We Are the Light(21)
It was at this point that I restated my desire to include all the people who were there when Jacob shot up the Majestic Theater, to which Eli said, “There’s absolutely no way they’ll agree to work with me.”
“We’ll never know unless we ask,” I countered, but he flopped down on the couch in his monster suit, and by the sag in his shoulders, I knew I had deflated him a bit. I had to suppress the urge to scold him for bending the feathers sewn to the back of his legs, but figured the monster would have to sit down eventually or else the film wouldn’t be realistic. So I swallowed the desire to keep the monster costume in prime condition and mustered up as much enthusiasm as I could before saying, “Listen. We’re going to need people to act in our movie. We’re going to need a crew and film equipment and someone who knows how to use a camera properly. I’m pretty sure I can talk Jill into providing the catering for free. I can guarantee Isaiah and Bess will help. And a few teachers at the high school owe me a favor or two. But we’re going to have to make further alliances, for sure. There’s no way around it. And who could possibly better understand the themes and subtext of our film than the people who witnessed the origin story of the monster firsthand?”
“So you’re saying you want to make this meta?” Eli asked. “Like self-aware.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what “meta” meant at the time, but as the word took the sag out of his shoulders, I pointed a finger at the monster’s face and said, “Exactly!”
“Huh,” Eli said, before adding, “wow! Yeah, I can see how that could heighten pretty much everything.”
“What if,” I said, treading carefully, trying not to lose momentum, “I contacted my old Survivors’ Group buddies and I set up a pitch meeting to test the waters before we go completely public with a casting call that will, of course, prioritize those who were either in the Majestic Theater the night of the tragedy or are in one way or another connected to the deceased or their survivors.”
“Would I have to be there?” Eli asked.
I told him that of course he would, as he was going to be the lead actor and the director and the writer and probably a dozen or so other things, so therefore the cornerstone of the whole enterprise. Not to mention, this was also his senior project, what he needed to complete in order to graduate high school. “And I’m not about to let you coast,” I said, for emphasis.
He mulled that over for a bit before standing up and then pacing the room, saying he needed to break the costume in because the base-layer wetsuit was really tight on his body and was made to be submerged in water and yet he’d be wearing it dry. He also mumbled something about creating heat vents because he was “sweating oceans.” Then he stopped pacing, looked at me, and—with great enthusiasm—asked, “What if I came to the pitch meeting in character?” When I raised my eyebrows, he added, “And you only referred to me as the monster or the Prince of Monsters, which—come to think of it—could be our movie title. Wow! What do you think?”
Admittedly, I had decided to agree with whatever made Eli stand up erect, whatever produced the most phallic energy, thinking maybe his psyche knew best what was necessary for his redemption, but I also thought his wearing the costume was an excellent idea, especially given how much work we had put into designing and making it.
How could the other Survivors possibly doubt our commitment after seeing the actual monster costume? I thought and then smiled, mentally resting into the sweat equity we’d already banked.
“What about the Majestic Prince of Monsters?” I countered, thinking maybe I just needed to get him into the library meeting room and the unveiling of Eli’s real identity would take care of itself. Then I thought, Maybe he’ll be so proud of the response we get, he’ll just triumphantly take the mask off himself and everyone will cheer like a scene right out of the movies.
He pointed an index finger back at me and—in regard to my addition to our title—said, “Yes! I like it. The Majestic Prince of Monsters.”
Then I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began making calls, starting with Robin Withers, who—after hearing my pitch about art helping us to heal—immediately granted us use of the Majestic Public Library’s meeting room the following Tuesday night at seven o’clock, saying, “We’ve all been talking about the need for something other than Sandra’s campaign, which is fine and important and absolutely necessary, but—well—everyone’s missed you, Lucas. And it’s wonderful to know you’ll be rejoining us and the world at large,” which made me feel even more confident, even though I hadn’t yet mentioned the words “monster,” “movie,” or “Eli.”
“Why aren’t you telling them exactly what we’re up to?” Eli asked when I was in between calls. He had taken off the monster costume at this point and I noted how sweaty and red he looked.
“Let them see our genius in action,” I said, patting him on the back, and when I winked, he immediately winked back, which made it feel like we were fully aligned and therefore unbeatable.
After asking various people to pass on the message—through one or two degrees of separation—I was able to contact pretty much everyone who had witnessed a loved one murdered in the Majestic Theater on the night of the shooting. Additionally, I invited Mark and Tony—the owners of our historic movie house and Majestic’s best-known film aficionados—as well as Isaiah and Bess, who I’d asked to come along for moral support.