Strawberry Strudel

When the last Blockbuster closed, I wasn’t up in arms over it. The world evolves and I figure, we should evolve with it. A part of me thinks there really isn’t a choice in the matter. Even so, I still enjoy some of those habits that some would call outdated. I’m into writing letters. I like to read a physical copy of a newspaper. If I could, I’d be putting my milk bottles on the welcome mat. So even though I wasn’t angry over Blockbuster, I am still grateful Rasputin’s is nearby.

Rasputin’s is our local used dvd store. Tv box sets, video games, cds in uncracked jewel cases. The collector in me appreciates having copies of my favorite movies. It’s very unnecessary, but the way I see it, adding a movie to my collection further reinforces my love for that movie. The hunt for new additions is just as fun. Going through the foreign films section. Taking a $3.95 risk on something unfamiliar. Flipping through the Criterion Collection for hidden gems. Googling a performer’s film list, then hunting the upright stacks of plastic cases.

It’s a Friday evening, and I’m done with work early. An uneventful weekend lies ahead. The perfect time to drop by and find a bundle. Maybe I’ll find something special.

The parking lot is nearly full. Starbucks next door. In-N-Out across the street. At the entrance, a man fumbles bags of dvds, which I’m assuming he’s planning to sell or exchange for store credit. I always go for the store credit. I let him in first, then nod to the security guard upon entry.

Rasputin’s dvd aisles look the same. Now though, music t-shirts decorate the walls. A used vinyl section. Briefcase record players. Their own merchandise. Special box sets at the purchasing counter, now separated from the trade-in counter. I won’t have to wait too long; I always take my time, anyway. The place is well-lit and smells like rain water. The employees walk around in black t-shirts, slow and cool. Some local hip-hop, Hieroglyphics, on the store speakers. The thought crosses that I can stay all night.

Friday the 13th, the perfect night for a horror movie. I do the dvd store shuffle, where you look at the titles with unresolved eyes because there’s simply too little time to focus on each one. I’m an instinctive shopper, anyway. A cascade from A to M. A lot of the movies seem pretty new. I’m not really sure what I want, but it’s something else. When I turn the corner to start N through Z, I bump into a black and red blur. My glasses fall off. The blur drops a stack of dvds.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say.

I stack the dvds into the hands of the blur. I put on my glasses, resolving the sight of an employee. Her hair is copper and full of waves. She puts her free hand on my shoulder. 

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you.” She shakes her head and walks past. 

I chuckle and look at her from behind, at which point she lifts her hand and says, “Ever!”

I return to the Ns through Zs but struggle with indecision. Horror is one of those genres that exposes its own flaws blatantly. If a horror is really poorly written or acted, you can very clearly see that it’s really poorly written or acted. Not nearly as subtle, compared to say, a drama or thriller. A lot of risk-reward. This fact makes me hesitant to commit. The redhead finishes her job and approaches me as I stand around R. Her waves bounce.

“Am I forgiven?” I ask.

“Mm, time will tell. Time heals wounds, they say…” She looks down then hits me with large gray-blue eyes. She’s at least six inches below my eye-line but it doesn’t feel like it. “Can I help you with something?”

I really like her freckles. They’re mostly on her nose and cheeks. She even has a few just above her upper lip.

“Yeah, actually. I’m looking for a good horror recommendation.”

Her freckled arms point towards the exchange counter. “We have some employee recommendations at the corner, there.” Her faint blonde arm hairs reflect the light from the ceiling.

“I saw those,” I say. “I dunno, I’m looking, I guess, for an older horror. But one that isn’t cheesy, if that makes sense.”

“Hmm.” She looks up to nowhere in particular, pressing her lips together. She seems comfortable in silence. I find her body language refreshing. “Have you heard of…the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari?”

“Oh yeah. That movie…” My expression is flooded.

She talks with her hands. “Those sets, right? Tim Burton-esque.”

“Way ahead of its time,” I say.

“Right? It’s such an influential film, and not just for the genre,” she says.

“But…,” I say.

“But there’s a ‘but’…,” she says. She tightens her eyes. “–it wasn’t scary enough?”

“Exactly.”

“Ok…ok…” She rocks back and forth, hand to her chin. She shuffles a few feet to my left into the titles that start with P. She hands it to me.

“Possession?” I ask.

“Everyone’s different…you never really know what someone will like or dislike…but…I think this is what you’re looking for.” I really like the way she talks. Bright, energetic, inflections that rise and fall in interesting places. She speaks like a teacher. A good one.

“Where’ve you been all these years?” I ask. “This is the kind of stuff I’m talking about. Hidden gems, you know?”

She is counting fingers now. “It’s weird. It’s terrifying at times. It’s…so intense. It takes place in Cold War Berlin…the wall…is in many shots. Sam Neill. This is your movie.”

“The hype master,” I say to her.

She gives a slight smile with her mouth barely open. Her two front teeth are noticeable. “I’m here Fridays and Saturdays…evenings.”

“I’m usually here before work,” I tell her.

“Ah…” When she exhales she goes *hmm* the way one does when gathering themselves on a nice sunny day. I realize that she’s been doing this the whole time. “Well,” she says, “hope you enjoy it!”

“Thanks a bunch,” I say. She bounces away, freezing for a moment before adjusting some misaligned movies near the Zs.

I grab some In-N-Out on the way home. By the time I settle into my couch, I have a plate full of fries, animal-style of course, a burger, a vanilla milkshake, and Possession on pause, ready to start. I press play.

I’m the type who will watch the same movies over and over. The simple truth behind this is that I just really enjoy those movies. Why mess with a classic? It’s fun to look at those same movies through new lenses, see things never seen before. The consequence of this, intentional or not, is that I’ve become a movie rationer. Hidden gems, yet to be unearthed, waiting for my personal excavation. As the credits roll on Possession, I’m happy that I’ve found another. Exactly the kind of movie I was hoping to see. Those familiar feelings of fulfillment, excitement, and inspiration now course through me. An instant classic.

I’m still thinking about it. It is the next morning now. I’m also thinking about her. Her judgment and passion is attractive. Her cute freckles don’t hurt, either. While I busy myself throughout the day, a part of me thinks about returning to Rasputin’s as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll wait until the evening, instead.

Around 6pm I enter the store, my eyes on the hunt for a flame of red. I stroll around the t-shirts. Flip through some vinyl. Horror, drama, comedy, thriller, international, A to M, N to Z, Z to N, M to A. No luck. Maybe she’s sick. I feel a bit sad that I’ll have to wait a week to run into her again.

I’m in the Criterion Collection now, which is near a black curtain that separates the main room from the adult video section. I once walked in there and was hit with a cold vibe that propelled me outward. Ingmar Bergman felt warmer, even though his movies take place in Sweden. I keep flipping through, then laugh out loud when I see Armageddon has its own Criterion. It makes me happy because it’s one of my favorite movies. The curtain ruffles and she emerges, now with curls.

“Well hey there stranger,” she says.

“The hype master! Nice to see you again.” We shake hands. “Tom.”

“Jerry,” she says.

“No.”

“No,” she says. “Amelia.”

“I like your curls, Amelia.” She smiles and sees me holding Armageddon. I tell her that I can explain.

“There’s no need to!” she says. “It’s a perfect example of a movie that is so fun you can’t help but enjoy it. Even though it makes no sense. It doesn’t particularly matter. Fun story, fun characters.”

I use the dvd to playfully walk it along Amelia’s arm, mimicking Ben Affleck’s move to Liv Tyler, except they did it with an animal cracker. My voice becomes Affleck-ian. “Do you think people on other planets are having the same–”

“–Oh goodness,” she says. “Don’t do it.”

“For you Amelia, I won’t,” I say. “By the way, your recommendation was an absolute hit.”

Amelia touches my arm with affection. I realize now how close she’s standing to me. “Right? That’s a top 5 horror for me.”

“I can’t disagree,” I say.

“You can if you want to,” she says.

“I don’t want to,” I say. “That movie…it’s the equivalent of putting a cinder block on the gas pedal, letting go of the wheel, and seeing where it takes you.”

Amelia puts her hands on her hips and smiles at me, saying nothing at first. Her demeanor makes me feel comfortable in silence. “Hmm…I really like that, Tom. That’s an interesting way to put it.” When she says my name I feel some flutters inside and I like it.

“It’s immediately intense,” I say.

“Yes. I definitely had that feeling early, when Sam Neill is in that rocking chair, for example.” She tells me I must be a real movie buff.

“I mean, when I like something I really like it.”

“I can see that…” She twirls her hand through her curls. “Does your partner like movies?”

“Most of my closest friends are really into them,” I tell her. “It’s definitely a common thread. But I’m single.”

The Girl from Ipanema is playing in the background. I notice it now. The place is surprisingly not busy for a Saturday. An employee with gray dreadlocks and sunglasses strolls past us, wearing a store shirt of Charlie Parker that says Rasputin’s Jazz & Soul. He gives me a nod and smirks at Amelia.

“So…is that your choice for tonight?” she asks. Her finger rests on the plastic while I hold it. 

“I’ll probably get this,” I tell her. “But I dunno, I’m looking for something old. Like, a movie with a classic Hollywood actress, maybe.”

Amelia invites me to walk this way, to a tiny section I hadn’t seen before. She puts her hand on the display and her other to her hip, crossing a leg and posing so overtly casual that it loosens me up as I realize she has butterflies too. “Well…you can’t go wrong with Marilyn.” She points to Some Like It Hot.

“Isn’t she a terrible actress, though?”

Amelia drops her hands. “That’s a terrible take, Tom. You should know better than that.” I start to wonder if she actually was a teacher…

“My bad. I didn’t know you–”

“–No. No, Tom. Marilyn was a goddess, and a massively misunderstood one at that. We all have different opinions, but…how many of her movies have you seen?”

I tell her I’ve only seen clips of her most famous scenes.

“Well…since that’s the case, your opinion isn’t based on too much, isn’t that fair to say?” she asks.

“It’s fair,” I say. She pulls out The Seven Year Itch and Don’t Bother To Knock and puts them on top of Armageddon. “You’re getting these.” She begins pushing me towards the counter.

“This is borderline harassment,” I playfully say. She tells me to hush. I laugh to myself because I’m feeling I’ve fallen into some sort of surreal bizarro-world where the customer can go fuck himself and give away his money, while he’s at it. I pay for the movies, which Amelia takes and hands to the massive security guard who silently swipes a yellow sharpie across the receipt. I walk through the security scanner and she keeps pushing me out the door. I begin to actually feel a little bad over the idea that she’s simply kicking me out. But she follows me and we’re outside now.

“That was aggressive,” I tell her.

“I’m the hype master, Tom. You should trust me,” she says. She pulls out her phone. It’s past sunset and the walkway along Rasputin’s is lit by large light bulbs above. Moths are circling the one directly above us. I look at Amelia and her hair glows like fresh lava flows. She simply stares at me, her blue eyes soft now, her freckles like the splatter from her volcano. She hands me her phone.

“You’re cute,” she says. “I like the way you think.”

I type in my number, careful not to press anything else when handing it back to her. When she takes it our fingers touch for a moment.

“With the exception of your Marilyn take,” she says.

“Pobody’s nerfect,” I tell her. Her laugh is her hmm with a little hitch at the end. She texts me immediately. A man says excuse me as he walks in between us, dragging a waft of weed and  In-N-Out. Amelia and I don’t break eye contact.

“Watch Seven Year Itch first, please. Even though it’s later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Be honest. It’s ok not to like her, but at the very least…it should be based on experience, right?”

“You’re right.”

“Ok, then…,” she says. She’s playing with her hands now. “I’m probably going to have myself a movie night tomorrow…maybe you’d like to join?”

“Even if I don’t like Marilyn?” I ask.

A little laugh. “Yes, sure,” she says. She reaches her hand out and we shake. I hold it for a bit longer than I probably should. I feel scared as I lean into her, worrying that she’ll flinch or back off, but she doesn’t and I kiss her on the cheek. I feel really good now.

“I’ll let you know,” I tell her.

She smiles then walks inside. I exhale big. The cars across the street look like fireflies in the night. I join the swarm, full of energy, en route to my apartment.

When I pop in The Seven Year Itch, I realize I’m not over Possession from the previous night. Those hidden gems, just like any great piece of music or art, really get to me. I see things with renewed eyes. In the case of Possession, I’m inspired that a horror movie can bludgeon me into admiration through its layers of relentless intensity. It’s hard to do that, especially without resorting to jump scare after jump scare. I want more. I want to be saturated in that world. I’m not ready to leave, yet. Marilyn Monroe seems like a very different vibe that I’m not particularly in the mood for. But I press play. Amelia’s line Time will tell lingers in the air.

The breeze is cooling down my apartment. It’s the end of the night now and there’s no possibility I’m falling asleep anytime soon. I’m overstimulated. Now I’m in bed, on my tablet, googling and wikipedia-ing and “researching” but not actually researching everything I can about Marilyn. There’s so much I didn’t know. My thoughts now conglomerate. A voice inside tells me to go to sleep. I get out my phone.

wow. i have so many thoughts, would love to share. take u up on movie night tmrw?

I put my phone out of reach, stomach churning. Maybe if I fall asleep soon I won’t have to hear the silence of her nonresponse. A pillow over my head now. Sound machine on. Drown out the rejection until at least the morning. Ten minutes pass and I hear a buzzing. But that’s an email. Text vibrates stronger on the dresser wood. Thinking about the distinction wakes me up anyway. Tossing and turning. I get up, change the sound machine from tv static to something more like a strong ocean howl. The wall is cool and I put my legs against it. My hand is under my pillow; it feels pretty cozy. Soon I don’t really notice how it feels. Soon I don’t notice anything.

—————————————————————————————–

A motorcycle revs down the street, which sets off the frustratingly sensitive alarm of a sun-stained Toyota 4Runner. Fifty-two honks at seven in the morning. My stomach picks up where it left off the previous night as I unhook my phone. I have a text.

Hmm, a bit mysterious!