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“It would be nice,” I say, and I mean it.
ChapterTwenty
Driving back toSan Francisco Wednesday morning, I know I can’t—won’t—let my year at City Events end so ingloriously.
I refuse to let Kid Fest be the conclusion, because there’s no resolution. Only failure. And shame. But I’m not ashamed of me, or my efforts, and this isn’t even about me anymore. It’s about the kids. The kids who got caught in the middle of something they shouldn’t have been involved in.
The kids deserved better. And I like to think that good conquers evil and that in the end the just are rewarded, but I’m not so sure that’s true.
But even if the justaren’trewarded, I know that until the kids from the Boys and Girls Club get their event, I’m not through.
Kid Fest may be over, and I may not be able to salvage the carnival at the museum, but I can give them something else. A different reward.
Back in my apartment, I spend the night brainstorming a new Kid Fest. I curl up on my bed, thinking back to when I was a kid: the things I loved and the things that were pleasurable, exciting, an escape.
I think about the things kids want to do, need to do, and the things kids are curious about, and I make lists, and in each of these lists a word appears again and again:movies.
What if I give the kids a day at the movies? But not just as a passive audience, but as budding filmmakers, too?
What if they get to learn how movies are made, and have the chance to write stories of their own and maybe even get some hands-on experience shooting film?
Find a cool theater… order tons of pizzas… serve popcorn… give the kids not just fun but information that might actually inspire? Encourage their own dreams? No passive princes and princesses here, please. Everybody’s got to be a warrior, little boy and girl alike. Kids need to be taught to go after life, seize opportunity, not wait for something good to fall into their laps.
I scribble more ideas down, take tons of notes. There have got to be local filmmakers I can contact, people who’d be willing to donate their time, help me put together something creative and meaningful for the kids in San Francisco.
Thursday morning I get on my computer, shoot out e-mails to Josh and Tessa, telling them what I plan to do.
They’re both enthusiastic and offer to help, and that night they come over after work, bringing me files from the office with all the Kid Fest contacts.
Josh knows someone who owns an old art deco movie theater in the Mission district, and offers to contact the owner, see if he’d loan out the theater to us for a Sunday afternoon. Tessa said the guy at Pop’s Pizza, just south of Market, owes her a favor big-time and can probably come through with food and drink.
I go to the kitchen and pull out a bottle of champagne that Ed Hill brought me once back in late February when we were dating. Sitting on the floor of the living room, I open the bottle and fill three Waterford flutes, make a toast: “To good times and good friends.”
Josh and Tessa clink glasses with me, and we drink our champagne and lounge on pillows on the floor. I realize I’ve never liked my apartment as much as I do tonight.
This is why people need big apartments with bay windows and glossy white trim—not for cozy couples on the couch, but so you’ll have lots of room to sprawl out with your friends.
*
During the nextweek I make dozens of calls and talk to more people than I’ve ever talked to before. I explain what’s happened to the kids and what needs to happen, and why putting cameras into children’s hands would challenge them and encourage them and validate their experiences.
Josh gets the theater for me on a Sunday two weeks from now.
I get cameras donated, and secure a promise from several film students from the local university to come and speak to the kids.
I contact a screenwriter who wants to talk about her work, and then there’s the big-name comic actor who’s lived in Cow Hollow most of his life and wants to do something good, too.
Tessa gets pizzas and sodas from Pop’s, and then Pop from Pop’s takes it a step further, promising sheet cakes for dessert.
I go with Josh to check out the old movie theater built during the art deco period, and it’s beautiful. The owner has refurbished the place, the gold stars on the blue ceiling are freshly stenciled, and the columns lining the auditorium are in gorgeous, vivid color.
The theater’s big, too, and the owner has some old sci-fi films he’ll show in the morning before the kids start work on their own films, if I’m interested. And I’m interested.
Back home I send e-mails to the student filmmakers and the screenwriter and give them the place, date, and time we’re meeting, as well as mention the classic sci-fi films the theater owner has offered to show.
I pore over my to-do list.
Location, firm. Time and date, set. Entertainment and speakers, secured. Food, covered. Drinks, covered.
