Atlas & Alice | Issue 3, Spring 2015
The camera convulses as I crack up. I hear myself say, “There you have it, world,” and the shot smash-cuts as a sober girl starts to speak again.
Big Closeup(s) This shot is just Drahomíra's face. Winter hat pulled down to her eyebrows. “Whatcha doing today, hungry girl?” My voice. Drahomíra: “Gonna stomp out a clean run.” “And it'll all be on film.” She taps on the side of the camera. “No. No. This is going to be all talking. Like a diary. You don't see the shit that happens. You just read. You just listen and take my word for it.” Smash cut to Summer Olympic party at Lacie's cabin. Drahomíra is on the couch, squished between two girls I don't recognize. Her braids are a few inches longer and bunched into a weedy pile. The couch's holey arm is straddled by my Astronomy professor, whose beer hovers in front of her lips without ever actually touching them. The camera is shaky in my hand, which must have been cradling a bottle a few minutes earlier. Drahomíra is the only one looking at me and not at the television, but she looks away when she sees that the camera is on. Her face is sallow and watery. Something happens on the TV, and the room blows up. The girls sandwiching Drahomíra leap to their feet. My professor toasts someone offscreen. The wobbly shot moves in close to Drahomíra as the camerawoman, me, lowers herself to eye level. “So, what do you think of the Summer Olympics?” I ask. She's hugging her knees. Her dimples are flattened by some kind of worry. “Nothing but a bunch of naked asses and whining,” she says. “Let's see these bitches snowboard in bare feet.” My past self doesn't say anything. I wish she would. Drahomíra gives me a look you could light the Olympic torch with, then pie-faces the lens with her palm. There's some blank space here.
Key Grip She's yanking out reps on the makeshift pullup bar we fixed to her bedroom door. She groans with each pull, as if flames are whirling in her lungs. My voice opens the scene with a rare uneasiness. “Um, it's the end of November, and here's our heroine doing a workout in prep – ” She shushes me. “Just watch me do this. You don't have to be saying shit all the time.”
Issue 3 | Spring 2015