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WEP is ending after 13 years.
Last few years life has stood in the way of me participating, but I couldn't let it slip away into darkness
without my joining this foray into the love of cinema.
Some of you may remember Wendy Tyler Ryan
(her pen name taken from the first names of her two sons)
Recently she had a stroke, and her left side is reluctant now to do her bidding.
Once she published an anthology in which I participated concerning a cursed second hand shop.
As a tip of my Stetson to her and to Denise, I am posting a snippet of my story for her born of my love for my favorite movie, CASABLANCA.
We walked a few more steps when Rose spotted the Café Americain. She stopped dead still.
Her hot sunset of hair became a waterfall that tumbled over onto her shoulders as she shook her head.
“Imposs…” she began before stopping as if she, of all people, should not use that word.
She husked, “I have never seen that building before.”
I smiled. “It’s been here since the year I got out of the orphanage. You must be new to Bottle Bay.”
“No, Adam. I am quite old to it.”
Rose rasped again, “The building is black and white… as is that man standing in front of its double doors. My God, he looks just like…”
I shook my head. “He has a thing about hearing who he looks like.”
Rose was breathing shallow. “But he and this building are black and white!”
“You mean in black and white, sister,” Rick grinned crooked.
He had walked up to us while Rose and I had been talking. He walked beside me as Rose walked dumbfounded towards the nightclub.
I understood why Rose was so shaken. I remembered my first time. I roughly pushed that memory aside.
Yes, I understood why Rose was having a hard time with what she was seeing.
Rick and his Café Americain were in black and white… just as if they had been scooped out of an old movie film… which, in a way I have never understood, they had been.
When we walked in, I froze ...
It wasn’t the inside of the café I remembered.
It was the top balcony of the De Lint Movie Theater – the place that stood on this lot before the café.
It was the place where I had gotten my first job out of the orphanage and the place where I lost my first friend. The rows of seats were all misty.
Rose started to speak but Rick shushed her. He didn’t have to worry about me. I couldn’t have talked if a gun had been pointed at me.
Why? I was looking at myself, that was why.
The self I was the night Charles de Lint died.
He was sitting in the end seat in the middle row – his spot.
I was standing in the aisle, holding with pride the two reels of the original print of Casablanca. “I got it for you, Mr. Charles.”
He wasn’t old, but his face looked tired and frail as he smiled up at me. “You bought it for me like I asked?”
“Mr. Blank wouldn’t sell it to you, sir.”
He frowned. “But you have it in your hands, Adam.”
“Yeah,” the younger me said with a face that went all puckered. “Mr. Blank is sure an odd duck.”
Mr. Charles said, “Why do you say that?”
“’ Cause he asked why I was doing this for you.”
He looked closely at me. “And you said?”
“I said I was doing this because you asked me to. A-And you were my friend, m-my only friend.”
Mr. Charles smiled sadly. “I do believe you are my only friend, too, Adam. So he accepted my money then?”
“Mr. Blank said I bought these reels with… my compassion.”
Mr. Charles looked at me intently. “And what did you say?”
“I said it wasn’t compassion, it was friendship, which was way better ‘cause it was a kind of love. You know, like the love Jonathan had for David.”
Mr. Charles was silent for long moments.
“Me as well, Adam. Me as well. You know I’ve left you this theater and the property it stands on.”
I stammered, “M-Mr. Charles, you got long years ahead of you. Don’t be talking about dying and leaving stuff to me.”
He shook his head sadly.
“Not years or months or days or even hours, Adam. I have minutes. No, Adam, no sad looks. It has been a good life, filled with happy memories, great moments.”
He weakly motioned up to the projectionist room.
“Go up there and put those… bad boys as you call them, into the projector. Let’s relive some of those great moments."
I saw the younger me take off in a rush.
I watched my retreating figure, knowing what would happen next and envying the young me the happiness I foolishly felt running up those carpeted steps.
That kind of happiness now had cobwebs on it inside the closet of my own memories.
I was brought out of my gloom by the younger me slipping into the seat next to Mr. Charles.
The light of the projector went on. Images began to flicker on the screen.
The younger me leaned in towards Mr. Charles and whispered, “I timed it just right.”
He smiled ever so faintly. “Me, too.”
His head slumped to his chest.
The young me cried out.
I got out of my seat to go into the aisle and listen to Mr. Charles’ worn-out, silent heart. I watched me sob gut-deep.
I was rocking on my knees as I hugged my only friend, now dead.
With my eyes closed, the young me didn’t see the theater blur like film ruined by the acid of time and neglect.
I watched the seats, walls, ceilings melt and change into the interior of the Café Americain.
All was as it had been in the movie.
Except there were no customers, no waiters, no Nazi’s, no Ilsa … just Rick Blaine.
He stood there dumbstruck.
Rick glared at me. I was still crying, hugging Mr. Charles and feeling my heart bleed out of my throbbing chest and stream down my face.
I didn’t see Rick pull his gun from out of his right jacket pocket.
He watched me for a long time, his face impassive and hard.
I was oblivious to everything but my loss as I kept rocking on my knees.
Rick’s hard eyes slowly began to reflect my grief and gleam with a similar pain of their own.
He put the gun back into his pocket.
“Hey, kid, got any ideas what just happened?”
I jerked up my eyes, saw him, wildly looked about me, and promptly fell on my butt. “Shit!”
Rick grinned drily. “I can see we’re going to share many long evenings of stimulating conversation.”
I stammered, “You’re … you!”
He smiled sour. “Yeah, I can see that they’re going to be long all right.”
Rick nodded to Mr. Charles now slumped over a dining table. “Who was he?”
I looked to Mr. Charles and managed to husk out, “M-My only friend in the w-world.”
Rick sucked in a breath, walked over to me, and put a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s a black place you’re in right now. Wish I could say it gets better. I can’t. But you’ll manage to learn to walk in the dark.”
Want to see the full story?
It may give her a smile or two which are few and far between now.
Or buy her first novel, FIRE'S DAUGHTER. Then, that money and attention would be all hers.
You're a brilliant storyteller, Roland.
ReplyDeleteWith how few are buying SAME AS IT NEVER WAS, I needed to hear those words, Misky. :-)
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