*The following is a work of fiction and, with all works of fiction that I write, there is a kernel of truth. It is up to the reader to figure out what is true and what is not. Or not even try. Since I will be retiring from writing here this year I just wanted to get this up (ho ho ho) and out there. It won't be for everyone and isn't really local but is still a part of the big picture, and a love letter to those that like the prose. Straight from the heart.
The House By The Beach
"I want to know how worse it can get..."
I am trying to lock in my sports bets on the four platforms I am currently operating off of and I hear this muttered by someone and we are all sitting poolside at the House By the Beach on an average Spring day so the potential for things going off the rails, getting "worse", are very high. There are no prop bets on any of my sites for this so I click off and scan the scene.
As expected, it is myself, Trent, Scott, Amy who is Trent and Matt's girlfriend, Oakley who is our personal trainer and the only black person we know so he always has a standing invitation to our narrative, and Matt. Matt is actually on the other side of the pool, quarantined from everyone else, because recently tested positive for Covid which would make it his fifth positive test in the last six months which makes zero sense because he is completely vaccinated and boosted and we are all concerned because Matt hasn't left the House By the Beach in seven months. There is also Nova over there, who claims to be a doctor, but was hired to serve as a wellness check for Matt because of his isolation issues but he doesn't play into this story.
Scott, who works in movies, is currently working on a miniseries about miniseries, and can no longer catch Covid because of a Wonder Pill that Trent's father is finalizing a patent on that Scott had to pick up from a studio pimp in Studio City. Trent's father is also pushing for a movement regarding animal tranquilizers and their benefits on depression and we are all watching the stock market to jump when one of the Big Guy's bite on the tip and it is approved. Trent's father also works in movies.
Today's "The View", which we all watch religiously because we like to keep up, but also have bets on which host will have Covid this week because they don't know Trent's dad or any studio pimps out in Studio City (though they probably should), was "Deformed Girl Who Learns To Accept Herself". I wonder if she is on animal tranquilizers and make a mental note to check. There is a dead spider on Scott's dry beer that we've all been watching to see if he drinks it. We may have bets on this as well. I wonder if the spider was depressed and make another mental note. I turn my attention to the TV inside the House By the Beach, new but not as new as it could be. On it is a birthday cake with around thirty candles on it. Somebody offscreen blows them out and then the words "This is just a Test" appear.
Trent is reading the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly and throws it in the pool and the pool gets hazy, milky white, and I can't see the magazine anymore. Trent has been frustrated because he can't get a hard-on anymore looking at "these people" because he has no idea who is "real" anymore. Amy, drugged out but lucid, asks him to define "real" and after a too long minute he replies, "The world is full of surprises". This seems to awaken something in him and he slaps my leg and asks me to come with him to the Darkroom. Trent has his own personal Darkroom at the House By the Beach where we sometimes go to
"Its not even noon," I whine, "There's still one full segment of The View left."
"See you there," he says, ignoring me, a command, a warning.
I nod and check my watch, a Detroit Tigers Shinola, not cheap, a gift from -jr back home, and make a mental note to head to the Darkroom in five minutes.
Amy is applying tanning lotion and Triple Antibiotic cream to her new tattoo which is a Lavender lightning bolt with the words "Retro But Wacky" under it. This prompts me to inspect my older tattoo of Super Mario on my bicep, but today he looks more like Luigi because I haven't been to the gym in weeks. At least it's not Bowser or, gasp, Princess Toadstool. I wonder if Trent thinks she's "real". Five minute are up...
"Alright Crew, heading to the Darkroom. Let me know who's on the Kelly Clarkston Show and if Kelly is going for the mom look, two month old fashion, or retro grunge," I say as I try to walk away.
"You hate going to the Darkroom," Scott mumbles, pulling himself away from the latest issue of Rolling Stone with Jared Leto on the cover and the caption, "My Time With Depression".
"Well, we're working on a project," I say, lie.
"Hey guy, I'm just looking out for your best interests."
"I appreciate it?" is all I can say, a question.
"Abracadabra," he replies, the ominous nature of the word lost on me.
I knock, then enter the Darkroom because that's the rules, and Trent is smoking an unlit joint going through some paperwork. My attention is drawn to a new 8 X 10 I have not seen before of a young girl, maybe 18, hopefully 18, pixie haircut, probably a model, hopefully a model, posing in a field, arms outstretched, a decent terrified look on her face, an obvious commentary on the highs and lows of social media.
"Who is that?" I ask Trent, who has stopped going through some paperwork and is looking at me, looking at the photo.
"Who is who?" he asks, teasing, pretending to ignore me.
"The girl in that picture," I reply.
"Oh, that's just Gina," he replies, not clarifying anything.
"O Gina, she's the new barista at Providence in Hollywood right?" I pry, grasping.
"No, the Providence in Compton. And no. That is Regina. Regina is dead."
(I'm just looking out for your best interests)
"Oh, well bummer. She's cute. I mean, was. Oh jeeze, I'm sorry."
"No worries Bry. She's been dead for years. Her name is Regina Kay Walters and she was a teenage runaway was was picked up along with her boyfriend by a truck driver who happened to be a serial killer, this complete psycho, a real crazy guy. who ended up killing her boyfriend immediately and imprisoned her for days. The photo up there is just moments before he killed her."
"Wow, that's ....pretty awful," is all I can say as my eyes turn to the negatives laying on the end table, "Sooo....," is all I have left.
"Eh, it's just something I guess. Sorry you had to see that."
(This is just a Test)
"Cool, well..." I start to leave.
"There's something else," Trent interrupts, "Something just as interesting. I found this guy in Ohio. He has these film cannisters. He needs to lose them. Quick. His wife found out."
"Found out what?" I ask.
"I don't know," Trent answers and giggles, "He's just some hillbilly who doesn't own an 8mm projector."
"Do you own an 8mm projector?"
"Dude, we are talking in a Darkroom. I have three 8mm projectors."
"So what are you saying?" I ask, already knowing.
"I'm saying me, you, Amy, Scott, and Gooch go on a little road trip to get these film reels," he basically commands.
"Uhhhh, who is Gooch?" is all I can ask.
"Gooch is the new barista at Providence in Hollywood," Trent answers and I don't know if he is joking, "Gooch works as an intern on The View. Gooch works in Studio City, maybe even for my dad. Gooch is a plot device."
"Listen pal, we are in LA. You can have any film reel with awful overtones at any time you want. There is no need to go to Ohio," I try to reason.
"You think I don't know this? The crate you're sitting on is full of them, all local. Some of them probably filmed professionally. They get boring after a while. Regina was found in Illinois. These film cannisters are in Ohio which is close to Illinois and far enough from LA to know that I am getting my money's worth. I want to know how much worse it can get."
"I think this is a bad idea."
"Weakness is a crime. Don't be a criminal."
"I don't believe any of this," I say and I am crying.
"You have no choice."
The Film Reels
The next day Trent, Amy, Scott, Gooch, and I am touching down in Michigan where we have arranged to meet Elizabeth First and rent a car to drive down to Ohio and then back to LA because it was decided that taking the film cannisters on a plane, not knowing what was on them, was probably not the best idea. After waiting hours at the bikini bar for E First, who predictably does not show up, we hop on the freeway to Ohio.
We meet up with "Dave" at a truck stop, of course, and Trent is practically salivating at the weight of this exchange.
"So, how did you get these?" I ask as Trent is securing the cannisters into a Nike bag.
"I'm into the occult a lil bit," and leaves it at that as he eyes up Amy who is on animal tranquilizers right now.
"Yeah so?" Gooch says, the first time he has spoken on this trip.
"Well I was at this, lets call it this oddity swap meet, and this old guy was selling stuff out of his van. He had no license plate, which is actually recommended, and I was picking up these VHS filth tapes when I saw those film cannisters. So I asked if they were for sale. 'Brother, we're all for sale,' was his response so I scooped them up."
"Why don't you want to keep them?" I ask.
"I was gonna to but I got drunk on some of my homemade hooch. Hey you guys want some?"
"No!" from everybody.
"I got drunk on my homemade hooch and the wife saw them laying on the couch, what was written on them, said they have to go. So here you are. Hey you guys from Detroit right? You see that Jack White fella get married?"
"I feel so sorry for that poor girl," Amy shouts, "Groomed. Molded. Just awful. She is going to have self esteem issue for the rest of her life. Maybe one day we'll be picking up film reels of her! Right Trent!" she shouts and runs back to the car.
Stills from this conversation: No license plates, angry wives, broken wives who have yet to see how much worse it can get, who was the old man, has he already seen the worst, am I for sale, what is on those reels...
"What is on those film reels?" I ask the car as we are back on the road, far away from Dave and his homemade hooch, crossing into Illinois.
"No clue. We'll stop at the next exit to check. Maybe we can even visit Regina," Trent says.
"who is Regina?" Amy asks, possibly jealous.
"She's the barista at Providence in Hollywood," Trent replies, giving me a wink.
At the next exit we stop and take out the film cannisters. There are three. One is marked "Dirty Movies" and we all agree that is mildly tame though "Dirty" instead of "Adult" somewhat unnerves me. The next one is titled, simply, "Rapest". We take a moment to consider whether the misspelling was intentional or unintentional. Scott, the cinephile, notes that the misspelled "e" is dotted as if it were an "i". We also debate whether it was originally an "i" but changed to an "e", as in the best. Someone also suggests that maybe its the old man's name, maybe he's German.
The last cannister is titled "GEN 37 1-16" and none of us knows what that means so we pull out of the gas station and continue out west.
The Night Riders
Flash jump cut to one day later as the night came quick for us in the desert of Arizona and we are almost but not quite home yet and the two things I keep noticing are how cold it is and that there is no moon. There is something out here with us in the desert and I am terrified. It is unusually cold. There is no moon. Driving into a sea of nothing, nowhere.
"Hey Bryan, do you want me to take over? You've been driving since Tennessee," Scott asks me and I shrug the question off. I've made this drive before.
(You've never made this drive without the moon)
"Hey Bryan, do you want me to take over? You've been driving since blah blah blah," Trent repeats, daring me to shrug it off again but I don't.
"No, I'm fine. I've made this drive before," I answer as Amy stirs in the backseat, lost in some dream or maybe a nightmare, cradling the film cannisters like a baby. I think I hear her mutter, "Exile" or maybe "Exhale".
"Hey Bryan do you want..." Gooch starts to ask, trying to extend a joke that was never funny to begin with, but Trent stops him by gently chuckling and then harshly gripping the back of Gooch's neck. Amy thrashes but is still dreaming. I look over and see that Scott has fallen asleep as well. I wonder if he knows that something is out there, in the desert, waiting, wanting to see the worst. Scott's window is down but I don't say anything because there is no wind.
I close my eyes for a few seconds even though I'm driving. I open my eyes and it's still night, freezing, no moon. We actually considered shipping the film cannisters back to a dummy address and just fly home but decided not to after a Zoom call hosted by somebody at the dummy address named Porcupine but was actually in Paris. This experiment was aborted after Gooch confessed he has never ridden in a car before and we couldn't pass that up.
Some of the things we have talked about include: Remakes in Hollywood, original features in Hollywood, whether or not New Mexico has complimentary wi-fi despite already being through New Mexico, whatever happened to Mumford and Sons, how come the hottest people in LA are the ones without a job, how the "You're an alien" line in Katy Perry's "ET" is still the most "human" moment of her career, are drag queens really the new mimes, disrupted dream patterns.
I am shaken from my thoughts by a coyote dashing in front of the car and I swerve to avoid it and this causes a drink to spill in Gooch's lap. This serves a a wake up call so everyone can laugh and point and this brightens up the sense of dread that has permeating through the air, but not too much, and this is how it always begins with us: a chance meeting, unspoken ideas, mental telepathy, master plans, new friends, teenage runaways born under a bad sign, big mistakes, no moon.
Amy's mix tape starts over and Sam Cooke's "Twistin' the Night Away" starts to play and this fills me with insurmountable fear but doesn't prevent me from laughing, just cackling, and I can't put my finger on why, and this leads me on a separate road but I just breathe and merge back onto the road I originally was on which will prove to be the biggest mistake but I ignore all of this because I am looking for a sign.
The Arizona Rest Stop
I see the sign for the rest stop shortly after two in the morning and I think it would be a good idea to stop and refresh ourselves and I am so tired and really wish that someone else would step up and take the wheel for a few hours.
"I think that it would be a good idea for us to stop and refresh ourselves," I say to the car of sleeping friends and I purposely hit a bump and they all nod their unconscious heads in unison so I take this as a unanimous vote.
Eleven Miles To Go
I see the film cannisters fall to the floor after the bump so I pull over to place them back in Amy's lap and then rummage through her purse and find $50 which I take and the Sam Cooke mixtape has been replaced by one of Scott's, this one titled "My Rainy Day Mix" (there was a sad face next to the title, for emphasis I guess), and this tape featured nothing but Train b-sides and they are all poppy and optimistic, totally misleading. I turn off the radio completely.
Ten Miles To Go
I turn the radio back on, totally stir crazy, and immediately feel a sense of menace as Kurt sings "Hello hello hello again", and my limbs go numb. The temperature has plummeted and I am bummed because I don't have anyone to talk to. There is a sliver of moon peeking out from behind a cloud and I am positive it wasn't there a few minutes ago.
Nine Miles To Go
I'm now daydreaming, half asleep, thinking about killing everyone in the car, myself included, ditching the car in the desert, but the moment passes because I think of what could be on these film reels, what the police would say, what our mother's and fathers would think.
(Your daddy's rich and your mommy's good lookin')
And these thoughts help me to stay awake, alert. This barely helps.
Eight Miles To Go
Since merging on to Interstate 10 I can only remember passing one billboard and it said "Soft Rock" with a total hardbody on it but somebody had defaced it to say "Slut Rock", and I wanted to turn to somebody to ask if they saw it too but everyone was asleep despite the Stone Roses' "I Want To Be Adored" being played at full volume, so I kept my mouth shut and slowed down so I could stare at the "Soft Rock" billboard some more and the slut on it is holding her fingers to her lips, "Shhhhhh".
Seven Miles To Go
The moon is now completely out of the cover of the clouds and it is actually a crescent, not a sliver. The fucking Sam Cooke mixtape starts up again but I pretend not to hear it. I shift my focus to rumors that Lance from LA told me about Katy Perry and Kanye West and Kelly Clarkston, about how Timothee Chalamet is bled every other month by studio pimps in West Hollywood, about the Natalie Portman herpes rumors and I start touching myself and try to ignore that I see the Sam Cooke mixtape sitting on top of the film cannisters that Amy is cradling.
Six Miles To Go
I
Five Miles To Go
Sam Cooke's "Twistin' the Night Away" merges into "Summertime" which causes me to think of when I was young and summer in the city, working out, community cars, VCR tapes floating in pools, going to the movies, sitting out by the pool, XBox, karaoke with E First, text messages, talking about movies, seeing something I shouldn't have, hotel openings...
Four Miles To Go
...writing intro's to shows that nobody will see, monologues, sitting out by the pool, housing markets, beaches, dinner at Spago, broken promises, New York, a murder seen on a subway, that moment when you know it's over, hushed tones, more dreams, sex...
Three Miles To Go
...cookbooks, a haunted pool with a taste for blood, sitting out by the pool, what sumo wrestlers actually "do", hung poolboys and grand mal seizures, passing the buck, shifts in tone, ping pong ball, 135 mph winds that knew we were coming, crispy chicken sandwich, January Zoom parties, the word "abracadabra", having lunch with someone who insisted they be called "David Koresh" and could have been him, sitting out at the pool, a girl who was cut on the arm and her friend who only suffered a scratch, counselors whose sole purpose was to speak to the people who saw too much, how much we like the way old Toyotas look, unused Groupon coupons and the sex groups that use them as "Guides", a detour that nobody knows about yet...
Trent violently shifts in his sleep as if he is dreaming the same dream and I see him elbow Amy in the head causing her to drop the film cannisters (and Sam Cooke mixtape) on the floor, a metaphor but maybe not.
Two Miles To Go
I'm thinking of a conversation I had with Amy last week where she made a confession about Eric. Eric was the last boyfriend before Trent and Matt and worked in retail but made up for it by treating her with respect. At the time, they seemed great for each other, "We see the happiness below the surface" was spoken every other day, and Trent was seeing Kat Dennings at the time. Everything took a turn for the worse, as it always does, when it was discovered that Eric had submitted Amy to a revenge porn site (twice) and Trent, in what I perceived as a rare moment of integrity, threatened to kill him, and consoled Amy by saying the photos were submitted under her real name, which nobody uses, and that everyone on that site looked like her anyway.
Later, during a late night coke session, Trent admitted to me that he was only irked because he also submitted Amy's photos to the revenge porn site last summer but never received a response. I just kept quiet during this time, trying to spend most of it at the movies. Eventually, in a fit of jealous rage, Trent leaked the photos he took of Kat Dennings (the negatives are also in the Darkroom or maybe it was her Sim Card) and those can be seen at
One Mile To Go
I'm starting to feel a major meltdown coming but it doesn't last too long because I can now see the rest stop backlit by the half moon above it. I turn around and scan the car and see that everyone is awake now but nobody is really saying anything which is okay and Sam Cooke is still singing about mommies, daddies, and the summer.
Here
There is a large concrete arch that serves as the entrance to the rest stop. On it someone has painted "Never Never Land" in large block letters, Day-Glo paint everywhere. I keep staring until Amy speaks, pointing out that the actual rest stop is dark, no lights. The only light provided is via the two street lamps along with the neon arch backlit by the three quarter full moon. We all sit in the car for another two minutes and then Trent yells, "Get Out!", so we all get out and just hang out in the parking lot.
Never Never Land
The light bathes us but our focus is on the darkness of the rest stop and I wonder why it is two stories tall. Trent is standing in front of the rent-a-car staring at the building with his head tilted as if he is waiting for the lights to miraculously come on by themselves. Scott is on his phone arguing with someone saying that he "sent the money to Lurch" and that "Lurch is the butler", and I wonder how he is getting a signal and who Lurch really is and if he really is a butler. Amy joins Trent at the front of the car still holding the film cannisters and swallows two tabs of ecstasy and she sees him roll his eyes and defensively says, "If you're not wasted, the day is." I know all of this because I am at the back of the car, casually observing everyone, plugging into their thoughts. All four of us maintain this position for what seems like hours but really just a minute until Ennio Morricone starts blaring from the car's speakers, a cruel joke by Gooch who never got out to begin with, and the jolt of the sound causes Trent to flip out and lunge into the car to smack Gooch around a bit and then turns back to us and I think apologizes, "Sorry, nice song, whatever never mind."
"Wow, nerves dude," Scott says and instantly regrets it but the tension passes because Trent ignores him and he is now walking towards the dark building. The air is thick with menace.
"Not to be a killjoy, but we all could, like, piss in that field," Scott says, being logical.
"Yeah, logical," I reply, "but this is much cooler." I take this as a cue to join Trent at the entrance to "Never Never Land", trading observation for participation. Eventually, Amy and Scott join us and it is a staggering five more minutes of silence and then we all see something moving inside the rest stop. Amy tries to hide a gasp and I notice that the film cannisters are no longer with her. The shape moves to the door and then stops. Suddenly we are washed out in a wave of fluorescent light from Never Never Land and Trent yells something like, "Jesus Christ", his eyes blazing. None of us move. Eventually Gooch comes out of the front of the building and mutters, "Light switch guys," then silently walks back inside.
"Good god man I gotta peeeee," Scott says while sprinting inside. Amy follows him, saying nothing of course, a look of relief on her face. Trent, however, lingers in place, and I knew this was going to happen, so I start toward the rest stop but he grabs my arm, stopping me, and I knew this was going to happen.
"I sometimes just like to get out of the city," he starts, "just to get away from it all, the chaos, the responsibility. It was never about the film reels pal. That's all this meant to me. All just a getaway, an escape."
"What is really on the reels?" I ask.
"Just a getaway," he repeats and then, " Life is a mystery ho ho ho. I've been looking at our itinerary and I've made some changes."
A wave of deja vu passes over me.
"I was thinking of taking a little detour to New Mexico. Believe it or not, I think I have family out there. My father told me. I vaguely remember that."
"Tularosa," I say, whisper, remembering seeing it written in pencil on one of the film cannisters; Tularosa, New Mexico.
"Oh wow, so I've told you this before," he says, impressed. I know that Trent is lying to me and he knows that I know. We've always had these formalities so things never get worse.
(I want to know how worse it can get)
"Yeah so I think I have family out there," he repeats, "and even if I don't...," he stops, then recovers, "There's a city on my mind, Bry. I'm sure you can relate."
"You got me man. You got me," I reply, a double meaning passes between us and I look down at my arm so Trent lets go of it and I resume walking to the rest stop.
"Tularosa pally," I hear him say and I barely turn around to give him a tired wave, just defeated, and I am now inside Never Never Land. I walk towards the men's section, past a half asleep Amy looking at travel brochures (they are all blank), and splash my face with lukewarm water from the sink but it does nothing. Gooch walks up to me and asks how such a desolate rest stop could "see so much action".
"What are you talking about?" I ask him.
"C'mon, come with me to the urinals. You have to see this. I gotta piss again anyway."
"Okay?" I reply/ask, and I just want to leave now. Opinions change all the time. The music playing over the speakers is Mazzy Star.
Gooch and I get to the urinals and he nods toward the divider on the right and it is covered in writing. Gooch is drunk and starts urinating into the urinal that I am at, oblivious, and I notice a new tattoo of Adele on his lower hip and Adele looks like Super Mario. I feel sick. I wait for him to finish and he leaves without saying anything. Okay. I piss quickly while looking at the wall which is entirely covered in graffiti, most of it unmemorable shit like "Party Time", "Who is Blake Shelton really?", I want yo pee", What do sumo wrestlers actually do?" and all of the graffiti is written in the same handwriting, most likely the same person driving the same route over and over.
(I'm just looking out for your best interests)
(I want to know how worse it can get)
My eyes drift down and settle on one line. This line is different.
"Have you seen what I did out en the desert? Behind Never Never Land?" is written with a different hand and "in" is misspelled as "en", but the "e" is dotted. I am scared, afraid, and I turn to leave but I am met by Trent's grinning face.
"Gooch says there's some interesting things going on in these parts," he drawls, "Excuse me buddy. Gotta take a leak. Let me take a look." I step aside and Trent pisses, purposely missing the urinal, while whistling a song by Jimmy McHugh or maybe Fats Waller.
"Let's go out back," he says, not looking at me but instead the graffiti.
"We should get back on the road. Tularosa is actually in the opposite direction. I remember seeing sign for it when we passed Las Cruses....eight fucking hours ago."
"Nahhh. No more Tularosa. That's in the opposite direction. Besides, that's the wrong story. That's the other story. Let's go out back," he repeats, this time a friendly demand, and that's it.
We exit Never Never Land through the back door and start walking through the expanse of desert, swiftly at first, but then slower. The full moon has finally come out from behind the clouds. I am looking at the vast tapestry of stars, but also keeping watch for something else. For a second I think I hear Scott, Amy, and Gooch, and I quickly turn around but see nothing. The lights that were on in Never Never Land are off again and the building looks impossibly far away given the short amount of time that we have been walking. I turn forward to see that Trent has not slowed down and I can hear him talking, to who I have no idea, so I break into a jog to catch up. I reach him and grab his arm and he is actually startled and he looks at me and for the tiniest split second he looks scared, and I am confused because it is a look I have never seen on him before.
"Hey guy," I start, "I think we are on our way to getting lost. Do you see how far the rest stop is?" I have to practically turn him around to where the rest stop should be but it isn't there anymore. I see a tiny light in the distance but it is probably just another star. Be careful what you wish for. I can almost hear Scott arguing with Gooch in the distance. I also hear Amy. She is sobbing.
"We have to start walking back Trent," I am frantic now.
"I know Bry," and then under his breath, "Never use my name," then continues, "I just don't think we can, at least right now," a vague reply and he starts scanning the desert, "Just looking for something; an oracle maybe."
"A fucking what? A fucking oracle? What the fuck does that mean? Where is the rest stop? Don't tell me you haven't noticed" I start yelling taking over. Trent just giggles, completely useless. He finally stops and sits down on the desert sand which should be freezing but it's not. I wait. He speaks.
"Bryan, have you ever wanted to know how much worse it can get?" he asks out of nowhere, and I roll my eyes.
"No, not really dude. We really need..."
"I have," he interrupts, "I have seen it, but I want more. I think of people who say things like 'I never saw it coming'. Well I have seen it coming, a flash of it, the Vanishing Point, where there is nothing that can be done. There's always some panic, but it passes quick."
"Why are you telling me this Trent?" I ask, maybe angry, probably hysterical, hands numb, body shaking.
"Do not use my name," he replies, louder this time, then back on track, "Acceptance is one of the most powerful feelings that one can, er, feel. To get there you have to know the worst. That is why we are out here. A 'getaway' ha ha ha. Man, that was cute. The others kind of get it. I've tried with them, but they really are a lost cause. You, however, have potential," he continues and I roll my eyes at the lame line and look back to where the rest stop should be and it is gone, which is impossible because we haven't moved since Trent started rambling. Trent picks up an object from the desert sand that is wrapped in some type of cloth. He see me see this.
"Bryyyyan," he starts again, snapping his fingers, "Just focus on acceptance," and I suddenly hear the voices of Scott, Amy, and Gooch again, and this time they are closer. I feel I can touch them if I cared to try.
"Don't worry about them Bryan," Trent says, reading my thoughts, "They're not the brightest bunch but they will come around. Well most of them. What I do need is you. You are that intangible that even I admit we need. So do what you need to do to get into the Dead Zone; with the rest of us. Time to go back."
"Right on. Acceptance. Got it!" I say as he stands up and starts walking back, but not before he puts the object he picked up in the desert into my shirt pocket and then mumbles, "Good Luck Charm". I start to follow but can't help but look at the object and it is a smallish bone, maybe a finger, a lame plot device, but it is too late for me to do anything so I just put it back in my pocket and sprint to catch up and I reach him, but it is too late and I am starting to fade, fall, and I hear everyone talking again, whispered ideas, somebody asks the proper way to pronounce "Rampage" (American or French?), somebody says "We have made some changes", and then somebody asks "What is really on those film reels?", and somebody answers "The Vanishing Point", and before my eyes close I finally accept it.
The Silence
Nobody is really saying anything and we have been on the road for a few hours now and the sun is up and nobody has said anything. I am driving once again and I have no idea who is sitting where, who is even awake, the basics. I know the CD player or tape deck, whatever, is playing because I see the song timer moving and it might be Louis Armstrong or maybe Ella Fitzgerald. If someone were to dart in front of the car I would just hit them. I don't know where or when we will be stopping next because nobody has said anything. Probably nowhere. It looks hot outside, in the daylight, but I can't even be certain.
I drive for another hour in this silent haze. The first sound that registers with me is actually laughter. After this initial shock, my body is flooded with a wave of sensory overload. Trent is telling another racist joke ("How do you make an Asian go blind?"), Amy is singing along to song that is not playing, Scott is back on his cell phone talking to Matt back home about the need to hire a reliable, but cheap, person to cut the grass at the House By the Beach. Nobody has commented on the fact that Gooch is no longer with us in the car, or maybe they just haven't noticed. "Don't Stop" by Foster the People is playing on the radio. I swerve the car to the left to avoid an armadillo and then swerve back to the right to avoid the semi truck. The armadillo was already dead.
"Whoa whoa whoa, watch out there guy," Scott yelps and everyone in the car focuses on me and normally I would like this attention but today I want nothing to do with it.
"Sorry guys," I start to explain, "I guess I'm still tired from...." I trail off.
"Maybe we should stop at the next exit to get something to eat," Amy offers.
"If we stop, we need to make it quick. We have a few more hours of driving left and I don't feel like wasting the daylight, and more importantly the night, sitting in a parking lot eating a fucking turkey sandwich, especially sitting in a parking lot with all of you," Trent is moody.
"If you're not wasted the day is," Amy mumbles and starts singing a song that is not "Don't Stop".
"Jeeze Trent. Maybe you should eat. You are in a rare mood," Scott assesses the situation.
"I am fine and I don't need to fucking eat. And if you call me by my name again...well your family will not like it. I am tired of being in a car with you, Scott, and I just want to get to our destination." Everyone is silent again, and the phrase "our destination" lingers with me and I see Amy pretend to fall asleep.
Our car is the only one on this stretch of road. We must have passed around 19 pseudo-city towns. each containing the same amount of small town shops, a restaurant, and a gas station. We probably stopped at half of them because Amy is currently battling a vicious urinary tract infection. Scott actually questioned if all of these towns were connected and all the inhabitants were the same extras going back and forth via some type of "Redneck Westworld", and Trent one-upped him by suggesting "Underground Hillbilly Railroad", and everyone laughed way too much but then felt guilty and spent the next 15 minutes making fun of black people. Foster the People segues into "Dead Flowers" by The Rolling Stones. None of our cell phones have a signal except for Scott's and we are currently relying on a 2002 Rand McNally road atlas to find our way to
"Can we please stop Bryan? I really need to get out of this car and eat," Amy whines and it is followed by a high pitch shriek and I look to see Trent caressing her thigh and he whispers, "Now that we've found love what are we gonna do?"
"I'm doing the best I can babe," I blabber.
"You are doing better than the best, Bry," Trent says, and for the first time in forever I see a sign for an exit and Scott sees it too and nudges my arm.
"Quartzsite! There Bryan, they have to have food," he says and I can feel Trent roll his eyes.
"Quartzsite it is!" Trent bellows and he seems kind of genuine which confuses me. I turn my head to see Trent raise his eyebrows at me and wink and notice that Amy is cradling the film cannisters again, like a baby, and Trent is gently touching them, like a baby. I pull over to the side of the road to take a piss and throw up (third time today), and after getting back into the car I look at the road atlas and see that Quartzsite is about 2 hours from Palm Springs, a safe haven, and then back home. I start the car back up and pull out onto the road, the Kofa Wildlife Refuge to our left and nothingness to the right. The sun has already started its descent and the moon is already visible in the sky. Amy has fallen asleep again and Trent and Scott are debating the top ten plotlines on "The Wire" and its all white noise. Trent has a notebook that he has been writing in and passing to the others and I feel left out.
"I hope they have good pancakes in Quartzsite," Scott says which wakes Amy up and takes the notebook and puts it between the film cannisters, and everyone is excited, ready to be home and this opens the floodgates...
"I haven't had a libido in days."
"Coke nails have value especially when hiding it from your daddy."
"He is so cute, and get this, smart too!"
"And THAT is what you can do with a Master's Degree."
"She's really mean to me but it's okay because she has a look, and is cool."
"I'm not creating right now but no one's seemed to notice."
"I mean really fucking cool!"
"She is so hot that when I was a baby gay that was the type I liked."
"I didn't realize she was a total babe, get this, until after we fucked."
"I am using her. It's about sex, not friendship."
"I think this year is screaming Libertarian."
"I don't sleep with my friends."
"Hey what can I say, I moved to LA to get away from douchebags, but that doesn't mean I've had cum on my face since."
"Do you feel alright?"
"Babe, you look wonderful tonight."
"Yabba dabba doo."
The Vanishing Point
Trent, Amy, Scott, and I are back at the House By the Beach, finally, and Matt is still here, still flirting with the new pool dude. Matt has cleared all Covid protocols and has smugly moved his lounge chair back to our side of the pool, the Clean Kids, the Night Riders. Matt has also set up a lounge chair for the film reels like a complete moron. The film cannisters have already been deposited in The Darkroom and Trent has the only key, but I have a usable copy that he does not know about. Matt will not stop asking about the film reels, what is on them, what the writing on them means, and I think this might put him in danger.
"I got it!" Scott shouts, as if on cue, "The 'Gen 37' writing on the last reel. It's a bible quote. I just looked it up." Nobody says anything for a minute, and I half expect somebody to ask what The Bible is but nobody does so I shut my eyes because these type of things never end well.
"According to this article online, after I plugged in Gen 37, and after I filtered out layers of fake Jennifer Aniston altered photos at the age of 37, I found this bible site. Real professionals. It's the story of Joseph and his dreams." He stops, waiting for a reaction, almost salivating.
"It's the story of Joseph and his dreams," he continues/repeats, "His dreams you see, everything goes south. All of his dreams get busted or something. The passage is known as 'When Dreams Turn Into Nightmares'."
A chill washes over me, and Trent, who had been thumbing through the latest issue of People Magazine with Roy Orbison on the cover, stops thumbing through the latest issue of People magazine and turns rabid, ravenous, his pupils fully dilated despite it being 87 degrees and sunny. A chill washes over me. Amy is awake now, fondling herself, multiple fingers. Scott is already back on his phone but not talking. Matt is still flirting with the new pool guy.
"What is on those fucking reels?" I ask Trent and, in a moment of pure clarity and honesty possibly the first time in his life, he replies...
"I don't know," and then, "I want to know how worse it can get," almost an aside at this point. So we all get up and head to The Darkroom.
When Dreams Turn To Nightmares
It doesn't take long to realize that all of us, Trent, Amy, Scott, Matt, and I have never been in the Darkroom at the same time before. Oakley is not with us and Matt explains that he stopped coming around after we went to get the film reels but he heard his head was found in a swamp in Death Valley or might be in rehab in San Francisco. We quickly realize that we all can't fit into the smallish space.
"I had no idea we even had a darkroom," Matt exclaims and he is quickly exiled back to the pool. Scott is still on his phone talking about adding on a private screening room to the House By the Beach and he is also sacked and sent away. This leaves Trent, Amy, and myself to squeeze into the surprisingly cramped space. Thankfully it is a situation we are familiar with.
Once inside the Darkroom we all sit in silence at the film reels.
"I know its late in this whole thing but does anyone know how to work these fucking film projectors?" Trent asks, breaking the silence, giving a tease of how this story would end.
But, not yet.
"You have three of them and have no idea how to work any of them?" I reply, getting everything back on track.
(You are that intangible that even I admit we need)
Trent ignores me.
"What is really on these reels?" Amy asks, finally catching up.
"My gramma's 80th birthday, Matt's bar mitzvah, a presidential debates 'Best Of'," Trent replies.
"Ughhhh, boring. I'm going back to the pool. Did you know that it's 87 degrees today?" Amy asks, then leaves, which allows me to stretch my legs and grab a dry beer from the cooler. Trent fumbles around and flips on the radio but it is too quiet and someone is singing, "It's like a dream. No end and no beginning," and Trent fumbles with the film reels and projector for around 15 minutes and then sort of gives up.
"Fuck it. Who cares what is on these fucking things anyway?" he asks/yells, rationalizing, another false finish.
"C'mon, after all this time and money, we owe it to ourselves. Let's try again," I explain, also rationalizing.
"At this point it is just going to be a let down. Look at all this build-up. I think we should just listen to what the geezer said and just burn them. That way we can say whatever we want was on them. Imagine that power," Trent says, with a point.
"But you don't want to really know?" I ask, prying.
"What you don't know is what matters the most. I don't care anymore," he replies, unintentionally making everything seem crystal clear.
"Dude, what is really on these reels?" I ask, for the last time.
"Genesis babe," he says and gets up to leave The Darkroom, likely to join everyone back at the pool.
"You're not really accustomed to disappointment, are you Trent?" I say.
"It doesn't matter," his response, and then softly, "Never call me by my name." He is gone.
I consider this, but linger. After a minute, I decide to give the projector one more shot. I load the "Gen 37" reel onto it noting the small magnetic strip which means that it may or may not have sound, and it attaches effortlessly and I turn on the projector and hope that everything is correct and it is.
After a few seconds of blurry silence the film begins, projected onto the sheet Trent has hung up for times like these not involving 8mm projectors, and I really wish Amy, Trent, Scott, and even Matt were here with me.
The film opens with a wide angle shot, likely from a helicopter, of a very above average house and it looks to be summer and the (second unit) arial shot does a full 360 around the House which I initially thought was unnecessary but realized it was a necessary establishing shot. There is a quick cut, so quick one would miss it, and the film is now an interior shot, obviously primary unit, and it zooms in on a group of four sitting out by the pool, all young and beautiful, much younger than me, and as the camera pans across the empty drinks, tan bodies, bored faces, I realize that I no longer want to know how worse it can get so I grab the film reel off of the projector and rip it to pieces. I do this with the other reels as well. I throw them all into the trash can nobody empties and I walk back to the pool, and Scott asks, "So what was it?" and I answer, "Nothing special," and I lay back down on the lounge chair and think about the only dialogue spoken, off camera, in the few moments that I watched....
"I think something bad is about to happen and there is nothing we can do about it."
From the Iceman Commeth,
Bryan Metro
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