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“Holden made you something.” I push on Holden’s shoulder gently and nod toward the glasses.
He hands them to Trevor. “They’re shit.”
“Rude,” I say, pulling the standing fan closer to Trevor’s bed. The first scene is driving shotgun with Holden and I want him to feel the wind whipping through his hair—or lack thereof. “Press play, put the glasses on, and then the headphones.”
Trevor does as he’s told, curiosity lining his face, and I plug the headphones into the exposed end of the phone. Ant leans her elbows on his bed, watching him as if she’ll see what he sees, but not really caring that she won’t. Mara sits on Mama Michaels’s knee, eyes blinking impatiently for her turn. Her stepmom lays a hand on her shoulder, most likely to stop her from lunging at the device.
It takes about three seconds, but Trevor’s mouth splits into a grin. His head starts nodding, and he mouths the words to a Queen song I don’t know the name of. Holden wasn’t shy about belting it, not for Trevor, not in front of me or the camera. Despite the cold weather and the dead trees, we pretended it was a summer day. And just thinking about that moment makes me want to cry. I have the footage backed up on my computer, but I can’t replay that moment. I was there, but it wasn’t for me.
Ant holds Trevor’s hand as he cycles through the car ride, Nope.’s show, sneaking out of his bedroom window, playing chess with Mara at home, bowling with Ant and friends, thehouse party, and other things I filmed just in case it would matter, just in case he would care what it’s like to watch stupid TV with his stepdad scream-laughing his way through, to sit in the cafeteria with other people who chat too loudly to be having real conversations, to be back in his bedroom. In case he wanted to know what it was like to sit in the crowd at a football game, alone, but surrounded. Together, but an individual. Holden helped with a lot of it, but other times I had just been filming. Things I thought would end up on the cutting room floor for the documentary felt perfect here.
By the end of the reel, which lasts about thirty minutes, he takes the glasses off and wipes at the tears pooled under his eyes. His voice cracks when he tries to speak, but Holden leans in, forcing his thin body into a hug that he reciprocates with full force.
“I’m sorry they’re not the real thing.”
“No, that was really cool,” Trevor croaks out. “Even better.”
It’s clear there doesn’t need to be a larger discussion. Trevor knows what the point of the headset is. He feels it completely.
Mara watches with a smile, then her eyes dart to mine. “Can I try it now?”
Trevor laughs, tearing the headphones from his ears and handing Mara all the equipment. “Have at it.”
“Then me,” Ant says, helping Mara gear up.
Holden breaks away from his brother, wipes his own eyes, and motions for me to follow him out of the room. As we’re disposing of our masks and gloves, Mama Michaels wraps Trevor in a hug and starts asking him tons of questions about what hesaw. We wander a little way down the hall, until we end up in the waiting room. It’s pretty dead, which I realize now is terrible word choice given my location.
He sits down and I take the chair next to him, shifting a little at the stiffness, but mostly the awkwardness. For a moment, he just watches me. I try not to look away, but his gaze is heavy and it judges me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out at the same time he says, “So, I watched the documentary.” He pauses, giving me time to respond, and the only thing my dumb ass can think to say is: “I thought you didn’t want to see your sweaty face in 1080p.”
“Turns out I’m still good-looking. Who would have thought?”
Me.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh. “Again. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“You shouldn’t have, no. And the whole financial struggle... How would you like it if someone shined a light on your money problems at home? Especially if they weren’t as bad as someone made them out to be?” He jiggles his leg, waiting.
“I’d be furious and embarrassed and ashamed, and you’re right to feel that way.”
He sniffles. “Despite that, I think the glasses are pretty fucking cool, and I think Trevor really liked them. He has enough video games. This is something just for him.”
I clear my throat. “Thank you for letting me be here to see it.”
A heartwarming ending and not a camera in sight.
It’s just what I deserve.
We end up drenched in painfully awkward silence—my first visit to the gynecologist wasn’t even this bad. At least there was small talk to distract from the intimacy. He blows out a breath and then faces me again, pulling his leg up onto the chair.
“You aren’t applying to Temple anymore?”
“I don’t have a documentary to submit and the deadline is a few days from now.” The thought of applying filled me with excitement two weeks ago. Now it’s not even dread. It’s just hollow. There’s a spot in my gut where my Temple application used to sit, and now there’s just empty air. I carved that hole there myself.
“Couldn’t you submit the glasses or something?”
“That’s—no. Those are Trevor’s. That’s for Trevor, and you.” I hadn’t even thought about submitting that footage. It would definitely help me stand out. But it’s not a documentary and I’m not going to use this family anymore.
