Kit: A Film We Didn't See

The projector failed ten minutes before the film was due to begin.

I knew the sound before the organiser announced it: a brief fan noise, a click, then nothing. People who work around equipment develop a particular silence when something is wrong. The volunteers by the screen had entered that silence together.

Nell sat beside me on a folding chair with a bag of popcorn balanced on her knees.

“Is that a normal noise?” she asked.

“No.”

“Normal in a fixable way?”

“I'm not qualified to diagnose it from here.”

She looked at me approvingly. “Good restraint.”

The screening was in the small courtyard behind the arts centre. A sheet had been secured to a frame, chairs borrowed from several rooms and a table set up with drinks. It was free, run by people who cared enough to spend their Sunday moving furniture. The film was a gentle old comedy called The Last Bus to Anywhere, which neither Nell nor I had seen. The title had made her suspicious on grammatical grounds.

We had checked the date, the access and the arrangements. We had not asked the projector whether it intended to remain employed.

A volunteer called Matt came over to explain the delay. He recognised me from the theatre and asked if I could help check a connection. I could do that much, so I went with him while Nell guarded the popcorn. We tried the ordinary checks he had not already done. Another volunteer rang the person responsible for the equipment. Nobody let me pretend a few theatre sessions made me an expert on every electrical object in town.

The projector remained dead.

After twenty minutes, Matt announced that they would not be able to show the film. He apologised, explained how people could find the next date and invited everyone to stay for the drinks already made. Some left. Some stayed. A little girl asked whether they could act out the film instead, an ambitious proposal given that most of the room did not know the plot.

Nell came over with the popcorn.

“Technical verdict?”

“Not tonight.”

“Strong review.”

We helped move chairs under the covered part of the courtyard because a light rain had started. The remaining people gathered around tables. Someone produced a pack of cards. Matt began apologising to each group individually until Nell told him kindly that he had already delivered a comprehensive apology and was allowed to have a drink.

I watched her say it. She could be so gentle when she stopped trying to win the sentence.

We sat near the edge of the shelter. Rain tapped on the clear roof above us. The screen remained blank, moving slightly in the wind. Nell took out the notebook.

“What do we write?” she asked.

“That free events can still have problems. Check the current listing, but have a plan if it doesn't happen.”

“Like popcorn and a disappointing courtyard?”

“I've been in worse courtyards.”

She smiled. “So have I.”

We began inventing the film we had missed. Not a full story, only what the title suggested. Nell thought the last bus should go somewhere nobody admitted wanting to visit. I thought it should be driven by a woman who knew every passenger's secret and mostly wanted them to stop blocking the aisle. We disagreed about whether a dog should be involved. Nell said every film improved with a dog if the dog remained safe. I said the dog could operate the ticket machine.

By the time the rain became heavier, we had a bus full of people who were all going to apologise to someone and a driver increasingly unwilling to wait while they composed the perfect speech.

Nell laughed with her whole face. I had missed that more than I liked admitting.

“How was the music night?” I asked before I could change my mind.

“Good.”

I looked at the rain.

“Good.”

“Henry's nice.”

“Yes.”

“We're not going on another date.”

I turned back too quickly. Nell noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Why?” I asked, then added, “You don't have to explain.”

“I had a good time. I just didn't want to say yes because it seemed like the correct next step.”

I nodded. There was a dangerous amount of hope in me, looking for somewhere to stand. I tried not to give it too much room.

“Was he okay about it?”

“Yes. Disappointed, I think. Reasonable. I almost wished he'd been awful so I could feel more decisive, which is a terrible thing to wish about someone behaving well.”

I laughed softly. “A little.”

“I know.”

She offered me the popcorn. Our fingers met in the bag, a ridiculous detail I would have mocked if it happened to someone else. Neither of us made a joke. That made it worse and better.

When the rain eased, we helped stack the last chairs. Matt thanked us and said the next screening would use checked equipment. Nell asked him to send the confirmed information for the guide. She did not turn the failure into a cruel paragraph. She did not pretend it had been the perfect afternoon either.

On the walk home, she said, “We should include what happened.”

“The projector?”

“Yes. And what we did instead. Not as if people should always make the best of things. Just that an outing doesn't have to become worthless when one part fails.”

I looked at her. “That's good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am frequently surprised by you.”

She smiled, then looked down at the pavement. We walked the rest of the way sharing the popcorn until only the unpopped kernels remained.

I kept the photograph of the blank screen. In the corner, out of focus, Nell was laughing at something I had said. I did not put that one in the guide yet. I was not ready to decide whether it belonged to the work or to the part of the afternoon I wanted for myself.