More Than Good Enough(47)

No sign of Mom. I must’ve been insane to invite her to this thing.

Her response?

“I’ll see if I can swing by.”

And as I could see, Mom wasn’t there.

She used to follow me around with her video camera. She was always trying to capture a moment, as if nothing was real unless we recorded it. Once in a while, her voice would boom over the jittery footage of my birthday parties.

“Give us a smile, love,” she’d say. “Come on. I know you can.”

That’s the weird thing about home movies. They only show one side. I wondered about the parts that get erased. Or the scenes left out, just minutes after it fades to black.

Mr. Bones gathered the entire class on stage. He was standing in the same spot where Pippa had shared her zombie storyboards with me. It was only a few months ago, but it seemed like forever. That’s why I liked remembering things inside my head more than watching Mom’s old videos. The pictures belonged only to me.

“Listen up, guys. I need a copy of your shot list.” Mr. Bones had the whole blazer-and-jeans thing going on, as if this were the Oscars and we might stroll down the red carpet. When nobody listened, he said, “Your final grade depends on it.”

Pippa was supposed to be here, but she hadn’t showed up yet. I was starting to panic. I glanced at the audience, a blur of nameless faces. You could tell which families belonged together by the way they smiled.

Near the top of the bleachers, Cookie sat by herself. Every strand of her silvery hair was braided. She wore sneakers under her patchwork skirt, but I thought she looked exactly like a queen. While everybody else talked and laughed, she stared straight ahead, not saying a word.

Finally, Pippa came gliding down the aisle. She never ran anywhere. She always took her time, as if the world were spinning fast enough.

“Did you finish the shot list?” I asked.

“It’s good to go.” She handed the paper to me. At the top, she’d doodled a wreath of stars in magic marker: Trent + Pippa = Team Awesome!

“I’m so freaked out right now. You have no idea,” she said. “There’re so many people here.”

“Just imagine them in their underwear,” I said, hoisting myself onto the stage.

“I’d rather not.”

“Check out the bald dude in the second row. What do you think? Boxers or briefs?”

“Maybe he’s got Underoos.”

“Hey. There’s your mom.” I flung out my arm and pointed, as if we’d floated out to sea like a couple of pirates.

Pippa grabbed my arm and squeezed. “What if we totally humiliate ourselves?”

“That’s okay. It’s one thing if you’re humiliated alone. But if you’re together, it’s not so humiliating.”

“Nice logic,” she said. “I think I see your grandma. She’s sitting way in the back, right? The patchwork lady?”

I laughed. “Man, I can’t wait for you guys to meet. Cookie’s got so many amazing stories.”

I couldn’t wait. But in a way, I could. We had time to keep learning about each other. Drive around the neighborhood late at night and sing with the radio. Tell secrets in the dark, like we used to do back when we believed in monsters. There was time for everything, the old and new, along with all we hadn’t done.

The screening lasted as long as a Hollywood movie. Two hours of Life Portraits. There was the usual “talking head” stuff, even though Mr. Bones had said it was off-limits. Most of the class just put an old person in a chair and filmed them, straight on. They asked the same boring questions:

What’s your name?

Where were you born?

When did you get married?

Blah, blah, blah.

After a while, it all blended together. It felt like our existence was only a checklist. Or a series of things to do before you’re dead.

When the Everglades swelled across the screen, a woman behind me sighed, ahhh. It startled me so bad, I didn’t recognize Pippa’s “establishing shot” of the gift shop on the Rez.

Some people believe the Glades is just a swamp. They don’t understand that it has its own beauty, the kind that finds you instead of the other way around. The cypress trees and the vultures told this story. The missile base, the unpaved road where we’d walked, the fence where tourists hide from sunburns and sleeping gators. Pippa had also filmed a bunch of faces from the Rez: the kids playing basketball, the ladies stringing beads. It was all there, the old and new.

I gave her a hug. “Good job, homeslice.”

When I glanced behind us and searched for Cookie, perched at the top of the bleachers, she flashed the biggest grin. I wondered what she thought of the film. Did she recognize our world inside the frame? Mr. Bones said that everybody sees a different film in their minds. It’s all about the way our memories get mixed up with the truth. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but it made a lot of sense to me.

The soundtrack played over the credits. My bass guitar chords floated through the auditorium like smoke, reminding me that music captures time like a film. For a moment, it’s there with you. Then it’s gone.

I nudged Pippa. “Where’d you get the music?”

“The tape was in your car. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I forgot that song was on there. I’m still working on it, you know? It’s not ready for public consumption.”