starlightsentinel

[starlightsentinel]

Double or Nothing, Chapter One

One night I dreamt of a faerie who challenged me to a game of chance and stole away my sleep. The next night I spent in a restless haze, unable to sleep a wink. The next night was the same, then the next, then the next. By the fifth night it was clear that the dream had been real, that I really had played that foolish game and wagered away my ability to sleep. Or at least it had been a metaphor, a portent of things to come, a warning from somewhere deep in my subconscious. By this point I was tired beyond belief, and even the simplest tasks required great effort, but the world wouldn't stop just for me: I still had to go to work and buy groceries and pay rent. Soon enough I was fired from my job due to what my manager described as a "decline in performance". I had a little money saved up but it soon became clear I had to move into a cheaper apartment. So I did, a tiny place downtown with no kitchen and a leaky roof and nextdoor neighbours who partied every night. I went for walks around town, hoping they'd tire me out and cure my insomnia, but I every night was a sleepless one no matter how tired I was. One evening I walked to a local noodle bar and ate some dinner there alone (over the last few weeks I'd fallen out of touch with my friends, and not knowing how to reply to texts like "everything ok?", "you seem distant lately", and "hey what's up" I'd simply ignored them until they'd given up on trying). After dinner I headed back home but soon realised I could no longer remember where exactly home was, that I was walking down an endless parade of identical-looking streets with identical-looking houses, like something out of a cheap cartoon. So I took a left at the next street corner and found myself in some kind of commercial district I hadn't visited before. Everywhere was closed except a 24-hour laundromat and a building with a sign that said "Midnight Cinema" in fancy cursive lettering, like a "The End" title card in an old Hollywood film. With nothing better to do I shrugged and stepped inside the midnight cinema, surprised to find several people milling around in the main lobby, chatting excitedly with one another. I'd never been to a cinema this late before, but I could recall former friends and workmates mentioning attending midnight screenings of big blockbusters, and I assumed the theatregoers were here for some exciting new film. I paid for a ticket and asked the impossibly old man at the ticket stand what exactly I was about to see, for the ticket itself was a gold-coloured sheet of blank paper with no indication, and come to think of it I hadn't seen any movie posters or “now showing” signs out the front of the cinema. But the old man evaded my question, simply saying "Oh, a marvellous film, I think you'll enjoy yourself tremendously, very much indeed."

I was starting to grow annoyed and was about to repeat my query more pointedly when I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I spun around and saw a man with long messy blond hair, probably in his late twenties or early thirties.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," he said, although it hadn't really been a conversation. "Tonight's feature just happens to be A Moment of Innocence (1996, dir. Mohsen Makhmalbaf). You ever seen it?"

"As a matter of fact I haven't," I replied in the slightly drawling monotone that comes with the territory of being sleep-deprived.

"Well you're in for a treat," the stranger beamed.

"Quite so!" enthused the old man. "It's one of the most popular films we show at the Midnight Cinema. Everyone seems to love it."

"You've chosen a good night to come to the Midnight Cinema, my friend," said the younger man. "You here with anyone?"

I shook my head, a little embarrassed.

"Well, you're among friends here. You're welcome to sit with me and my crew."

I thanked him, introducing myself in a tone that couldn't muster enthusiasm but roughly approximated gratitude.

"My name's Alec," pointing out a group of strangers who saw us and waved, "and this is my crew."

Just then a sharp sound chimed out, and I spun around again to see the old man at the ticket stand striking purposefully at a triangle.

"Time to file in," he announced. "The picture's starting soon. I do hope you all enjoy yourselves this evening."

As a matter of fact I did. It was a charming and seemingly lighthearted Iranian film which focused on the relationships between two middle-aged men and the two youngsters who had been cast to play them in an upcoming movie.

It was easy to follow and mercifully short, and I left the theatre feeling that the experience of watching it had been worthwhile, even though I had the feeling a lot of the film’s dramatic subtext had gone over my head.

Alec and his crew (five others to whom I still hadn't been properly introduced) were beaming and discussing memorable moments from the film as if they'd just seen it for the first time, even though Alec had implied earlier that he'd watched it before.

After we left the cinema they invited me somewhere called the Fox Hole. Not remembering my address or how to get back there I agreed to tag along. On the walk to the Fox Hole I learned the names of the rest of Alec's crew:

Yuki, Nico, Michel, Angelo, and Nuke.

Alec, Yuki, Nico, Michel, Angelo, Nuke, and I sauntered into an impossibly small and impossibly still open café/bar hybrid and sat ourselves down at what appeared to be the only table in the whole building. The place was lit by coloured lightbulbs that dangled from the cavernous ceiling. Alec ordered drinks and tapas from an exhausted-looking server. I tried smiling at her sympathetically, wondering how much she'd slept in the past few days, but I decided my smile probably came across as ridiculous at best and sinister at worst. My ability to control the muscles in my face had long since faded (smiling felt kind of like moulding shapes out of hardened clay with your bare hands), so I just sat and listened to Alec and his crew, who all wore the same kind of ridiculous oversized grey jacket, and who all seemed very interested in art and music and literature and film.

Nuke went on a long diatribe about the works of Jacques Derrida, with whom they seemed to have a very complicated relationship. I'd never read any Derrida so the conversation was totally beyond my grasp, not to mention I wasn't exactly running at full capacity to begin with.

Nevertheless they kept turning to me and asking what their new friend thought about this or that linguistic concept, and, absurdly, wanting to appear cultured in front of the crew, I acted as though I had in fact read Speech and Phenomena, and had similarly mixed opinions on that work. Nuke and the others seemed satisfied by my responses, no matter how insubstantial they came across.

The conversation shifted from book to book to book, and a couple of times throughout the night Alec put his arm around my shoulder and asked for my opinion on this or that novella I hadn't read yet, or if I was feeling okay, I seemed a little quiet.

"I'm fine," I muttered, cringing at the banal artifice of what I was about to say, "just tired."

"That's OK, friend. Need to be heading home soon?"

It took some effort to stop myself from bursting into tears.

I tried explaining that I didn't know where home was anymore, if it had ever even existed at all.

"Ah, don't worry about it," said Alec. "Some of my crew are between homes as well, or have been. My pad has plenty of room, so join my crew and stay as long as you want."

"Y-you sure?" I stammered, staring at a lightbulb dangling just beyond his face, illuminating its pores and crevices. "I barely even know you."

"Sure I'm sure," he said, and sure enough I was the newest member of his crew.