The Next Stanley Kubrick
One of the most gratifying aspects of documenting my brother Ray's life
has been my growth as a filmmaker. Some of that early stuff, when Ray was a
junior and I was in eighth grade, well...it's embarrassing to watch. But
one year of intense study and trial and error has made all the difference.
I have, for example, watched Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" 117 times.
My dad says Ray's got the world by the ass. He rolls his eyes to the
heavens when he says it like he can't believe his good fortune.
My dad
sells seed corn. He has a chicken neck and shaky, useless hands. Ray's
hands are golden. He plays quarterback for our undefeated high school
football team. Around here, that's big time.
I taped all of Ray's Ray's football games this past fall, my dad
constantly asking, "Did you get that?" The whole project had become
stultifyingly boring until I experienced a creative epiphany. It occurred
while taping "Ray Gets A Visit from the College Recruiter."
A man came all the way from the University of Alabama. He kept telling my
mom how she didn't look old enough to have a kid in high school.
"Two kids in high school," I said, sitting on the floor.
The recruiter said, "Excuse me, darlin'."
I pointed the camera at him. "Well, now." He sipped his iced tea. "What's
this?"
My dad said, "For God's sakes, Emma, leave the poor man alone and go
find your brother."
Ray had excused himself after dinner. Said he'd be right back. I found him
sitting on his bed leafing through a Hustler magazine. I flicked on the
camera. Ray grinned.
It's a side-angle shot of Ray, sitting on his bed, slowly turning the
pages. There's laughter from downstairs. Ray scratches his nose. He shows
the naked woman with the massive breasts to the camera. Dad bursts in and
yells at us to get the hell downstairs. I zoom in on his chicken neck.
"Turn that damned thing off," he says, blocking the viewfinder with one
trembling hand.
Finis.
I call it,"Ray's Got The World By The Tits."
Forensics Club takes time away from learning my craft, so I quit. I watch
"The Shining" in the basement and take copious notes. I go to Harlen's
Cafe on Saturdays. I drink coffee and pretend it's a Starbucks. I wear a
black turtleneck and my dad's old checked hat. Some of the freshman girls
walk by. They point at me. They point at their heads. What is that I see
in their smiles? Admiration and respect.
I have this whole library of Ray tapes my parents haven't seen. There's
"Ray Pukes in the Hydrangeas" and "Ray Makes Out In the Driveway with His
Best Friend's Girlfriend" and "Ray Steals a Twenty from Mom's Purse." Ray
loves the secret tapes. We watch them in the basement when Mom and Dad are
asleep. He sits on the couch, drinking beer and laughing. He crunches the
empty cans and drops them into the paper sack at his feet.
Ray knows nothing about motif. He doesn't realize I am making a statement.
Like trigonometry, the concept of irony is lost on my brother.
Over dinner, I casually throw out the question "Who's going to videotape
my high school career?" This is a classic awkward moment. I wish I had the
video camera. My dad pretends he didn't hear, totally focused on trying to
spear a lima bean with his fork. Mom coughs.
"Joking!" I say, and they all laugh. It's pretty damned sad, but in a
funny way, that there exists but one videotape of me--a shaky five-minute
blurb from my fifth birthday party.
A recruiter is on his way from the Air Force Academy. I get a tight shot
of Dad's hands as he attempts to straighten Ray's tie. He's telling Ray
he'd better not screw this up. Mom pushes him away and fixes the knot, her
back to the camera. Ray stares over her head, this hulking dark figure
backlit by the sun through the picture window.
Right after graduation, Ray plans to steal Dad's car and drive all the way
to California. He wants me to film his getaway. He wants to call it "Ray
Fucks Up Again." But in return he's got to take me with him. I want to go
to Hollywood. I want to blow people's minds. Ray just wants to see the
ocean.
Kathy Fish lives and writes in Colorado. Her very short fictions have appeared in The Painted Moon Review, Thunder Sandwich, Burning Word, Pindeldyboz, The Muse Apprentice Guild, Gator Springs Gazette, Surgery of Modern Warfare and Word Riot.