Zero Regrets
(November 1-4, 2017)
32: November Days
The dance was fine. Everyone had a great time—Mabel, Wendy, and Dipper were dressed as the Ghost Harassers, which pleased Dipper and surprised the other students—the show online had taken off and had gained an audience probably even larger than it had been back in the day when it was a network series. When Mabel let it slip that she, Dipper, and Wendy had worked in the place where the Ghost Harassers had found a ghost in a closet, they became minor celebrities for the evening.
Eloise didn't come in ghostly attire, but as Bubbles, the Vampire Staker, from an old TV show, and Parker King, the musician whom Mabel set up to be her blind date, agreed to let her bleach his hair and came as Spiky, the semi-reformed punk vampire from the same show. The costumes, made by Mabel herself, were impeccable, and about a third of the college students recognized them right away. It had been off the air for a while, though a good many of the young people had seen reruns.
Mabel attracted a lot of admirers, from mummies to Frankenstein monsters, from an unconvincing werewolf to someone who had obviously read Dipper's first novel in high school and who, thanks to some stuffed lawn-gnome toys, came as a stack of five Gnarls, ready to marry the Bride of the Zombie. Mabel couldn't resist dancing with him once. In the course of the dance, she broke her promise to Dipper, or at least bent it: "I know Stan Mason, you know, the guy who wrote the book you based your costume on."
"No way!"
"Yes, way!"
She had to embroider the story a little. "Yeah, he comes from a little town in, um, in central Oregon. He's kind of a relative of ours, and he's sort of a recluse. Hey, a TV show based on the books is coming out this summer, you know."
"I know! I read the book to my little sister—she's just three years younger than me, but she's dyslexic. Hey, do you think you could get Mr. Mason to autograph my books for my sister? That would help encourage her to keep plugging away at her reading—"
"Tut, tut, tut, it's already done. Uh, you can stop dancing, the music just ended."
"Oh, sorry."
"Come on, let's go outside and I'll get the details for your books."
They went out past the refreshment stand and at one of the outside tables, under the glare of mercury-vapor lights, they sat at a picnic table. Mabel took down the info on her phone: "Your sister's name is . . . "
"Judy. Judy Levinson. Um, I'm Jordan."
"L-E-V-E-N-S—"
"No, an I. L-e-v-i."
"Got it, sorry. Son with an O, not an E?"
"Right."
Mabel got his address—he must have been an upperclassman, because he lived off-campus—and learned he was a history major at Western Alliance. "OK, got it. I'll see if I can get in touch with him tomorrow. You want the books sent to you, but personalized for Judy, right?"
"Yeah, right. I can give them to her as a Christmas present! She's a junior in high school this year, but she still loves those books. Uh—I can give you the money—"
"Pshaw!" Mabel said.
"Uh—what?"
"Bosh and twaddle! I mean no, you don't have to pay a penny. I know Stan. He's real generous, and just knowing that his books help a girl who has difficulty reading will be payment enough. You're a sweet brother."
"Maybe we can see each other some time?"
"Actually, I don't go here. And also—note the engagement ring? My sweetie and I are doomed to college in different states, so I'm just here to have some fun. But you're a nice guy, and I'm sure you'll find a girl here who'll be happy to date you. In fact, there's a girl dressed as Bubbles, the Vampire Staker . . . ."
On November 1, a Wednesday, Mabel asked Dipper about the books. "Got 'em to spare?" she asked.
"Oh, sure. I guess he'd like the three hardcovers?"
"That would be great!"
That afternoon, Dipper picked the three best hardcovers—ones with dust jackets that had no tiny flaws or scratches. He hand-printed an inscription to Judy in each of them. "To Judy—I hope your imagination always takes you to great adventures!" That kind of inscription. Then he signed it with the special signature he had practiced for Stan Mason's autograph, a lot different from his normal handwriting—swashing S and M, very decorative.
Mabel wrapped the three books in a bundle and had Dipper write on the brown paper "For Jordon and Judy Levinson, care of Mabel Pines."
"Better do me a little Post-It note, too," she advised. "Like you bundled these yourself and then boxed them, and just indicate that I'm your cousin."
With a sigh, Dipper wrote the little note:
Cousin Mabel—it was great to hear from you. Glad you like college. It's kind of you to want to do something nice for Judy Levinson, and I'll donate these three books. Come and see me next time you're in Oregon! Love, Cousin Stan
"Hey," he said, as she stuck the note to the bundle, "this isn't the start of something between you and Jordan, is it?"
"Oh, I've got plans for Jordan!" she said. "He likes scary stories and tales about ghosts and stuff, so he's gonna have a date with Eloise!"
"When?" Wendy asked.
"I haven't decided yet. Don't say anything to her because she doesn't know yet. Gotta go to rehearsal! I'm gonna put the books in my car, and tomorrow afternoon I'm gonna call Jordan and meet him somewheres on the WAU campus. He'll be thrilled. See ya!"
Beginning that week, Dipper went to the track on campus three days a week for sprinting practice. Figuring that he could be in good shape for the hundred- and two hundred-meter events if he was good in the four-hundred-meter dash, that's what he practiced for. His finish times were respectable—not stellar, but good—and he determined to improve.
That weekend the dorm repair was finally finished. Dipper and Wendy went to look at the refurbished fourth floor of Colby Residence Hall. Rooms 439 and 440 no longer existed. The space where they once were had been changed into a widened portion of the hall, with a couple of study carrels and a sofa in each one—they were now designated study spaces. The janitor's room still existed, though now it had a more complex lock.
"Probably take Mabel a hairpin and fifteen minutes to get in now," Wendy observed.
"How did they get away with losing two rooms?" Dipper asked. "The dorm was full!"
"Betcha that they've had some attrition," Wendy said. "At least four of the girls in this dorm must've flunked out, or got homesick or something, after mid-terms. I think it's for the best that they took the rooms out. I mean, Grunkle Ford says that without the magic circle there's no more chance of something breaking through, but—like you say, why tempt the fates?"
Why, indeed.
Halloween in Georgia had been clear, warm-ish, and humid. Teek had not gone to the Halloween party sponsored by the senior class. No matter, he had a better time face-timing with Mabel, though he stayed awake longer than normal for that—when she called him at ten-thirty her time, it was half past one A.M. on November 1 in Georgia—and he laughed when she sent him photos of the Ghost Harassers, Gravity Falls edition.
He had become a member of the FVC—the Film and Video Club—and already had become a de facto part of the selection committee. The FVC sponsored a weekly movie program, beginning at seven on Friday nights, usually including a double feature and an assortment of short subjects.
One of the features was always a classic film—it had to have been produced before 1990 and had to meet critical standards—the other was more contemporary. The short films ranged from classic cartoons, Mickey and Bugs and so on, to historic newsreels, prize-winning student films, that kind of thing.
For most of the students, the film evenings were social events, time to sit in the dark with a special guy or girl, to be entertained, to enjoy each other's company. Some came, evidently, to cultivate a superior attitude that would allow them to look down on others' work: "The Chaplin credo is all very well if one enjoys mere acrobatics and sticky sentimentality, but—" or "Really, Citizen Kane is less a film than an example of character assassination." That kind of thing.
Others, already in classes that allowed them to write and produce their own student films, frankly were on the lookout for techniques they could steal and use in their own work—What's that strange framing called? Oh, that's a Dutch angle. Why is the dialogue in an Altman film so hard to follow? That's because he likes crosstalk, with the actors speaking over each other's lines. What's that trope called where the guy makes up a story using the objects he sees around him as the names of the people?
Teek didn't fit into those categories. Instead, as the projectionist (though everything was digital), he watched each movie twice—once during the show, and then before packing everything up the next afternoon, again, with himself as the only audience. The first time through, he opened his feelings and thoughts to the film. Sometimes they were more involving than other times, but he always let the movie affect him.
And especially when the movies were very effective at that—when Teek found himself moved to laughter or sadness, or when the film raised a point that made him ponder, the second time through, Teek asked himself "How did the movie make me feel and think?" and "What about the movie got through to me, and why?"
He'd always loved films. Teek realized that his feeling for them was changing. Now he was discovering their secrets, their construction, their little tricks and techniques. And . . . it hurt a little.
He was losing something—the freshness of a fan's love for a medium. At the same time, he was gaining something—understanding of how films were constructed and why the best of them were the best.
Geeze Louise, he thought—an expression of his mother's—I'm getting all mature.
Fortunately, Teek was a modest guy. He always had been.
And anyway, he didn't like to run down somebody else's work. Even when he saw a film that he didn't care for, he never scoffed at them or belittled the actors or directors. After all, other people liked those films, and they had the right. And if other students thought the films he liked were not all that, again, they had the right. He could live with that.
And inside he felt a growing eagerness to get into the hands-on process of filmmaking. He already had an idea for a project in his introductory scriptwriting class, which wouldn't even begin until January.
Most of all, he really, really wanted to see Mabel again. Face-timing was one thing, but it was nothing like sitting close to Mabel, holding hands with her, now and then kissing her, hearing her enthusiastic reactions to his explanations of what he thought and felt about movies.
Heck, he didn't even require that she listen to his movie talk.
He didn't even require that they talk at all.
Because while he and Mabel didn't have the peculiar gift that Wendy and Dipper had—when they touched, they could not read each other's minds—for them touch had its own sweet messages.
Teek was looking ahead to Christmas break, when he would see her again. But, dang, a whole month. A whole freaking month. If he could have one wish, just one, it wouldn't be for fame and fortune.
It would just be to see Mabel in person before December.
Little did he know. Heh-heh.
