Off To See The Wizard (Part 2 of 3)
Lit Fic, now in Technicolor
Part 1
Terry Coleman grew up in the Mississippi Delta, no stranger to a tornado siren. Pop Coleman worked in concrete and “redistributed” enough bags to build a simple storm shelter the size of three coffins. It stunk of death from mildew and stink bugs. It wasn’t Spring unless they spent at least one night in there hiding from the wrath of God himself.
When he got old enough, Terry was ordered to keep the shelter tenant-free during storm season. To this day, he can still smell a phantom stench of rotten coriander on his skin. Puts him right back with the six-legged plague in that hobbyist mausoleum underneath a grey heaven ripped open to punish the sins of man. To wit, Terry hated tornadoes.
And yet, his childhood obsession was The Wizard of Oz.
Pawing through the school library one day, he was captivated by a book cover with a colorful illustration of a happy, little girl pointing at a big, sad lion while a metal man, a scarecrow, and shaggy terrier watched. What could be inside those pages? What collection of words would make sense of that image? He read the whole series in a month.
A short time after, on the last day of VBS, Youth Pastor Elijah ran out of VeggieTales episodes to entertain the kids during snack time and popped on an old-timey movie he hoped he’d figure out how to tie back to Jesus at some point. Terry looked up from his ants-on-a-log to see a title card that looked an awful lot like the name of his favorite book. The tantrum he threw when Elijah tried to pull him away for afternoon lessons earned him four smacks on the backside courtesy of Pop’s broad, calloused hand.
He didn’t keep track, but he might ballpark the number of times he’d watched The Wizard of Oz in his life somewhere in the hundreds, minus the fallow year after they left Mississippi.
Their last April in the Delta, a hell of a storm kicked up. A tornado siren forced him away from his umpteenth viewing right as Dorothy was caught in a whirlwind herself. She got to blow away to a land of magic. Terry got to hear his own screaming harmonize with a screeching cyclone streaking over the shelter, the ruins of the Coleman home in its wake.
It was about a month of hospitality from family friends before Pop finalized their move to less windy Indiana, land of basements and camel spiders. Over that whole time, Terry had dissociated completely. His body was on autopilot while his mind was locked in the storm shelter, and nothing was changing that.
It wasn’t until they had settled into their new home that his mother thought to try whisking him back to Oz, but there was no way to go about it. The guts of their TV and DVD player were scattered around the old backyard in a pool of their own cathode tubes and silicon. A panic set in watching her catatonic child atrophy on the couch. The desperation inspired a one woman show: the entire movie, from memory, delivered with wanton, no-budget passion fit for Off-Off-Off Broadway.
Terry came back to life. Everything was going to be okay.
Until next Spring.
Soon as the first siren of the season went off, Terry was banished away to monochrome Kansas again to daydream of a colorful land where storms dare to tread. But Ma Coleman was prepared. Spent a year collecting hobbies until her hope chest was full of costumes, props, and set pieces. When the curtains opened, and the overture fizzed from brackish pawn shop speakers, the frozen little boy watched a full-scale production unfold. Then he was laughing and clapping by the time Ma held up a poster board with “The End” scribbled on, and everything really would be okay.
A full ensemble was cast later. Come Terry’s college years, Ma and Pop wanted to see more of the world now that he was all grown up. Meant Ma might not be able to be there during one of his spells, so she took a chance on asking for help from her boy’s new friends. And they were happy to help, in exchange for beer and a place to party out a stormy night. There was sin in their proposal, still her motherly love trumped Pop’s deaconship at the local church. The Lord had a mother once, he’d find it in his heart to forgive her this secret transgression.
For three years, Terry’s friends held up their end of the bargain, put the show up whenever clarions called them to his paralyzed side. Now they would be coming again. Terry wrenched open the curtains of a wide living room window to watch gray monsters swallow sunset sky and spit it out in a million pieces, and when a popstar’s song playing on the radio was interrupted by an emergency weather warning, he took up a comfortable position on the couch facing the window and waited for inevitable lock-in.
Lex was the first to make it to his house amidst an ominous break in rain. They hopped out of a beat up, lime green Geo Metro barely clinging to life. Slammed their car door hard enough to knock the front license plate loose and danced around to a song still playing in their imagination. Slipped their slight frame up the hood of the car and vaped Southern Illinois THC. A porch motion light kicked on. Lex made eye contact with Terry inside and waved hello. He waved back mentally, happy to welcome potential relief whether he could show it or not.
Must have already been out on a cloudwalk. Was that what they liked to call it?
Terry told Lex a thousand times that it’s a dangerous habit. He’s got a perfectly good barn's carcass gathering dust on the back acre, safe and sound to trip in. But once they said danger was part of the joy, Terry determined he’d never quite get Lex and never brought it up again. Just waited for a court date or an obit.
Pat was next. Slid his Beamer right up next to the Metro and aged it another decade. He joked around with Lex on their antique hood. Looked excited as all hell. Four years in the theatre program, and he’d only gotten cast once, in a student production too. Tornado season meant a guaranteed above-the-line part, even if it was for an audience of one friend with PTSD. And he was lucky to get it. His level of talent sat in an area of the spectrum reserved for legacy admissions whose parents’ names graced Special Thanks pages in programs.
Mark and Harper showed up next, swinging his pickup hot and wide into the driveway, stopping just short of Pat’s Beamer. Mark was a little unsteady leaving the driver side. No doubt a drink over legal, and Harper left the car yelling at him to confirm it. Terry had scolded him too, as often as he did Lex, but gave up on Mark sooner. Lex took it with the stride of someone glad to know death could be right around the corner. Mark was furious to know that life could be as well. A much more volatile defensiveness sprang from that.
Camila arrived last, presumed girlfriend tagging along. He would have liked to meet her under better circumstances. She looked sweet, if a bit fawn-ish among the wolves.
“Hello, darling!” Harper burst through the front door, beelining to the couch to flop next to him and rest her head on his shoulder. Mark followed behind, grumbling at the sight of them as he dropped into a La-Z-Boy. “Don’t mind him. He’s been gwumpy all day.”
She caught sight of a slip of paper in Terry’s hand, peeled back fingers to retrieve it. It read: Beer in big freezer under turkey.
Harper handed the note to Pat after everyone was inside. “Patsy, could you be a dear and get this party started?” Slipped him a wry smile full of promises for the delusional, and he jogged off to the garage believing in them.
“Terr-Bear,” Harper launched at Camila’s girlfriend, and Terry recognized a soul leaving a body when Harper showed her off like a concept car at a trade show. “This is Camila’s girl-toy, Hu-Hu!”
That can’t be right.
Hu-Hu furrowed her brows and let a lifetime of social programming extend a hand to a mannequin. “My name is Hua. Pronounced hwah.”
The thoroughly unshaken hand quivered, and Camila burst out laughing. Hua flushed and scowled at her. “What? Honey, I told you he’d be long gone by the time we got here.”
“Now, now. No fighting, lovebirds. We’ve got to give Terr-Bear his medicine.” Harper slunk away to the spare bedroom, where Ma’s hope chest lived. “Up and at ‘em, Marky!”
Hua tried to join everyone, but Cami put the brakes on her. “Why don’t you stay here and get to know each other?” And she laughed again as she left Hua behind to face the awkwardness alone.
You’d think she’d been left with a corpse the way she nervously joined Terry on the couch.
“This is weird.”
I’ll bet.
“So you’re, like, fully out of it, huh?”
That’s what they tell me.
“I think I get it. That frozen in place feeling when things get really scary.” She gave Terry a once-over. “But way worse for you, I guess…”
You could say that.
Hua slumped over, face in hands. “I’m a little jealous, though. I’d love to dissociate like that right now.”
You really wouldn’t.
She coughed up a giggle muffled against her palms. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Two statues on a sofa.”
Hardy-har-har.
“Ugh, sorry. That’s not funny.“
It’s okay. It’s kind of funny.
“…I shouldn’t have agreed to come here. I just…can’t say no to her.”
Go on.
“At least you’re afraid of real-life disaster. What am I afraid of? I don’t know… But it’s stupid, whatever it is.”
Fear is a monster, no matter where it comes from.
“Why am I even saying this? I’m talking to a vegetable.”
Hey now.
She gasped, whipped her eyes to his. “Oh my god, that was so messed up. I’m sorry. No offense.”
Only some taken. I did grow up on a farm. Terry pictured his hand slapping his knee. Dang. Sucks to have to keep that gold to myself.
Pat leapt from the kitchen swinging a thirty-pack of Natural Light, dregs of a pudding pop dotted around his lips. “Who’s ready to get fuuucked uuup?!" Scared Hua out of her skin. Terry too, but it wasn’t like he could be any more paralyzed. “My bad! Thought everyone was still here.”
The cardboard box was eviscerated in seconds, spilling its obliviating blood into Pat’s ravenous hands. He offered a frigid can to Hua. “Can I tempt you with a Natty Light?”
He never called beer beer, always used the brand name. As if it would earn him tickets he could redeem at parties for respect if he knew what beers were called.
Hua waved it away as politely as she could, but Pat’s an annoy-a-no-into-a-yes kind of guy.
His laugh was chilling and calculated, pitch black tarred. “C’mon, you’re gonna want to loosen up for this.”
Her laugh was chilling and calculated, red light alarm. “You’re probably right, but really, I’m good.”
“It’s not gonna hurt to have just one.”
She said she’s good.
“I’m good.”
Take the hint.
The plaid sweat-sack slithered a hand onto her thigh. “We both know Cami’s a bit of a party girl. Don’t you want her to think you’re cool?”
All light left Hua’s eyes, and then there were two statues on the sofa.
I swear to God, Pat.
The rest of the cast returned carting handicraft props and set pieces. They were all dressed for their roles in the movie. Pat’s hand found its way back where it belonged in a flash, and only the statuary saw where it had been.
Harper was always Dorothy, because of course she was, but Terry didn’t recognize her costume. Ma Coleman was a somewhat ample woman, with a Dorothy to match. Harper’s getup might as well have been painted on. He did recognize it from a trip to Spirit Halloween last October though. She tottered on ruby red pumps across the old shag carpet to pet Terry’s nose with a little stuffed Toto.
Mark was Scarecrow this time. Wore what he had on before but puffed to the max and leaking straw. He wandered to a corner to practice his songs in seclusion.
He’d never seen The Wizard of Oz in his life. Even after he joined this production, and the movie became a larger part of his life than he thought possible, Mark never felt compelled to do the research. But he had seen The Wiz once. In that year of high school he got a wild hair to join the chorus, their whole fall program was dedicated to it. The soundtrack was pressed into his brain like vinyl grooves, forever. Shame he was Scarecrow that day. Mark’s Nipsey Russell was way better than his Michael.
Cami was the Tin Man, unwieldy in a fridge box with armholes, glistening chrome from spray paint dating back to Terry’s model building phase. Her face was smeared all over with gray makeup. Her mouth creaked like metal. Lock-kneed, she waddled about the living room laughing her ass off at her own antics. It was ages before she noticed Hua frozen alongside Terry.
“You good, babe?”
Pat took off toward the spare room downing his beer, a child practically sprinting away from a broken toy.
“Babe?”
A waving hand dragged Hua’s dead eyes back to focus, and she sucked air, shaken awake from a nightmare. “…what’s up?”
“You okay?”
“Your friend. He…” Hua chewed on her lip. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
Cami seemed to catch on. “I’ll bet he was being a creep, right?” She leaned in close, whispered playfully. “I heard he’s been trying to hook up with freshmen.” Stuck a finger in her mouth and feigned gagging.
“Why’d you leave me alone with him?”
Cami took that like an arrow shot by a bitter enemy, held up her shield to block any others. “Pat? Don’t be…worried, babe. He’s harmless.”
Hardly.
Hua folded into herself, like she might get swallowed from existence if she made it all the way inside.
In the all-black of a stagehand and wearing a headset hooked to nothing on their fuzzy head, Lex set to work putting up the set. “Five minutes to curtain!”
A shout came from the spare room. “Thank you, five!”
Harper applied finishing touches on her makeup before grabbing a pile of fuzzy bits and bobs to thrust into Hua’s hands. “Usually, Lexi-poo is our Cowardly Lion, but we thought you’d be perfect for the role!” She grew a rictus, toothy smile, and Cami followed her lead, two beasts casting dark shadows over their prey.
Ah, there it is. Your real face.
There was a spark once, between Harper and Terry. Long time ago now, well before Mark. Amounted to no more than a hookup at a frat party, but that was enough to set a boy to planning moonshot romantic futures. He’d convince her to settle down in Bloomington with him, or he’d shack up in sin on the mean streets of Manhattan with her. Typical teen boner-driven insanity.
Except he witnessed her mask slip too many times. And then he wondered if she saw anything in them at all. Did he even want that? Why was he sticking around her? Some Christian guilt thing, he hoped. Hate the sin, love the sinner. Couldn’t be that he wanted her still. Couldn’t be.
You don’t have to do this, Hua.
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen the movie once, and I don’t remember it that well.” Hua balked.
Harper squished her cheeks, rolled them around in manicured hands. “That’s okay! We’re pretty loosey-goosey about it. Especially after a few drinks, lol.”
Cami stole the cheeks from Harper. “Please, baby. You gotta help us, or else Terry’s gonna be stuck that way.”
Don’t you dare pin this on me.
“Okay…” Hua slowly rose to don a poncho made from an old goldenrod rug, a pair of paws, and a set of cat ears. Harper attacked her with an eyeliner pencil with all the speed and viciousness of young boys pouncing on the first to fall asleep at a sleepover. Gave her a black button nose and whiskers.
Pat emerged wearing the half-and-half eyesore Terry’s mother patched together. One side good witch, one side wicked. “So, are we doing this?”
A roll of butcher paper was unfurled along the floor, last piece of the set. A yellow-brick road was painstakingly drawn all over it with ancient RoseArt markers Ma Coleman pinched from an art classroom at work. Lex covered Terry with a green blanket, opened a custom soundboard on their phone and set it on his lap. The cast took their places; all but Hua raised a beer for a traditional pre-show chug. The overture started up from the busted hi-fi. Then Lex placed a pair of green-tinted glasses on Terry’s face.
And like a slide into Technicolor, the magical land of Oz appeared before his eyes.
This is so cool, great characters and I really like the way the story unfolded