Wrap Party

“I’m scared. I’ve dreaded this day since I was a kid.” Robert’s voice was labored and hesitant. Millie dabbed his chin with a tissue, absorbing the saliva that he could no longer control. “Where am I going, Millie? What will happen to me?

She moved her attentions to his forehead and addressed the perspiration. “It’s a big universe, darling. I’m sure there’s a place for you.”

“Oh, God. I’m falling into something. I’m falling. I … I love you, Millie. I want to breathe. I can’t … Millie, please …” A huge gasp, the twitching of his limbs, then silence. Robert was gone from the life he had known. It was all over.

“Cut! That’s it, people. It’s a wrap.” Robert, in his spiraling maze of darkness, heard these words very clearly. He realized that he was still conscious and not quite separated from his former reality. He opened his eyes.

Millie was standing over his hospital bed along with Doctor Cho, but they were not alone. The room was filled with nurses, staff workers, relatives, former sweethearts, classmates, co-workers, and his mother and father; all of them smiling and applauding him with enthusiasm. Partitions and walls were pulled away and a bevy of busy beavers sporting walkie-talkies were engaged in breaking down the room, moving tables, chairs, and nightstands. As each partition fell away a battery of blinding lights appeared, but were being dimmed one by one as at least three bulky movie cameras were being waltzed about on dollies.

The ovation continued as a short, bearded man with his hair in a ponytail moved through the throng and offered his hand. “Good job. Congratulations.” Robert took a moment to find his voice.

“Are you God?”

The room exploded with laughter. The man smiled. “Close, but no cigar. My name is Goddard, same as Jean Luc, but a bit more assessable to the common sensibility. You can call me Jerry.”

“Jerry Goddard?” Robert reached out to take his hand. It was solid flesh. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Am I dead?”

“In a sense,” Jerry Goddard explained. He was clearly amused. “Robert … the Robert you were … he’s dead for all intents and purposes. You are still here.”

“I don’t get it. I’m Robert.”

“Not any longer. Your wife is no longer your wife, your parents your parents, your children your children. You have no identity.”

Robert was totally bewildered. “What are you saying? Millie is right here. There are my parents.”

“Yes, your parents are here too. Unusual, isn’t it?”

Robert was just beginning to grasp the moment. “Wait … they died. Years ago. Where have they been?”

Jerry Goddard sat on the edge of the bed. “Central Casting. That’s where everyone goes now. You too.”

Robert gazed at the crowd around his deathbed Except for the crew running back and forth, every face was familiar. They had all touched his life in some way, and they were all sympathetic witnesses to Robert’s epiphany.

Robert’s focus now returned to Jerry Goddard. “Central Casting? Like what, this has been a movie or something?”

“Yeah, something like that? These good folks are all actors. They all played a part in what was your life. You were the star, though you weren’t aware of it. I’m the director. You don’t know me, but I’ve been with you every step of the way.”

Robert was laboring to connect the pieces of this complex puzzle. “But what about Millie? She’s my wife.”

Millie moved closer and put a hand on the director’s shoulder. “I’m an actress. I played the part of your wife. It was a lovely role.”

This admission affected Robert severely. His eyes fixed on his parents. “My mother? How was that a part?”

Mom fielded this query. “I played your mother in the story of your life. It was your life all along, honey. As it turned out your father, a very fine actor, was a wonderful colleague. I think we worked very well together.”

“That’s the truth. I think it was some of my finest work,” his father added. “You kept us on our toes, I can tell you that.”

Robert looked back at Jerry Goddard. “What happens to me now?”

“Ah, you’re beginning to adjust,” Jerry Goddard reassured. “Right now we are going to feast on some excellent chow provided by Craft Services. This is your wrap party. You can reminisce with these good folks. You might not see some of them much after today. Then you’ll go to Central Casting and wait for a part in someone else’s life.”

“Wait a minute.” Robert was beginning to figure it out. “My whole life was a fantasy? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes. And you were the star. Everyone gets a shot. Now you’ll be the support for another star.”

“But if everyone gets to do this once, that will take forever.”

Jerry Goddard smiled. “That’s what we have … forever. The rules of your former reality don’t apply in the reel world. You’ll find that much of what you, as Robert, held sacred in your life is just artifice and fancy. Don’t worry about it. You’ll adjust. So, my friend, it’s been a pleasure working with you. Now go and celebrate with your cast. This is your party.”

 “I’m still in a state of shock,” Robert imparted as he once again shook his director’s hand. “Though I suppose it’s preferable to being dead. And to think, I obsessed about it for much of my life.”

Robert stood up and followed Jerry Goddard to the buffet table. As the director departed to attend to some business with his crew, he patted the former Robert on the back “The concept of death makes a script so much more dramatic. It lends a sense of immediacy to the plot.”

The guest of honor, adapting to his new reality, began to mingle with his cast mates with remarkable ease. Everyone was hugging everyone else while negotiating drinks and platefuls of food. Millie admitted to relishing her role as his wife and answered, when he asked her real name, “None of us have names except when we take on a character.”

When he encountered Teresa, a former flame that he had seemingly taken ages to get over, he was momentarily inhibited. She broke the ice with a warm smile and a hug. “I’m sorry it ended as it did between us,” she revealed. “There was nothing I could do. It was in the script. Do you remember what I said when we broke up?”

This was not difficult for him. He recalled it clearly with a tinge of long-ago grief. “I remember you said that I was too self involved; that I thought it was all about me.”

She smiled and placed her hand softly on his cheek. “See, I was right after all.”

©2011 by John Cannatella