Beyond OK: Ch. 11

Chapter 11: Faces on the Cards

It was final Friday of the M.U. semester, and having finished his exams, Don sat all nice and snug in his apartment, enjoying an early Holiday card from former co-worker Andrew. Busy fella'. And speakin' of other old friends, Don tried reaching them again. However, Pete and Andrew didn't pick up, perhaps too occupied with business, so Don left them some Merry Holiday messages, while only Dan, again, had time to converse with ole' Don.

"Daannn, I'm doin' great! How are ya'? Say hullo to yer wife and tykes for me."

"Got lil' Janny sittin' on mai knee right now." Don could hear a toddler babbling through the speaker. "So how's ev'erythang else? Passed all yer computer classes? Whatcha been doin'?"

"Settlin' down for da' Break and sellin' some Exam books. Sold two Exam Books yesterday. Actually quite an accomplishment." Not compared to the recent triumph of being accepted by an frat of M.U. youth.

"I recall you mentioning yer took Scarin' the last time we called. What became of that?"

"Ah, as I told ya' before, ne'ver worked out. Didn't pass da' Exam,"

A pause. "Oh yeah, sorry, ole' brain just forgets sometimes." Another pause. "Everything's fine. Job's fine. Itsa hassle at times but I least git some quality time with mai family." Silence again. Appeared that Dan was pacing himself to reveal something.

"Doin' anythang special for da' Holidays?"

"Well, I do..." Dan's signature salesman method involved holding clients in suspense. "...I got extra time to also give somethang else a try, an ole' dream."

"Now what could that be, Dan?"

A breath of anticipation. "Movies, Don."

"Them movie pictures?"

"More precisely, scriptwritin' for now. Even got myself a computer and printer to do so. Them typewriters don't cut it." Don had to envy Dan's audacity in purchasing those durn machines. "Now I know Scarin' weren't workin' for ya', but when you said yer was tryin' that out a week ago, tha' gave me some inspiration to shoot for an ole' dream. Thought it woulda be too late, but then I realized, really, that if I waited too long, now it would really be too late... Mighta sound like a mid-life crisis to mai wife, but I got some time as I watch the kids, so I thought, why not? Not much of a chance of gettin' it greenlit in Hollywood or even as an independent movie, but it's wortha shot."

Though Don felt elated at the news of Dan's new hobby, Don couldn't help but doubt for Dan's future in filmmaking, and Don sensed that Dan was not oblivious to his longshot, doubtful future in film-writing. "Dan, so what's brilliant idea yer got for Hollywood?."

"So far, it's titled 'Tracy and da' Ghostlight.' I know, it's one of them B-movies premise, but itsa start, a workin'-progress."

"I wish ya' the greatest luck, Dan. Well, I bet ya' one day, Dan, that you will become some big shot and when yer folks and friends ask ya' 'how,' yer tell em' it all started in..."

Dan finished the words, "Business School. Mai interest for movie-makin' started way back, no, before M.U. Business school." Then struck a pause, and the two former Oozmanian Industry employees and M.U. Business School alumni, shared a rush of empathetic inspiration.

"Ne'ver knew ya' loved movies this much to wanna make em'."

"Mai Janny is gettin' fussy now, keep in touch."

"Merry Holidays to you and yer family. Again, wishing ya' the greatest luck."

"You too. Take care ole' Donny."

Hanging up the phone, Don began tidying up his desk with his thoughts running. Dan had every right to be optimistic, but Dan would have to proceed with a cautious sense of reality. Maybe that was the perk of getting old. Less fear of failing, but at the same time, the wariness that success was a longshot.

Then the phone rang again and Don picked up. Maybe it was Pete or Andrew.

"Hey Don."

"Oh hullo Scott! How's ev'erythang?"

"Don, we're holding our first Oozma meeting!

"Oh gosh! Now I have to be there for that. What are we discussing for the next semester?"

"We're building a fort and defending ourselves from the impending war!"

"Sorry?"

"Ok, it's not really an official Oozma meet, just a fun get-together. As the founder of Oozma Kappa, I'm saving real frat discussions for next semester. You have to come over for the fun!"

Not that Don looked down on youthful activities, but cushion fort-building was far from his interest. "Oh Scott, might be nice to join ya'. But I am quite busy with Holiday stuff to do. Like sellin' mai apartment, packin' up..."

"Then you can pack up and come over here for some fun- OH! Darn it Art! The battle hasn't ev- sorry, Don, you could stop by. I mean, I had a lotta time to get to know Terry & Terri and Art and they would like to get to know you."

" I tell ya' what, Ima gonna drop off some stuff, but I can't guarantee I'll be there in time to catch yer fort-game."

After scooping his desk supplies into a luggage, Don removed all his framed photos- of the late William Carlton, his parents, his Oozmanian Industry friends, and his Marketing diploma off and lined them along with the blanket in his luggage. Then lastly, he took his filing crate- made sure it contained its old Oozmanian records, phone numbers, and that eulogy of his late father, especially that eulogy.

The moment Don set foot in Squibbles' household, he was greeted by the slap of a pillow. Stunned, he pulled the pillow off his face to notice the war zone before him: pillows, cushions, feathers scattered over the living room. The couch and chairs, turned over. Scott peeped his head over the couch.

"Woah! What a calamity!"

"Oh, sorry Don, I thought you were Art."

"How's everything. What yer been up to?"

"Visited my grandparents for a while last night, had a great time there and they are proud of me for starting a frat, and I can't wait for mom to take me skiing."

Suddenly, Terri's head, a small pillow jabbed through his straight horn, emerged next to Scott. "Mr. Carlton!" Terri greeted, "It's so great to see you! We were just resolving the latest battle and we're going to make a truce and celebrate peace by going to the arcade."

Then popped up Terry's head, streaked with pillow feathers. "You know, I thought this would be lame and childish, and but it's actually quite a thrill."

Art, with a army hat secured around his arch-head, sprung up from behind a fallen armchair. "Good sir, you missed my tragic death. Promise me you'll cry for me the next time I perish on the battlefield. And make sure they decorate me posthumously."

Then Ms. Squibbles came flouncing in. "Now booooooooys! You don't have to clean it now, but I would like to see the room cleaned by tonight before supper. You can clean it when you come back from the arcade!"

Terri chimed, "sure thing Ms. Squibb-" Then within a rapid seconds, Ms. Squibbles flung a pillow onto Terri's eye before dashing off to the kitchen much to Terry's amusement. "Good one, Ms. Squibbles!"

The young Oozmas stepped out of their war barriers and swept off the debris of feathers and pillows to ready themselves for the arcade. Don chortled at the antics then started upstairs with his luggage. Then Scott uttered, "Wait? Why don't you join us, Don, for the arcade?"

"That's all righty boys, besides, I'll be busy unpackin'. Aside from that, I don't know if I can afford fun at da' arcade. Back in mai days, them games were a nickel apiece. But now they had skyrocketed into a quarter or two apiece."

"Aw c'mon Don, today's our first outing. Tomorrow, Terry and Terri will be packing up their dorm and be off home. And Art has to go to some retreat and you only just met him 24 hours ago. This is probably the only day of the Holiday where we could really be together and get to know each other until official move-in." Scott's eyes glimmered pleadingly, too innocent to comprehend an old fella''s reservation about youth activities.

"I love ta' but I got some unpackin' to do." There would be plenty of time next semester to familiarize with his fraternity.

Scott started off. "Aw, suit yourself, Don." And the Oozmas left.

So Don stepped up into his bedroom and prepared his mattress. He unpacked the photos and picture frames and lined them on the walls and shelves. Finally, he hung his Marketing Bachelor above his new desk and wiped off the dust of the brass frame, only for his suckers to smudge the glass. Durn it. Ah well. And finally, he hauled his filing crate to the Squibbles's basement. Before Don opened the basement door, he checked the door for blasting Heavy Metal. Quiet. Thank goodness. As he stepped down, he noticed the backside of a figure on the basement floor, on her knees, staring into a photo album. Don cleared his throat.

Ms. Squibbles sprung up. "Gave me a fright, Mister!"

"Whoops, sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya', Missus, only came lookin' for a spot for mai files."

"Just find yourself an empty spot on a shelf." She put away her album and clamored upstairs humming a tune.

Chuckling at Ms. Squibbles's endearing mannerisms, Don started to push his crate onto a shelf, but then something wedged between his files caught his eye. He pulled out the wedge to discover that it was an aged pack of Scare. trading cards. So he did still have those cards after all these years. He was about ten years old when he had showed this treasures off to his Pa'. Lookie at what I found at da' dime store. He had flipped through the faces, from the Waternoose to the renowned Abigail Hardscrabble, and declare, these are the monsters I want to be when I'm older.

Pa' can I be a Scarer?

Sure, sonny! Don't need mai permission to ask that. Honest work will git ya' to yer dream.

You'll be the first I'll give mai own tradin' card to when I'm a Scarer.

Don remembered the days when he would lie on his belly on the floor, shuffle the cards around, and imitate whatever famous face he came across. As he would creep around the floor and belt out his roars, Pa' and Ma' would praise his Scaring potential. He would practice on the field mice outside or even the two-headed pigeons.

Pa' had said that he always believed in Don.

Then a slight pain flew across Don's back. With a sigh, Don stuck the card pack back in the crate. Now, what was Ms. Squibbles's causal diagnosis the other day when she fixed his back here in the basement? Oh yes, a case of stress knotting up his back.