Tate

Side by side, sitting three rows back from the screen, we waited with baited breath for the movie to start. The red velvet curtains parted. The crowd, which had been whispering while we waited, fell silent.

The opening scene was exactly what I’d hoped for, but not at all what I’d come to expect from the film adaptation of a book. A little boy sat on the beach, twisting a piece of wire as he gazed out at the vast ocean.

The camera slowly zoomed in on his hands. With precision, he worked the wire into the shape of a tiny – but very detailed – rose. Then, another piece of wire was twisted into shape. And another. With a delicate touch, the boy threaded the wire rope through the back side of the rose, and formed the ends into a perfect round shape. As the camera panned to a wide angle, taking in the entire horizon into view, the boy slipped the ring he’d fashioned into the pocket of his shorts.

Slightly out of focus, a man and a woman stood behind him, holding hands.

“C’mon, Becker,” the woman shouted. “It’s time to go.”

The boy stood and turned to face the couple. After brushing the sand from his legs, he walked to their side.

The camera zoomed in on the family as they walked through the sand.

“Here,” the boy said. “I made this for you.”

He handed the woman the ring. She raised her hand and slipped it onto the one finger that was bare. After admiring his handiwork, she lowered her hand and smiled at the boy.

“Thank you, Becker. It’s beautiful.”

The boy took her hand in his as they walked up the beach.

The camera switched views. The scene was now viewed from behind them as they walked up the beach, toward a palm tree lined street in the distance. The cloudless sky was the bluest of blue, just like I remembered it being when I gave my mother the ring that day on the beach.

From the speakers on the left side of the theater, a low rumble began. As the sound swept from left to right, a group of motorcycles, riding two abreast, rode across the screen. The filming went into slow motion as they passed.

The boy pointed toward the horizon. “What was that?”

“Hells Angels,” the father said. “It’s a gang. A biker gang.”

“A gang? Are they bad?”

The father chuckled. “Only when they need to be.”

The boy glanced at the last bike as it passed by. A tattooed man with a long gray beard lowered his right hand and gave a slight wave.

The little boy raised his hand in return. The camera panned to his face. A gleam in his eye and a smile on his face said what words could not.

One day, he would own one of those glorious machines.

Silently, we watched the movie. In all respects, it depicted the book with an accuracy that made me proud to have played a part in its development. The two hours and ten minutes passed quickly, with not a dull moment in the entire film.

As the final scene began, I squeezed Bobbi’s hand tightly. My only hope was that the crowd enjoyed the ending as much as I enjoyed writing it.

On the back porch of their home, an 89-year-old Becker and an 87-year-old Allison sat side by side in a loveseat and gazed out at the ocean. The camera zoomed out, showing that that were hand in hand, and then zoomed in on their weathered faces.

In her eighty fifth year, Allison had developed cancer. Despite Becker having sought the best doctors in the country, there was nothing else that could be done. Her time had come. Becker, on the other hand, remained healthy as a horse, walking two miles daily through their beachfront neighborhood.

Allison gazed at the ocean. Her gaunt face gave hint to her physical condition, but her brown eyes smiled nonetheless. They seemed as young as the day she met Becker.

She turned to face him and winced in pain.

Becker squeezed her hand lightly.

Her dry lips parted. As she started to speak, she tensed, closed her eyes, and then opened them.

“It hurts,” she muttered.

Becker, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, nodded once. He then turned to face her. His lower lip quivered. “How much longer?”

Her eyes fell closed.

When they opened, he knew exactly what she was afraid to say.

He cupped her left hand with his, taking one last look at the rind he’d fashioned for her so many years before. Wearing a smile that represented a lifetime of memories, he leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek, and then relaxed into the back of the chair.

“The only life I can imagine is a life with you,” he murmured.

Using every ounce of energy that remained, she grinned and then mouthed the words, I love you, Becker.

A lone tear rolled from the corner of his eye and then fell along his cheek.

She winced one last time, tensing from head to toe. He held her hand in his, knowing full well the pain she had endured. Her agony quickly ended, her body falling limp as proof.

Becker leaned over, kissed her forehead, and then rested his head on her shoulder. He fixed his gaze on the horizon and closed his eyes.

His grip on her hand loosened.

In front of the ocean that he so loved, with his head resting gently on Allison’s shoulder, Becker Wallace knew he couldn’t live a single moment without her in it. So, he let go, joining her as she floated out over the ocean and into the heavens above.

The camera zoomed out for a moment. Sitting on the loveseat side by side, with his head resting on Allison’s shoulder, it seemed Becker Wallace had simply fallen asleep with his wife. Slowly, the camera zoomed in, coming into focus on their hands.

The ring he’d fashioned for her so many years before glistened in the evening sun, still every bit as beautiful as the day he presented it to her as a gesture of his love.

Fade to black.

The theatre went from dark to light. Blubbering could be heard from the entire crowd. Nervous as to what the reviews would say, I glanced to the left. Peyton, Tegan, Joey, and Sandy were all wiping their cheeks.

Pee Bee was in tears, but that could be expected, considering the loss of his father.

I looked at Crip, who was seated on my left. “Well?”

He raised his hand between us “Give me… give me a minute.”

Clapping began. Whistling followed. I turned to face Bobbi. “Well?”

“I’ve read that damned thing fifty times, and I cry every time. It was great, honey. It really was.” She waved her hand toward the rear of the theatre. “I mean, really? Listen to them.”

I glanced behind me. The entire crowd was on their feet, cheering.

“I want ice cream,” Bobbi said. “With caramel. And some fried chicken.”

“Fried chicken sounds good as fuck,” Crip said. “Is there anywhere to get good fried chicken in New York?”

“We can ride those rented bikes around and find out,” I said.

I stood, turned to face the crowd, and tugged against the bottom of my kutte. Seeing the level of emotion in the crowd was all the reward I needed. The money I received had gone toward a modest beach house, new tires for my motorcycle, and our children’s college fund.

I reached for Bobbi’s hand. “C’mon, baby. It’s going to take us a while to get out of here.”

She stood, stretched, and then let out a sigh.

“You sure you’re up for the ride?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said. “Not crippled.”

I glanced at her stomach and smiled. In three more months, our little Allison would be here. Sitting on our back porch and staring out at the ocean was high on my list of things to do with her once she was old enough.

Amidst the throngs of A-list movie stars, the twenty-four of us waded through the crowd, and toward the front doors of the theater.

As we reached the door that led into the foyer, Crip turned toward the front of the theatre. “You made me proud, brother. You really did. Any word on the other five books?”

“They bought the rights last week to all five of them.”

“Can’t wait to see ‘em. I wonder who’ll they’ll get to play Crip?”

“Hard saying,” I said. “Contract says I have the right to refuse, though.”

“Good lookin’ out,” he said. “Better not be some dip-shit.”

He took one last look at the screen. Frozen on the closing credits, the message stood as an eerie reminder, and as a tribute.

Crip raised his clenched fist in the air and cleared his throat.

“Filthy Fuckers Forever!” he shouted.

Amongst some of Hollywood’s finest, twenty-three voices responded in unison, sending our message echoing throughout the theater.

“Forever Filthy Fuckers!”