemotherapy again, Zoe picked out a beautiful Hermes scarf and a matching tie for Dad. I was surprised at her thoughtfulness as she’d never met my parents, and in true Zoe style, she coordinated the items. I imagined my parents wearing the set to the upcoming wedding. Mum was pleased with the headscarf, but I could see now that it was senseless. Her hair was growing in again, and I doubted she covered her scalp in this heat. My father grumbled his thanks for the tie and immediately placed it on the empty chair to his left. The tie was not an acceptable gift for him, and I could sense his disapproval.
We ate in strained conversation. Mum could talk about anything and she tried to keep the conversation going with endless questions about the film festival and my debut. My father remained relatively quiet. I swirled my tuna and noodle casserole serving around on my plate. When dinner was done, which I had to admit was finished for me, before it even began, my father excused himself to leave the house.
“Where’s he going?” I asked once Dad kissed Mum’s cheek and left the room.
“Checking the trees? Heading to Town Tavern?” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “He’ll be back later.”
“Should you be alone?” My voice was full of concern, but I could see my mother bite her lip before she responded.
“I’m not alone, Gavin, lovie, but thank you for your concern.” I was addressed as if she were speaking to one of the church supporters or one of her women friends. Suddenly, I felt like I was a stranger in my own childhood home. I was a stranger in my childhood home, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
Take 3
Under the Moonlight
While I drove back to my hotel in Traverse City, I called Zoe.
“Hey, Gavie,” she answered. This nickname was a sign she was on her way to being smashed.
“Zoe, what are you up to tonight?”
“Going with the girls to Club Zen.” A gurgle sound flowed through the receiver and I knew she was drinking out of a glass while she spoke into the phone. I sighed.
“How were your mom and dad?”
I was surprised Zoe even asked. After she’d refused to come with me to Michigan, claiming that I would have too many events to attend and she wouldn’t know anyone, I gave up the argument for her to join me. After three years, it felt like it was time for her to meet my parents and know who they were. I wanted to show Zoe off to them as well, but she was hesitant to leave her glitzy life in California. “What would I possibly do there?” she’d asked. There would be no dance clubs, no high profile dinners, and no persistent photographers.
“My mum looks bad.” There was no other descriptor for her. She looked sallow and worn. Her smile was still bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes like it used to, and I could hardly look at her peach-fuzz hair without feeling a bit sick to my stomach.
“My dad looks tired.” I sighed again thinking of the physical appearance of each parent.
“Say ‘mum’ again. It’s so sexy when you do,” Zoe drawled into the phone with a slight slur. Immediately, I knew calling her was a mistake. I needed her to be here for me, and she couldn’t even be present through the phone. I couldn’t deal with Zoe at the moment. I didn’t have the energy.
“Look, I gotta go. Just wanted to check in with you, while it was still early in California.” There was a three-hour time difference, so while it was after dinner in Michigan, it was only cocktail hour in California.
“Bye, baby.” She made kissing noises into the phone and hung up before I said good-bye.
My hotel was too far from the downtown area to walk, so I drove to the free parking lot before heading to the Rock Mountain bar. As a local brewery, special house blends were the featured item in the bar, but there was plenty of seating for diners at the dark, heavy wood tables and booths that filled the main area. An expansive bar lined one wall and I was fortunate enough to find a seat.
I watched part of a baseball game while I ate, but it wasn’t holding my interest. I had been a sports guy in high school, favoring baseball, but I didn’t participate in anything official in college. I still worked out regularly and was thinking I should head back to my hotel to do just that, when I saw someone resembling Britton walk past the large brewery window.
I threw forty dollars down on the bar for my unfinished burger and beer, and raced out the crowded entry to the sidewalk. Looking both left and right, I no longer saw her on the street. Running a hand through my wavy hair in frustration, I turned left around the brewery building, toward the parking lot behind it, and caught a glimpse of her ahead of me. I didn’t know what came over me, but I called out her name. She stopped, and I thought she’d heard me. Instead, she placed her hand on a car door handle and entered the car. I felt like an idiot on the sidewalk as I watched her drive away from me again, remembering the last time I’d watched her leave.
Scene: The Bonfire
She was eighteen; I was twenty.
I was high, literally. The bonfire at the private beach was blazing brightly in the late July night. The evening air was still warm; a sign that summer was in full swing. I had just finished my first year away at college and had returned home for a month-long visit during my summer break. Britton had just graduated from high school and was going to be a freshman in college in Ohio.
I still felt the same way about her as I always had, but something was different between us. Maybe it was my resentment at returning home. Maybe it was her nerves about going to college. Either way, we were on edge with each other after one brief encounter, and I was foolishly holding onto someone else when Britton arrived at the party. I had an arm around the other girl in a friendly flirtation, but I would never have done something with someone else while Britton was around. I couldn’t even remember the other girl’s name.
“I needed to talk to you,” Britton emphasized. I noted her use of the past tense, as if it was already too late, though she hadn’t even started.
“We can talk l
ater,” I drawled as I let my arm fall from the other girl’s waist and reached for Britton.
“I gotta go,” she said as she witnessed the removal of my arm from this girl still standing next to me. Britton stepped back almost as soon as she approached me.
I moved toward her. “You just got here,” I giggled. I literally giggled.
Britton took another step away. Her blue eyes were painfully sad, and there was something else there. Fear maybe, but it was a look I didn’t recognize in her. I noticed a glance between Britton and my friend, Reese Stover, as she took another step backward.
“What’s going on here?” I glanced from Reese to Britton again. My mood went from innocent flirtation to raging jealousy. “Do you want him?”
“What?” She looked at me as if I’d slapped her, the hurt more evident than anything else in her eyes. “Are you high?”
I ignored her question. I ignored the fact that she’d arrived at the party to witness me flirting with someone else.
“Why are you looking at him?” I accused. I saw my friend take another concerned glimpse at Britton.
“What the fuck, man?” I turned on Reese, forgetting I’d just had my arm around another girl moments ago. I was panicked that another boy might want Britton, and she might want him in return.
I knew I was losing control. I went for my friend, fist raised, and Britton grabbed my arm, positioning herself between us. I yanked my arm loose and she stumbled in the sand. Britton stared at me.
“I gotta go,” she repeated in a soft voice, shaking her head in disappointment. She turned and walked away. I stood for a moment before I took off after her, awkwardly running in the loose sand. I grabbed her upper arm this time and tugged her around to face me. It was her turn to pull free. At the same time, another set of arms snaked around my waist and I caressed that arm in front of Britton to piss her off.
“You’ve changed,” she said to my feet, and in one of my many selfish acts that summer, I let her walk away from me.
* * *
Take 4
Under the Moonlight
I felt honored to be invited to the Traverse City Film Festival. They didn’t take applications directly, and you couldn’t submit a film on a whim, so I was appreciative of my spot as a native of Michigan like one of the founders of the festival, Mike George. I admired Mr. George, and I could only hope that my filmmaking would one day be as powerful as his.
For now, my independent film was a teenage coming of age movie. It was about a young boy who grew up on a farm and wanted a motorcycle. When the main character’s father said he could have the bike, the boy learned he had to work for it on the family farm, earning the money for himself. This was something the teenager had never done. The film was about growing up and learning a lesson with a romantic theme where the boy learns the power of love in his adolescent development. The main idea was discovering that being the son of the owner of the estate was a privilege in comparison to the life of the migrant workers who worked the farm. My original inspiration had been the cherry farm of my own home. I used a vegetable field in Northern California instead of my initial idea, but the message was the same. It was a fictional story I loosely based on a book I’d read when I was younger. The message had always remained with me as a powerful story about priorities and responsibility.
I certainly didn’t want to turn into a modern day John Hughes by making teenage-angst movies, even if Mr. Hughes was another one of my directing idols. But I believed my own film had a strong moral. When the main character earns the money for the new bike after learning the value of hard work, he decides to save his money instead of spending it frivolously on a motorcycle. The character’s involvement with a young, beautiful migrant worker teaches him the value of responsibility and love. I’d hoped to further express the hard work I saw in modern day migrant workers in a documentary about their lives, but Zeke Steinmann wouldn’t back such a film. He didn’t believe in the power of a documentary.
My premiere was Thursday night and I was fortunate to have my showing at prime time. I was thrilled to have the rest of the week to see other films. I would be part of a discussion panel with other directors on Tuesday evening and I had reservations for an invitation-only small group dinner with Mr. Mike George himself on Wednesday. The rest of the time was open for me. The irony was that in my hometown only thirty minutes north had another special festival of sorts – Harbor Days.
Known for its small town American feel in Traverse City, Elk Rapids hosted an even deeper representation of Americana with its annual Harbor Days – a five-day celebration of the Lake Michigan harbor and the small town built up around it. With a street fair of food and music, and carnival rides and games, the days were filled with activities for the young and old. The culminating events concluded with a Saturday morning River Street parade and the nighttime harbor fireworks.
I hadn’t decided if I would attend any of those events as the activities in Traverse City seemed more important to my career. The film festival didn’t exist when I was younger and I was honored to be a featured part of the events now. I didn’t want to miss anything here, and I’d had years of Harbor Days in my past.
Thinking of Harbor Days as I sipped my morning coffee on the balcony overlooking the bay of Lake Michigan, I recalled a different time with Britton. Another mental movie picture showed in my memory.
Scene: The Fireworks
She was sixteen; I was eighteen.
I spent more time with her in TC, but occasionally she made the drive to Elk Rapids. For the Harbor Day’s fireworks, she got permission from her uncle to stay overnight with the Carter girls in Elk Rapids due to the lateness of the firework show and the dark highway to be travelled back to Traverse City.
Britton and I spent a good portion of the day walking through town after the morning parade. We had lunch with some of my friends and eventually went to the beach to hang out in the hot August sun. Later, we rode the carnival rides, but when the darkness came we settled down on a blanket near the harbor for the firework display.
I often held her hand or walked with my arm around her throughout the day. I loved the way her hand fit inside mine, or how possessive I felt with my arm on her waist. We were constantly connected to each other, and I knew others were jealous of me with Britton’s blonde beauty looks and carefree attitude. I enjoyed showing her off.
This particular night she sat between my legs, leaning back on me as I braced my hands behind me to support us. She was skimming her fingers lightly up and down my thighs and every nerve of my body was on edge from the soft caress of her touch. I was positive she was aware of my excitement pressed against her ass as she sat between my legs, and I moved one hand to play with her hair. Her gentle strokes on my leg were being matched by my fingers on her neck and through her long hair. The touching was sensual and by the time the fireworks began, I felt we were both struggling with the sexual frenzy we had caused in each other. Britton eventually turned to kiss me deeply. I held her awkwardly against my chest and breathed against her lips as she pulled back.
“I love you,” I whispered. I had never told a girl I loved her before, and meant it. She looked at me for a moment, her blue eyes sparkling despite the darkness. She slowly smiled and bit her lower lip.
“I love you, too.” She turned abruptly as the fireworks started and watched in awe at the red and white display against the black sky. The fireworks lit up her face and I recalled the pure joy of it. It was the first time a girl said she loved me, and meant it as well.
* * *
Take 5
Under the Moonlight
I returned to Elk Rapids to visit my sister, Karyn, later on Monday. She lived on Elk Lake, a smaller lake that connected with several others creating a chain from one to another. Her home was a modest ranch with three bedrooms, barely big enough to hold her crew of kids. I hadn’t seen my nieces, Madison and Meghan, since they were babies, and I’d never met the almost one-year-old Jack. Madison and Meghan addressed me as a str
anger, although Madison wanted to know all the famous movie stars I had encountered. When I admitted I hadn’t met the few young actors she mentioned, she was no longer interested in me.
Tom Carter was Karyn’s husband, and Jess Carter, his younger brother, had been one of my best friends in high school. When we each went away to college, we lost touch with one another except for the occasional email. I knew Jess had a rough life for a while. Debbie, his high school sweetheart whom I never liked, got pregnant when Jess was twenty-one and she was twenty. Jess married her even though he was still in college at U of M, and he took his bride with him to school. When the baby came, I heard Debbie had a hard time adjusting to motherhood and marriage. She returned to the wayward woman she had been before, and when the little girl was four or five, something traumatic happened with Debbie, and little Katie stopped talking. Jess’ dad died as he finished graduate school and he returned home to Elk Rapids to live with his mom.
I was fortunate that the film festival was conveniently the week before Jess’ second wedding, and I had received an invitation to attend as a groomsman. We were practically family through Tom and Karyn’s marriage, and I was planning to stay the additional week for the wedding, which had caused another fight with Zoe. She didn’t see why I would want to attend the wedding of someone I hadn’t been in contact with for years and didn’t see any benefit to a small town wedding. She would never have stayed for two weeks, let alone one weekend for a wedding.
