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“Well, you’re going to be very disappointed.”
We step through. The lights come up automatically, highlighting the rows upon rows of shelves full of film reels. They’re all contained in their own metal shells, warning labels affixed to the sides: HIGHLY FLAMMABLE. In the corner of the room, there’s a projector, a small white projection screen, and my old leather recliner.
“What is all this?” Eden breathes, moving slowly. Her eyes are wide in amazement.
“Some guys like to collect cars, baseball cards, vintage wines. Others are into model trains. But me? I like collecting old cellulose nitrate films.”
“Am I allowed to touch?”
“The shells, yes. Try not to touch the film rolls themselves. They’re all so old and fragile that you have to be very careful that the oils on your fingers don’t destroy them.”
“Hunter, this is…” She chuckles, smiling wider than I’ve ever seen. “This isamazing. You really never show this to anyone?”
I shake my head. “You and I are the only ones who know about it. I like to come down here sometimes to watch old timey people doing old timey things.”
Eden traces the edge of one of the warning stickers. “Are they really that dangerous?”
“When they’re not stored correctly, yes. Until 1951, film was made using a nitrate base. Super unstable stuff, but they didn’t exactly know what they were doing back then. As technology advanced, films moved away from nitrate bases towards acetate or polyester bases, which are a lot less hazardous. Of course, everything we film nowadays is digital, but I still think—” I stop myself, realizing how long I’ve been rambling. “Sorry.”
Eden shakes her head. “What are you sorry for? I think it’s fascinating!”
“You do?”
“Of course. I love how your whole face lights up when you talk. It’s obvious how passionate you are about movies.”
“Do you want to watch one?”
She nods. “Yes, please.”
I walk over to the projector and turn it on, inserting a film reel at random. I feed the film through with the utmost care. Before we both know it, an image appears on the projector screen. The video quality is piss poor, but this footage was taken ages ago, well before World War II. There’s no audio, and large parts of the film have been blurred with time and mishandling, but it’s still cool to see what life was like back then.
I head over to the recliner and take a seat, patting my knee. An invitation. Eden sits across my lap, her arms circling my neck as we view the film together. I’m not actually watching. I’m too distracted by the lovely woman in my arms to care. I dare to brush a loose strand of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“What made you so interested in movies?” she asks softly.
I take a deep breath, searching my thoughts. “It was the one thing my dad and I could bond over.”
“You weren’t close?”
“Not in the slightest. He was a war vet. Fought in Vietnam. When he came back, he settled down with my mother and they had me. I don’t know what he was like before, but I knew him as a quiet man, always on edge. I found it hard to talk to him.”
Eden frowns. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”
“Hm.” I tilt my head to the side, letting it touch her temple. I absentmindedly stroke her shin with the pad of my thumb. I like how she’s curled up on my lap, comfortable. “The only thing that seemed to break him out of his shell were movies. It gave him the chance to escape, I think. They gave him a couple of hours of peace. I’ll never forget the day he let me go seeCaptain America.”
Eden smirks. “Um… Didn’t that movie come out in the 2010’s?”
“Yes, but I’m talking about the 1990 version.”
“There’s a 1990 version?”
“Yep, that’s just how old I…” I trail off without meaning to, awkwardness lingering in the air. The topic of our age difference has come up once or twice, but I don’t know if I want to sit down for that conversation.
“Was your father the reason you wanted to become a director and producer?” she asks, charging on through to avoid an uncomfortable lull.
“I wanted to become an actor, actually.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye. “Really? How did I not know that?”
