Page 78 of The Spirit of Love
Nine hours later,I still haven’t spoken to Jude. The last time I saw him, he was making a speech before the cast and crew, transferring the power today to me. His words were complimentary but sounded hollow, and he barely looked at me. Hedisappeared from set as soon as he was done, leaving me alone on my first day of directing.
It’s what I wanted, but I didn’t want it like this.
To their credit, the actors and the crew accepted the news without fanfare, as if it was a perfectly natural event in the life of this show. But it doesn’t feel like I thought it would. My nerves are frayed, my spirits low. I wanted Jude here with me today. Or at least, I wanted the Jude who doesn’t think so lowly of me.
But it isn’t all bad. Thanks to the rest of my colleagues, and their swift, focused work today, we’ve laid down three complicated shots already, and the stage is set for take one of Buster’s final scene. Moments from now, he’ll stand at the edge of the Hospital Roof stage and say with tortured, glossy eyes:
Sometimes you have to die to find out what you’re living for.
Then, with the help of special effects, Buster will leap off the building, into a hurricane, and through a burning hospital window, landing in a room just in time to stop his non-zombie grandmother from flatlining from a broken heart. After the scene is edited, the episode will end with an emotional embrace between our resurrected Buster, his non-zombie grandparents, and his non-zombie dog, Bologna.
The post-lunch report from Buster’s meditation guru is that he’s feeling calm and confident—a mood I’m trying to share.
“Places,” I call out to the team.
The body double is dismissed, and our star kid, my talented friend Buster Zamora, takes his place. He looks my way and gives a thumbs-up.
I nod at Jonah, and a moment later he calls out, “Quiet on the set!”
Our assistant director Ripley calls, “Rolling camera one!”
Let’s do this.
“Action!” A thrill runs through me as I say the word, as Buster faces the abyss of the hospital roof. He delivers his line with conviction, maybe more than at any time we’ve practiced it before. This is it. It’s happening. My training, my talent, and my life experiences are all melding together, allowing me to stand here now and complete this moment, this essential scene that means so much to me.
I’mnothere because Jude de Silva got out of the way. I’m here because I should be here, because I want to be here, because I deserve to be here.
I sense movement in my periphery and look over to see Jude, who has come to stand right next to me. His presence cheers me instantly. It feels supportive, even if we haven’t yet made up, and I suddenly feel like we’ll be able to. I’m so relieved, so buoyed, tears well in my eyes.
I should be looking at Buster, at the scene, but I can’t help meeting Jude’s gaze, his tentativeAre we okay?smile. And suddenly, here comes the clarity I hadn’t noticed I’d been missing: We’re okay. We will be. I reach over and squeeze his hand.
In the dark soundstage, his phone lights up. We both look at the screen.
The wordTaniaflashes in the dark room.
My heart sinks, and the sureness I felt only a moment ago? It vaporizes as Jude steps outside to take the call.
Chapter Twenty
I take it all outon the water, driving my oar into the canal like I’m training for the women’s eight. The jacarandas are in bloom on either side of the banks, dropping purple petals on the water as I pass and filling the air with a sweet, buzzy smell. Seagulls caw in the pink sky, dancing under wisps of golden clouds, and the late-summer air is still warm enough that I’m comfortable in a T-shirt, jeans, and Birkenstocks. It would be a lovely evening for a canoe ride, if one were in the mood to enjoy it.
I round the corner at the Grand Canal, kicking up a wake and gaining speed as I pass under the “A Wish for Others” Bridge. IwishI wasn’t so miserable. IwishTania would teleport permanently to Tunisia, or at least that she had less-spectacular cleavage. IwishI knew how to push through my disillusionment and locate the triumph I wanted to feel today.
Idirected. My dream since I was a kid, training my camera and my eye, is finally a milestone past-tense crossed. A real event that can’t unhappen.
And objectively speaking, I did well. In the eleventh hour of shooting today, with the help of cast and crew, we gotthetake from Buster. I think. I hope. We’ll check in editing—fingerscrossed. But maybe today I secured the cathartic missing piece to our season-opening climax sequence.
Why didn’t it fill me up? Why do I still feel the same hole that I so frequently feel? Adrift. Unworthy. Unsure.
I thought if the team atZombie Hospitalcould see me succeeding today, it would mean something to me. I thought I’d feel a concrete sense of my value. I thought reaching this goal would be the career equivalent of the clarity I felt when I chose Edie in the hospital. But something still feels muddy. Something still feels missing.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever find it.
I lower my oar, letting the boat glide on its own as I rip into the six-pack of Grapefruit Sculpin I grabbed from the Canal Market on my way home from work. I crack open a can and take a long, hoppy swig, willing the alcohol to loosen some of my angst. What was so important about that phone call that Jude had to step out of the soundstage? Why didn’t he come back for the rest of the shoot?
One way of looking at recentZombie Hospitalevents is that Jude did far more for me than he needed to. He fought for me to direct and helped me claim an opportunity I would not have had otherwise for who knows how long.
“That’s not nothing.” I tell the white heron who has paused above me on the railing of the wishing bridge. But it’s also not enough. Because I was beginning to take it for granted that Jude and I were a team, that he would have wanted to share today with me.
