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Though, according to my father, Sasha Snow expressed no over-enthusiasm for the project or for an interview, she did agree to read Bonita’s letter and watch her film. It made sense: Sasha had a fascination with the sun, and Bonita’s film offered a unique and different perspective on the sun’s power.
I’d never been so excited to share news with Bonita as I was that afternoon—a mere five days after she’d first told me about Sasha Snow—when I announced to her that her letter and her film had been delivered and that Sasha Snow had said she would look at them.
Noah, the Fucking King of Coming Through!
Thanks, Dad.
5
Bonita
Of course, it was rash to put a film crew together before I’d even been granted an interview. Not to mention the certainty that there was no way my parents were ever going to let me fly off to Iceland. But when you’re constantly reminded to be safe, when you’re constantly admonished for the slightest act of imprudence, well, you’re just itching to be rash. (Pun intended.)
We met at Squid’s Tavern, in the dead of night, of course. (Vampire Chick likes to do her business at night.) Squid’s boasted a dark, seedy basement and cheap drinks: perfect for my team and me to conspire on how we’d pull off our escape to a far-off land.
Roll call:
Ken Lynch, cameraman, aka Lynch Lens, and not just because he wore glasses. With a keen eye for detail—and excellent equipment—he’s my go-to guy for all things visual. Most of what I knew about photography and video I learned from Ken when I worked with him on a horror film he wrote and directed. Yes, Vampire Chick’s got acting chops, too.
Ben Deaty, sound, aka Ben the Brawn. He also worked with Ken on his horror film. So Ben was part of the pack. Plus, you never knew what you would be going up against when sneaking off to a foreign land. It was good to bring along some muscle, just in case.
Will Johnson, aka Flintstone. I didn’t come up with that. It probably had to do with the fact that his name was really Wilfred, and he’s hard as a rock. I didn’t know what Will would do for us, exactly. But if I wanted Ben, I had to take Will, too. They were a packaged deal. Plus, I can’t ever really have too much muscle.
Christian Vlasnic, aka The Pickle. I swore to him that I picked the nickname, not because his family name was one letter off from a popular brand of pickles, but because he was cunning and crafty, always thinking on his toes. And if we ever found ourselves in a pickle, he’d be the one to know how to get us out of it. In any event, he refused to answer to the nickname. The Pickle was always so serious.
Landon Bell, aka The Ringer—I was especially proud of that one. Like Christian, Landon had a law degree, so if we came across anything contractual we needed expert eyes on, Christian was our guy. Though, with his overgrown, unkempt hair and boisterous, always-joking demeanor, you’d never know he was a lawyer, hence the nickname. Plus, his last name’s Bell, so.
I didn’t think we would need two lawyers. Honestly, I didn’t think I would need even one. But I definitely was planning on partying while I was in Iceland. And if you want to party right, you want to party with Landon. Also, if you’re going to party with Landon, there’s a good chance you might find yourself in a situation the following morning. So, it’s a good idea to bring along Christian—excuse me, The Pickle.
Trevor Keel, aka Even (As in ‘even keel’. I didn’t come up with that one, either. Everyone called him Even whenever he’d say or do something sensible, reasonable, and measured—which was always.) Trevor was one year older than me and a few years younger than Christian and Landon. But I still considered him the grown-up of the bunch. There was going to be hell to pay with my parents when I got back. But I could say, “It’s okay. Trevor was with us, so you know we kept our heads on straight.” Hopefully, they wouldn’t find out we had Landon, Will, and Ben in the group. Trevor’s reputation as well-grounded and sensible could only get us so far.
Trevor would be our de facto leader. Plus, I was definitely going to find a way to get him on camera. Gratuitous eye candy never hurt a film. He could be a scientist in one of our reenactments: gets an important phone call, jumps out of the shower, covers himself in the smallest towel I can find, water dripping from his pony-tailed dreads down his muscle-ripped back. I doubted I could use that in my documentary, but it was better to shoot it anyway, just in case.
