The Island of Ted

by Jason Cunningham

  I genuinely wanted to like people – I just couldn’t do it anymore. The awful pain of rejection had been slowly cauterizing my heart over the years. It had become so calloused that only the simple things in life brought me any kind of pleasure, and none of them involved relationships with people. Human beings were unpredictable and complicated, something that I didn’t need at the moment – or maybe ever.

  Still, on days when I had the energy to dream I’d imagine myself giving the greatest speech in Oscar history and, through tears and a cracked voice, thanking my sweet wife, Teresa, who stood by my side through all the turmoil.

  You have stirred my soul, I’d tell her.

  Was it lame? Yes. But it’s not like I stood in front of a mirror and acted out this whole scenario. No more than a couple times, anyway.

  My father used to say, “A man with no spine is a jellyfish.”

  I presume the logic flowing from such a broken metaphor is that a lack of courage not only prompts softness of will, but can also sting others. It sometimes took me years to glean some sort of coherence from one of Pops’ sayings but it was well worth the effort in most cases. My father read the Bible a lot and, over time, developed a real fondness for parables. The interesting thing about a parable is that the story hands out meaning on different levels: the surface level and the deep, or profound, level. Picking this up at a young age, I would always think very deeply about the words of my father, especially when they didn’t seem to comport with whatever topic he was addressing at the time. For a while I thought Roger Graham was also speaking to me parabolically but then I realized he was just genuinely stupid. There was nothing deep going on there.

  My father studied philosophy in college and taught postgraduate studies at several universities before his death. He was fluent in French and Russian and could also read Koine Greek, which prompted a habit of always reading the New Testament in its original language. On Saturday afternoons he would line up parchments on a workbench in the garage and do his own translations.

  After his death I was given a box containing several of those parchments, which are now safely kept in my bedroom closet. For obvious reasons, I could never bring myself to read them. I’m not a sappy person but that’s sacred territory. When I came to Chicago from LA, one of the movers dropped my father’s box into a puddle when taking it off the truck. I almost punched him squarely in the face but then reasoned that assaulting a man over my father’s Greek-to-English translation of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount was too ironic to warrant indulging.

  All of these thoughts about Dad made me wonder whether or not he’d be happy with how I’d spent my life. My name had been in far-reaching magazines. I’d become a millionaire at a young age through nothing more than creativity and elbow grease. I was a powerful decision maker in a somewhat glorified industry and got to schmooze with the most famous people in the world. And yet, I was somehow convinced that Dad would not have been impressed with any of it. In fact, I could even picture him raising an eyebrow and saying, “Theo, are you honest? Have you been courageous? Are you a good person?”

  The truth is that I had neither been honest nor courageous, at least not on all fronts. I loved Teresa but pretended I didn’t. I put on a disguise around her and refused to be myself. Now that Roger’s alien movie was in full swing, securing my current employment, and I had returned to good health, there was nothing more to lose. It was time.

  CHAPTER

  11

  I sat in my office chair tapping a pen against the keyboard. A million things swam through my mind and I couldn’t settle on any one thought. Maybe it was the two-and-a-half cups of coffee I’d drained by 9:30, or maybe I was just anxious to talk to her. And then, with a faint knock on the door, Teresa walked into my office.

  She smiled, as she always did, and handed me the trades.

  “Glad to see you back in action there, TL. Get it? Back in action… because your back is… okay, stupid joke. Too soon.”

  She was being extra-cute today, which made this hard. I hadn’t really prepared anything. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time. Okay – I needed to feel her out a little.

  “You know, I’ve had a lot of time to think since the incident – reflecting on my life and whatnot. Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”

  “You certainly may,” she answered back, being chipper.

  “If I had died that night, how many people do you think would have attended my funeral?”

  Teresa looked at me as if the question made her uneasy. Uh oh, I was choking here.

  “Wait, forget that – too morbid. What I’m saying is that, being so close to death makes you realize how lonely you really are – how each of us really needs each other. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I really do, Ted. I understand what you mean.”

  I was fishing for something more definitive.

  “What do you see when you look at me, Teresa? No boss-employee stuff either. When you look at me as a man, just a guy off the street, what do you see?”

  Her eyes lowered and she drew in a deep breath. She tightened her lips as though she was about to cry.

  “Ted, a while back I said you should go out and meet some friends because you seem very unhappy to me. In the two-and-a-half years I’ve worked for you, you’ve never seemed happy. I don’t know what to say – it’s hard to watch. You’re so… guarded.”

  It was time. My heart was beating so fast that my speech began to tremble. I knew I had to say it at this moment or the words would never come.

  “Teresa, I think I’m in love with you.”

  She put her hand to her mouth, obviously surprised.

  “There it is. I’m in love with you and it’s real. I know this may come as a surprise, but it’s true. That’s why I responded the way I did when you told me to meet some friends. You’re the only friend I need. You’re the only one I want to spend time with. I love you so deeply.”

  My voice was feeble and nervous but I didn’t care. The moment was here and she finally knew the truth. I had trouble looking her in the eye as she took a step back.

  “Ted, why are you doing this?”

  “What do you mean? I’m telling you what I’ve been feeling for a while. Teresa, this is real.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. I mean what I said.”

  “How could you do this to me?”

  Her voice broke and she looked away. My heart began to crumble. She looked betrayed.

  “Teresa, I don’t want to make you feel awkward. But I know… if I don’t tell you this, I can never forgive myself.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she repeated, her voice high and troubled.

  “Just tell me you feel the same way.”

  Her eyes narrowed and I think she tried to force a laugh, but only a weak sound came out.

  “You want me to tell you that I’m in love with you too? That’s why you put me in this weird position?”

  “I’m not trying to put you in a weird position,” I apologized. “It’s just… you’re all I think about anymore.”

  “You’re just lonely, Ted.”

  “No, I’m not… I mean, yes… but it’s not just that! I’ve never obsessed over another person like this before.”

  “Obsessed?” she repeated, taken aback.

  I knew I’d used the wrong word so I tried to recover by challenging her. “You’ve never felt like that about someone? I know you have.”

  “Ted, please….” she said, her voice begging. “Please just stop.”

  It began to dawn on me that I had made an epic mistake. The embarrassment was too much. I wanted to just run out of the room and hide in a cave. And yet, I had to stubbornly fight on.

  “You don’t have any feelings for me?” I probed further.

  “Not like that,” she said with a tender voice that was also shaking.

  “Just have dinner with me tonight. You might not feel anything right now, but give it a chance. Please.”
/>   “Ted, I can’t do that,” she said while staring at the floor. “I just can’t.”

  “So, what… you’re busy then?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m so sorry but I just don’t feel that way about you.”

  I honestly had not expected this level of rejection. I began to feel sick.

  “Is this because we work together?”

  She looked at me so sweetly and said, “It’s not.”

  “So there’s no chance that we will ever be… I mean, there’s no spark at all for you?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek and that cemented the issue with me. This dream was vapor.

  She sniffled and said, “You’re a good man, but this isn’t for us. I’m so sorry, Ted. This isn’t for us.”

  I had no idea what to do next.

  “Um, could you grab me the uh – the expenditures from last week?” I said for no reason whatsoever.

  Teresa nodded, wiped her eyes, and walked out.

  She gave her resignation a week later.

  CHAPTER

  12

  I was still in a fog the day Teresa left. I took a detour on the way home just to get my mind right. I was angry that she didn’t love me back, even just a little bit. “What is so terrible about me?” I began to wonder. A-list actresses knew me by name and yet plain-Jane Teresa somehow thought it revolting to imagine a relationship with me. I had a name in the industry and made millions, but it wasn’t enough for Teresa. How ridiculous to consider being with a man who would actually care about her and sacrifice everything to be with her. I pictured her ending up with some guy with a tribal tattoo who stays out until 2 o’clock in the morning while she anxiously waits for him at home, wondering how many girls he’d hooked up with at the club. Part of me wanted her to end up with a guy like that just so she’d feel terrible about rejecting the nice guy. I wanted to drown my anger in alcohol as the rage set in. Self-pity began to course through my veins like heroin and I felt like running my car into Lake Michigan. “Would anyone even care?” I asked aloud, almost shouting at myself.

  At the point where I actually began to consider ending it all, Delores entered my mind again - almost as if by divine revelation. Immediately, I changed course and drove to Delores’ old neighborhood. The memory of us in her living room with the kids, all happy and without a care in the world, was vividly clear. That had been the first time in a long time that I felt a sense of kinship with other people. And now that my hopes for a relationship with Teresa had been dashed, to put it mildly, I wondered if something else was destined for me. Maybe even a life without relationships. Jean-Paul Sartre once said, “Hell is other people.” I was inclined to agree at this point in my life.

  • • •

  That night I ate pizza at a sports bar with Greg, the line producer on the alien film Roger had set in motion. As he dredged on about market analysis and release dates, my eyes were drawn to the big television set above the bar. A news reporter, standing in front of crime scene tape, spoke to the camera about an elderly couple that had been shot down in front of their home. As she was speaking a little scroll began at the bottom of the screen announcing some breaking news about a politician who had just committed suicide. I heard a finger being snapped and realized that Greg had asked me a question. I was completely zoned out.

  “I’m sorry – what were you saying?”

  “We need to push the release date up two weeks so we’re not competing with the Spielberg flick.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, not caring an ounce.

  I left the pizza joint feeling very uneasy and it had nothing to do with the food, which I usually enjoy. But tonight even our Chicago deep dish tasted flat. In fact, nothing seemed quite right in the world. Traffic was unusually busy and I was tired of sitting in my car all the time. I flipped on the radio to ease the ride home but the news station had nothing positive to say about anything in the world. I slipped in a CD, a compilation of my favorite classics, but even that sounded off. Was I losing it? Was my mind so fragile that I couldn’t even stomach my favorite things any longer? These thoughts swam around the entire ride home and even invaded my bedroom. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.

  Around 4 am I clumsily stepped into my home office and sat down at the computer. Unable to retain a single thought for more than a few seconds, I began to search the web – for hours. I was looking for an escape, the real thing. And that required research.

  • • •

  After three weeks of research, I knew exactly two things: I was going to buy an island, and I was going to live alone. The idea didn’t scare me nearly as much as it should have. I was simply tired of it all. I was tired of pressure and stress, I was tired of watching good women go for the wrong guys, I was tired of violence and death - I was tired of feeling like I didn’t belong in the world that presently existed. Fortunately for me, I could actually do something about it.

  Over the next few weeks I met with an international real estate broker, a green technology expert, three pro survivalists and numerous other contractors and specialists. Things were taking shape, and this weird fantasy I’d spun for myself was looking more and more like reality.

  Roger hadn’t given me a lot to do on the new movie so I basically sleepwalked through pre-production, doing only the bare minimum while tending to my extensive planning. However, as the day of my departure drew near, I knew I’d have to actually talk to Roger about my plans. It’s not that I needed his blessing, but, despite his many issues, he was the one who had given me a job in the first place, a job which ultimately made this decision even possible. So I checked the calendar on my phone and saw only two remaining appointments before leaving this life behind for good. The first appointment was with Roger. The second, a speech at NYU.

  • • •

  I headed into Roger’s office, that sweet aroma of cigar smoke hitting me in the face the moment I stepped inside. He was on a phone call so he gave me the “one sec” finger gesture. After howling with laughter, he slapped his knee, said goodbye and hung up the phone.

  He then turned to me and said, “What’s up, Teddy? Did Greg tell you we decided to move the release date again?”

  “I’m quitting, Roger.”

  He looked at me like I’d just punched his mother.

  “Say what now?” He responded.

  “I’m done. I’m out. This is – I can’t work here anymore. I’m done with movies.”

  “Teddy, if you needed a raise you could’ve just asked. You want me to talk to Jerry?”

  “This isn’t about my salary, Roger. I’m leaving town.”

  “That’s not a bad idea – you deserve some time off. Why don’t we talk about this whole thing when you get back from your vacation.”

  “Not a vacation,” I said as I slid a folded, stapled report out of my breast pocket and handed it to him.

  He looked at the image on the front, which I’d printed off of the internet, and then his eyes drifted back up to me.

  “I bought it."

  “An island? You’re buying an island?”

  “It’s all taken care of. I bought a house, five thousand square feet on three miles of beach. No other residents, just me, the waves and satellite TV. No distractions, no worries. Food comes in by boat twice a month. I designed everything – it’s perfect.”

  “What about electricity?” He asked just to humor me. Roger probably saw this as an early midlife crisis or some kind of nervous breakdown.

  “It’s all solar. Cost me a little extra but I’ll have my own self-sufficient energy. It’s truly paradise. I’ve left no stone unturned with this thing.”

  “It’s isolationism, Ted. I know you’ve had some relationship problems but come on now, this is nuts.”

  “I’ve been planning this for months. I just didn’t have the nerve to pull the trigger until recently. I called my real estate guy in the Philippines this morning. Everything is final.”

  “That’s in Asia. Are you putting me on here?” H
e said in shock. “Get a summer home in the Keys for crying out loud. Come on, Ted.”

  “The money has already changed hands. There’s no turning back now.”

  Roger took an unusually long pause, snuffed out his cigar, and crossed over to me. I saw him searching for the words to say but somehow he knew I was serious. He then did something much unexpected – he reached over and gave me a tight hug. This wasn’t a “see ya, loser” kind of hug; it was a genuine, almost fatherly gesture that I’d never witnessed from the man. I was a bit taken aback. As we broke apart he looked remorseful.

  “You’ll be back in a month,” he said, believing it with all his heart.

  • • •

  They had postponed my lecture at NYU because of the stabbing but tonight I would give my talk. The topic was on the essence of being a producer, but I had decided on the ride over that, being this was to be my last appointment - ever - that I should change the subject and talk about something closer to my heart. After all, the life of a producer is not one that anyone should envy and I was tired of pretense. I wanted to speak my mind and offer a farewell speech of sorts.

  It was the first time I wasn’t nervous for an event and even Jerry showed up backstage to see how I was doing. He hadn’t heard the news, which made me feel slightly bad for him.

  “You go on in five. How do you feel?”

  “Jerry, you might want to leave early for this one.”

  He looked at me, puzzled.

  “Trust me – this is my last talk.”

  “Okay, okay… it’s not an issue.”

  I was sad as I looked at Jerry. He wasn’t much of a friend but he was all I had.

  “I’m going to miss you, old boy,” I said.

  He was perplexed as the stagehand came and grabbed me, ushering me to the curtain.

  I took the podium and cleared my throat. What most people don’t know is that giving a speech in an auditorium is a strange experience. The stage lights prevent you from seeing your audience, so it’s like looking out into a sea of black. And that made what I had to say a lot easier.