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 The sudden beam of light in my eyes startled me. I tried too soon to stand and lost my sense of balance. I stumbled backward and leaned my weight against the attic wall. I listened first to the whir and tick of the two massive, old film projectors, and then to the sound of Coburn's voice."You understood devotion better when you were a boy. Most men grow more full with the passage of time, but you backed away. You always back away. This has become your habit and your excuse." "I had no choice in the matter. I couldn't tell her--" "Tell her what? Tell her why you left her sitting inside a dark theatre waiting for you? Tell her the reason you tried to bleed the color from her world and make it your own? Had you told her then, when you were a boy who understood passion, she would have listened to you." "I thought she'd leave me." "And so you left her first. Come over here and sit beside me. Come over here and run the film another time." It seems to me now that Coburn has always been here with me. He is the place where everything begins. He is the one way I have to understand the why of how I've travelled and the cities I have visited. We met when I was a boy of fourteen. I was an usher in the movie theatre Coburn managed in downtown Bronwell Corners. This was my first job and the first time I spent away from the mansion where I was born. My parents said the experience would help me build character. Instead I fell in love with a girl and then I abandoned her. "You remember how to press your foot to the button on the floor? When one reel runs its course and the next is set to begin you press the button on the floor. You remember this?" "Yes, of course, I remember. You taught me how to keep the story running without interruption. I watch for the small black circle in the upper right corner of the final frames, the black circle that the audience never notices, and then I press the button on the floor." I watched as Coburn threaded the first reel of film into one of the machines. Blue smoke curled from the stub of cigar he kept tucked inside the corner of his mouth. As he worked the tape through its proper channels, he chewed on his cigar and squinted his eyes to avoid the sting of smoke. Coburn's eyes remain a mystery to me. His face is creased with lines and disappointments. His eyes lie somewhere hidden inside the folds. He never opens his eyes to look at me. "You know that she died last year? You were there at the funeral. You remember this, yes?" "Yes, of course I remember. You showed me the way to her grave. I watched you standing on the beach. I understood what you meant to say when you smiled at me. I followed the footsteps that she and I left in the sand when we were young. I found her gravesite where my mother planted the forsythia bush." "And you spoke with her again last evening, downstairs inside the living room." "Yes. She was kneeling above me where I lay on the floor." "And you told her why you abandoned her?" "No. I asked her not to worry over me. I asked her to bring me tea. I listened to her heartbeat and then I fell asleep." "She doesn't worry over you. That's just your arrogance telling lies. You've always been good with telling lies. Now sit down. The film is ready. Sit down and watch." *** I see a boy walking down a narrow aisle. He wears a uniform, a double-breasted jacket with brass buttons. The brass buttons make him feel somehow important. This sensation is new to him and he doubts it; he tries to make it into something else. The young girl sits two rows back from a side exit. With her eyes she follows the boy's movements in the dark. The boy notices that she watches him, and so he stops, turns toward her, pretends to guard the exit. Her eyes are clear blue. The boy seems surprised that he can see the color of her eyes. The theatre is dark, but for the filtered light reflected off the screen, and yet he can see the blue color of this young girl's eyes. Because of this he falls in love with her. I notice the black circles, high up in the corner of the reel's final frames; but I've been caught up in the story of this boy and girl, and I forget to press the button with my foot. The film runs its course, its tail end slapping hard against the metal projector; and then there's just the white light reflected off the screen and I can see no more. *** "Your hand," she says. "I told you that the stain cannot be washed away. I spilled the black ink that day because I felt angry. I knocked it over and now there is no turning back. I am here and so are you. You can touch my hand, or you can leave. Either way is fine and all of this is according to the line of my thoughts. We need no more plot than what we want together." "I want to stay. I came here because you said you wanted to see me tonight." "Then help me light a fire. We can see each other through the night. Before you found me fallen here, were you writing more of the book about the two of us together?" "The book has vanished. I lost the form of it when you fell." "Then tomorrow we can write another book. Books are easy to write once you learn to listen for the form and to follow your footsteps." *** Thanks for stopping by to visit us here at SpilledBeans.com. If you'd like to be notified whenever something new is posted to SpilledBeans.com, then please join the Spilled Beans notification list. -- Con affetto, Anthony V. Toscano, Editor SpilledBeans.com  |
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