handsome face. I had in my mind that I might put glasses on him. I knew I couldn't make him look like me, but I thought I might give a sort of reminder. But I can't do it. So, instead, I start to paint him out of each scene. Frame by frame I remove him, filling in the background by copying from other frames.
It takes days and days. But only the days. The nights I keep for her. I don't tell her yet about this gift, but I think she knows something is coming. She has that same sense of anticipation I feel myself. We talk. We talk as lovers must talk. She places photos on my wall. The one I love best is of her sitting there on a log looking attentive. I imagine it is me she is waiting to hear speak.
I hear the phone ring but let it take a message. It's probably Michael. I think I missed our weekly get together. I hope he doesn't worry. He would never believe that a real movie star is paying so much attention to me, so it's better we don't meet this week.
I realise that I haven't changed the soundtrack of the movie. E.'s voice is still there, speaking through scenes now devoid of his face. I will think about that later. I'm not even half way through changing the frames yet.
Last night's photo on my wall was truly intimate. A lovely gesture that proves to me that I am not mistaken. She really does care as much for me as I do for her.
When the phone rings again I try to think who it must be. I cannot. The clock on the computer says it's Tuesday evening. That should mean something to me, but I can't think what.
Cereal and water is not so bad. I don't know what I was complaining about. Besides, I'm not very hungry. I've got so much to do.
I get past the half-way mark and think about taking a break. But no. I want to be able to show this to her. I watch the part that I have done already, with the sound turned down. Just her. Just her throughout. No other faces other than cheeky little Pascal. I think that's a nice touch. I know she will love it.
I have trouble getting up some mornings now. I seem to be lagging badly. Never mind. There's not much more to do. I think the next cheque is there waiting. It can wait a little longer.
It's almost done. I'm almost at the credits. I'm tempted to stop now and watch it, but only a few more frames to go. This is a labour of love.
I turn from the screen for a moment. The room is dark, and there's a smell. I wonder what it is. I don't seem to get hungry any more, and that's good. Less distraction from what I have to get done. I wonder if I can get these last frames done before we talk again tonight. I turn back to the screen and gasp in horror.
The screen has gone dark. The whole room has turned black. I fumble at the computer and flick the switch. No change. I stand in panic, flailing about. I fall over something. The books.
I'm not hurt. I reach out into the darkness and grab for support to help me stand. The bookcase. I feel it start to tilt and let go. But it's too late. There is a crash and tinkle of broken glass. The crystal flower that I had bought for her! I scream in horror and reach out for the pieces. My hand goes through the paper of the fallen lantern.
I am screaming now. Just screaming.
She wrote to me again last night. A simple message on my wall. There's no photo this time, there can't be. It's not easy writing on the painted brick of my cell, scratching it out in the paint with her finger nails, I don't know how she manages it. She offers simple advice on how to deal with incarceration, she knows exactly what it's like. She tells me that if she still had her magic hair she would let it down and I could climb from my cage to the comfort of her arms.
# # #
For the animators of the movie “Tangled”.
Your Rapunzel is enough to unravel anyone.
gmw 11-May-2013.
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Unravelling Page 3
