|
|
"Nap Time," by Robert Wynne (TRR#6) Even on the first day of kindergarten I was confused about the importance of sleep. I didn't want to put my head down on my desk, didn't want to drift away for 30 minutes in a room full of strangers. Someone might steal my lunch. I wanted to open my Thermos and have a lidful of Tang, wanted to eat my peanut butter & honey sandwich while the other kids fell from their chairs one by one and woke up. I would lick the taste of this morning from the corners of my mouth as everyone else rubbed their eyes, squinted at me: the only child fully awake, the only one not hungry. "Background," by Al Maginnes (TRR#5) It's the part of the movie when the heroine, the one we fear for, flees down the street in four-inch heels. In a moment she'll bump into a couple coming out of a restaurant, gasp an apology and go on, leaving them to stare after her even as they dissolve into the next shot. But I'm watching behind them, looking for the woman my brother married, who once spent an hour telling us about this shot, how many times she had to find the same marks with her feet, how many times the actress blew the scene's single line. There she is, shadow in a black dress, her face just visible as she floats down the concrete steps and up the sidewalk, away from the growing complications of this plot. My brother came home to find a moving van in the front yard. At what point do people become preludes to their absences? My brother waited till the van was gone, then, with no directions to tell him where to put his feet, walked into the house, an actor suddenly uncertain of his lines, knowing there was no chance to do this a second time.
|
|
|