Grassy Knoll Conspiracies, Part 2

So, how did I become the Nakhtmin of the New Age? I had been an up-and-coming copywriter at a boutique marketing agency in Minneapolis, married with two dogs and a two-story, 1912 Craftsman near Minnehaha Falls. Yet difficulties with inattention, impulsivity, and time management wreaked havoc on my career, while the growing routine of marriage left me antsy. I needed a distraction, or two—as in simultaneous affairs, both with co-workers.

Soon my life unraveled at supersonic speed: I went through a divorce, got laid off (twice), and found myself homeless and basically penniless, all in little over a year. It was just a bit too much for my psyche to handle and, overwhelmed, I did the one thing I was good at: escaping, this time from reality itself. Concluding that my difficulties must be the result of some moral defect, I vowed to get right with God. I would use my writing talent to become a storyteller for the divine, heralding in a new era of peace, love, and understanding. What’s so funny about that?

With scriptwriting as my chosen genre, I soon embarked on a cross-country journey from the Midwest to the Wasatch Mountains and Sundance, Robert Redford’s famous filmmaking institute. It was there where I first laid eyes on him — not Bob, although I did see that million-dollar smile flash a few times. No, I’m speaking of Peter McCarthy, my Adonis, my one true love, my soulmate. Cosmic reward for my newfound devotion. I knew the moment he spoke.

           “You know what Woody Allen would say about that door, don’t you?”

            I had volunteered at Sundance’s annual producers’ summit, which pairs young filmmakers with established veterans to get the ins and outs of the industry. Conference goers could attend a number of intimate workshops, and I had been assigned to assist Peter, who produced a string of acclaimed independent films including Repo Man and I’m Gonna Get You Sucka. The airy meeting room had huge floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto the mountains blanketed in summer greenery. It was so beautiful — and those doors were so heavy. Struggling with a set, I saw this gangly, moppy-haired, unconventionally handsome man stride into the room, and we smiled in acknowledgement. I don’t recall if we even introduced ourselves before Peter offered his assistance.

            “You know what Woody Allen would say about that door, don’t you?”

            I bit. “No, what would Woody say?”

            “That’s a b-b-big door.”

            And that was it. The thunderbolt hit, bam. I giggled gleefully as we managed the door in tandem, then danced around the room equipping the seats with pens and rolls of Life Savers I had purchased at the resort’s general store. Within weeks, I had followed Peter out to Venice Beach to work on his latest movie and capture his heart. So what if I didn’t have a home or source of income or any idea of what the hell I was doing. Like Jake and Elwood, I was on a mission, sent to convince my beloved that he should use his celluloid voice to spread the good news and shepherd in a golden era of human consciousness.

Six months later, I found myself sitting in a nightmare flop room on East Sunset Boulevard, rocking back and forth on the floor. What is happening to me, what is happening to me? The mantra kept ringing in my head as I wrote it over and over in my journal, those journals that I carried with me everywhere, madly scribbling to maintain some sense of sanity.

            That moment echoed my very first memory, from around the age of two. I recall sitting on the living room floor playing with blocks or some such, when I looked around at my family and thought, “I don’t belong here.” I felt like that existential two-year-old in this hellhole, two thousand miles from my hometown.

            But this was all a test, I kept telling myself. A test of my worthiness to become the love of a quick-witted, quirky independent filmmaker. If I passed, I would be his muse, helping him make movies that spoke of God and love and all the beauty of living as one with the Universe.

            At least, that was my theory.

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