Dada: Chapter 16b

     What was this guy thinking?  Does he really mean that?
    "Look, you are currently in charge.  Burton did some really great films, back when he was in school.  Sure, he later turned to that folksy stuff, but we are sure he never completely gave up on his films either.  Once he got started, he couldn't stop.  He just decided not to show them anymore."  Nate continues.  "Come one, Chris was it? If his newer stuff is anything like the one we're showing tonight."
      "You really want me to go searching around for films my father made, just because I'll be in his house.  What do you take me for?  I just found out about him and Sam a few days ago.  I didn't ever know about his art or films, really, until this afternoon.   I don't want to be like some ghoul lurking around."
     "Chris, it's not like he's d..." Nate stutters.
     "Nate, we need to get everyone in for the show."
     From down the hall, another man quickly sauntered to us.  Same nondescript features as Dil and Nate.  Maybe a little shorter, a little younger.  Why does all of dad's fans seem to be forty-somethings who wear Dockers?  You would never catch me in one of those.  Levi's yes, Dockers no.
     "Hey, Charlie.  This is Chris.  He's here for the first time."  Nate starts, but Charlie cuts him off to shake my hand, vigorously.
      "Hi, Chris!  Charlie Madison.  You're going to love it tonight.  The film is the hallmark of Burton's graduate thesis.  Some people think it is earlier work," with this he takes a sidelong glance at Nate, "but most agree that is definitely from his grad school days.  It just segues right into his doctorate film, even if that one is nowhere near as exciting.  No, this is the highlight."
       "Where are the rest rooms?  I think I need to freshen up a bit before everything starts." I cut him off.  I don't need to get into a philosophical debate on my father's "periods."  Just how important, or at least widespread, was he?
       "Yeah, that is usually what we tell all first-timers to do.  Just take a right at the end of the hall.  Can't miss it.  The film room is the one with the double doors.  Just get there before everything starts. Once we start the film, we usually don't allow anyone else in, you know.  The way things go in there, well, we don't need interruptions." Charlie all but winks at me.  What is going on?
      "Thanks."  I slowly walk away from them so they can continue their discussions.  I pass by the double doors on my way to the men's room.  They are still closed, so I can't tell what it looks like, but I'm fairly sure I saw at least one woman going in.  At least Charlie was right with his directions.  I go straight to the sink, no need to empty my bladder, yet.  I wouldn't be able to any way if there were anyone here, but fortunately I'm only one in here.
       I splash some water on my face, only to wipe it off with a paper towel as I look into the mirror above the sink.   Nothing is making sense.  Here, I though I would be going to a charitable art show, but here I am at some weird movie theatre presentation my dad did as a student.  They actually want me to sneak through his stuff to find any more?  He's been dead, what, a week.  Maybe less.  He was only buried on, Tuesday?  No, Wednesday morning.  I wish I hadn't taken Sam in, just left him with someone else.  I won't be able to handle him; I can't handle the rest of this life my dad left behind.  Sure, there will be perks, but this downside.  I was just kidding myself that I could do this.  Calm down.  Just get through the film, and then see what will be next.
       I comb my fingers through my hair.  My face is dry.  Shirt and pants fairly straight.  No need to check the zipper, or if there's a wet spot.  That's happened to me a few times in the last few months.  One last deep breathe, and I head back to the hall.
      The doors are still closed, but Charlie and another man are standing outside.  They spot me in a second, mostly because I'm the only one there.
      "Just made it.  Boris here is on guard duty tonight." Charlie points his chin at the slightly younger and shorter man beside him.  Boris nods at me, but says nothing.  "Yeah, he got the short straw tonight.  Maybe next time.  I left you a seat near the back, just in case you needed a little more privacy.  First time and all.  We better get in so they can start."
      Charlie all but drags me through the door as Boris holds it open.  I can barely see anything, as the room is already fairly dark for the movie.  Charlie is whispering me along to a chair nearby.  We pass by two or three men, as I take me seat.  The floor is making a crinkling sound as if covered in plastic. even louder as Charlie rushes away after I sit down.  Everyone is quiet.  A woman is sitting on my right, but the chairs are spaced about a yard or so apart, so we can't talk to one another.  In the front, a screen, or maybe a large monitor, is starting to glow.  The light gray typical of movies starting out.  Numbers begin to flash in reverse order.  The movie begins.

Dada: Chapter 16a

     We walk up the steps into the hall.  It's typical of other such community spaces that I've been in.  Maybe a little older, but then New York has been around a lot longer than most of those places.  The glass doors look new, as does the metal detectors just beyond.  They're blocked off tonight, though.  I guess this private showing doesn't need that much security.  I don't see any people, considering how many cars were outside.  I am just about ready to turn to Sam to ask him about what should happen, when I see the Dylon Tyler, or is it Taylor, down the hall talking to another man.  Neither one is as dressed up as we are.  I guess that I may have misjudged what this is all about.
      Tyler sees us and waves us over to talk to the other man.
      "This is Chris, the one I told you about.  Chris, meet Nathan Robertson.  He is the local president of the Burton Appreciation Society." Tyler gets us to shaking hands all around.  I hate the practice, myself.  I'm always afraid I'll catch something.  I usually try and wash my hands off as soon as I can, but in this case, I might not be able.
       "Hello, Nathan.  This is Sam, my half-brother.  I hope it's not a problem that he's here."
      "Actually, it might," Nathan starts off.  "Tonight's film really isn't for someone so young.  I don't think you're over eighteen, are you?" He's staring right at Sam, while Sam is basically trying not to look at anyone.
       "He just turned fourteen last month," I answer for him.
        "Yeah, fourteen," Sam stammers out, his voice cracking again.
        "We have a few other kids in the break room.   He's a little older than the others, so he can join and help out. Why don't you come with me, while Nate here explains a few things."  Tyler grabs Sam by the shoulders, and he all but drags Sam away, down the hall and to a room on the right.
        "Sorry about that.  Sam has been awkward lately, due to recent events.  Puberty isn't helping him out just now."
        "Don't worry.  We all go through it and usually turn out right.  Dil mentioned most of your situation, so I didn't bring most of it up.  First time?"  Nate asks.
         "First time for what?"
         "To see one of Burton's films.  Most people are astounded when they see them.  Tonight, we have the first one.  It is amazing, but not really fro younger viewers.  What do you know about your, father, wasn't it?" Nate all but mumbles there.  I guess it can't be easy for him either.
          "I'ver just found out about him.  I have only seen a few of his works.  I think most of them are kind of folksy, right?"
           "Please.  When he first started out, most of his professors thought he was just another rich kid trying to find a major where he wouldn't have to work too hard.  But then they saw his talent.  He had the eye for such things, but so much of his of his work did border on folk art and Americana.  When he went to grad school, his professors wanted to challenge him.  They made him explore different avenues to art.  Take chances and all that.  He made a series of films that forced him to go all out and break the molds.
           "Tonight, we are showing his first great film.  It's part of a thesis on Modern art.  It's pure performance art on a grand, beautiful scale.  He made six or seven, the society has never asked him for an exact count.  We are pretty sure that he may have destroyed at least one of them.  It's too bad he ultimately decided to go back to that folksy stuff.  The films are the best things he has ever made.  Really inspiring." Nate is practically jumping up and down with excitement by the time he finishes his spiel.
          "So, you don't have any of his other works on display tonight?"
        "Oh, no.  The society is strictly concerned with Burton's film work.  Most of his paintings an such are rather pedestrian compared to his films.  No offense," Nate quickly added.
         "Uh, non taken.  When I first found out about my father, and, uh, what happened," I couch my words carefully.  "I think I might have seen your society mentioned online.  I first thought it was about someone else, since I didn't know about his films, but could it possibly been..."
          Nate interrupts me before I can finish the thought.  "Oh yes.  That was not assuredly about us.  There are actually a few branches of our society, mostly around New York, of course.  While Burton made a few films, and almost all for his classes, they are all greatly admired by his staunchest supporters.  Each one has been a great inspiration to us chosen few.  Unfortunately, he preferred to stay away from his films.  Almost as if he was embarrassed by them.  Rumor has it that he never did give up filming, and that there is a stockpile of unreleased footage somewhere, just waiting to be discovered and brought into the light."
            This guy was getting weird on me.  In fact, all of this seemed out of hand.  A society about the student art films of my father?  And now, Nate was hinting about more of them.
            "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Dada: Chapter Sixteen

     Sam wanted to go to a pizza place just a block or so away from the hall.  Don't get me wrong, I like pizza, but I really didn't feel like having it tonight.  Still, he knows the place, and he was going to be facing something that could be weird for him, so I let him choose.
     Fortunately, the place seems to have a good Stromboli, even if they got a little miffed when I asked for no peppers.  Seriously, hot peppers do not go on this type of sandwich.  Beef, mozzarella, sauce, lettuce, tomato, mushrooms, onions, maybe a touch of mayo or Italian dressing, that's it.   No peppers are necessary.  Sam, however, gets a small, single size pie for himself.  It's going to be too much for him.  Especially since we got a few garlic rolls with dipping sauce as well.  Yes, he's a teenage boy going through a growth spurt, but this is too much.
      We eat in silence, mostly because Sam keeps shoving food in his face.  Maybe he doesn't want to talk.  At least he isn't eating fast enough to get choked.  He sips some pop every few bites.  He had ordered a cheese, mushroom, and hamburger pizza.  An unusual combo, but I've had it myself a few times, mostly with the guys back in college.  For some strange reason, none of us liked pepperoni or sausage.  Just another thing that we had in common.
      "Here, let me have a bite of a slice.  We'll take the last few back with us."
      I hadn't been paying close enough attention.  Sam was a few bites into the last slice.  At least my sandwich was done, and I had one last roll to tide me over.
       "What happened to the rolls?"
       "I was hungry," Sam manages to get out before tackling the crust.   I almost expected him to belch after all that food.  He's going to be two inches taller than me by the time we get to the hall.
        "Finish up.  You might want to head to the restroom, too.  I'm not sure what to expect at the event, and you might not get another chance to clean up, or anything else."
         I'm sure I heard Sam muffle a laugh, under the pretense of chewing.
         I pay for the meal while Sam is away.  I resist the temptation to ask any of the staff about his parents.  That would be prying.  Besides, no one had mentioned Sam when we came in.  The place was starting to fill up, being almost seven.  I walk to the head myself to catch up with Sam.  I can probably wait an hour or two, but my nerves are acting up.  Bladders can be so fickle.
         Sam is waiting for me by the door after I finish.  I didn't even see him leave.
         "Come on.  You can help me figure out where to park.  There is a place near the hall.  I don't think I should leave the car here at the restaurant."
          "There's a lot a street down.  I think it's free on the weekends, but you might have to pay something." Sam responds.
          "We better get going then."
            We walk back to the car.  I feel like I should say something, anything, but the silence is just to great to break.  We don't talk the short drive to the lot, either.  He must be dreading this, attending an event to honor his, our, father.  At least he was right about the parking.  The lot is over halfway full by the time we get there with more cars coming fast behind.  I hope I get to talk to someone about this before it starts.  I want to make sure no one mentions the accident to Sam.  I'm not sure how he will take it.
      "We're here.  Time to go in."  I look at Sam, and I have no idea what he is thinking.