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“Life,” Charlie says, eyes closed, pain cinching his face. “Stupid people, the aftereffects of my choices…walking backwards.”
I’m standing here thinking, give me the tea. What’s the drama?
Working on the pilot to Born into Fame gave me the biggest opportunity of my life. I found love. Not just momentary love that passes like the seasons. I found love that lasts even when the screen fades to black.
Charlie lets people beat the shit out of him. He’ll surrender himself to pain because he doesn’t care about his own life.
Looking into him, Oscar looking into me—I feel like I’m paddling out and about to stand up on my board. Failure isn’t as destructive as I thought it’d be. Because regardless of what happens, he’s not going anywhere.
Can’t beat love, in all forms, all kinds—and after a big dose of drama, all I want to do is surround myself in that feel-good, can’t sleep, gotta keep my ass awake to sing the night away, kind of love.
Honestly, I love playing chess against Charlie. He’s the only person who’s ever been able to beat me.
Waiting for the end. Yet, it’s not really the end for me. The structure is all over the place, depending on the perspective. For some in the theatre, today is the rising action. For others, it’s the fall. Maybe for people like Charlie, it’s eternally stuck at the beginning. And that’s the frustration of it all.
Thump! One goes down. The audience lets out a collective gasp. Oscar is hawk-eyed more on Charlie, and I realize he’s dropped the legs of his chair he’d been leaning back on. He’s bowed forward.
Charlie careens back to whisper to us, “Who is that?”
👀👀👀
“Roxanne Ruiz. She’s eighteen.” Charlie just turns forward, but I catch his smile.
“I was never rewriting my life when I met you. There was no rewrite, Oscar, because this is how it was always supposed to be written. I am supposed to be with you. You are supposed to be with me. Nothing else makes sense.”
“I love you. I love run-around-the-world Oscar. I love flirty Oscar, tactical bodyguard Oscar, snack monster Oscar”—everyone laughs, but I hold onto his laughter, his joyful tears that stream like mine—“my number one fan Oscar, sexy Oscar, intelligent as a motherfucker Oscar, a ride-or-die friend Oscar, a good brother Oscar, kiss me when the sun rises Oscar, my one and only Oscar…the love of my life Oscar.”
“You’re my everything Oscar.”
“Oscar Felipe Highland-Oliveira. I love every part of who you are.” I take his hand in mine and pull out a ring from my pocket. “Will you do me the honor of staying married to me?”
I love, love, love people. I film them because I love them. We’re all human.
His love carries me through the barrel of every wave. I’m already up on the board. I’m coasting on these feelings. Riding them to shore.
“What are you going to say when I turn the camera on you now?” “I’m your subject, Highland. And I can live the most joyous life knowing that.”
“How does that sound?” He nods. Love swells between us. “Sounds like our future. I’m there.” I’m grateful for the camera as it captures the light in Oscar’s eyes in this second, this perfect frame of time.
