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Gather here with us before the flickering screen, the grainy flash-frames whizzing by in the mind of [REDACTED], a protagonist and narrator as reliable as they come. He has to be reliable-not only is he a journalist, but this time it’s his own story he’s telling, for once, instead of someone else’s.
Make that former journalist. Now that our humble narrator has been downsized from his career perch at the biggest birdcage liner in town-and far too young for retirement-he is frozen in his tracks. To where will his words turn now?
Where else but the past, which as Faulkner said isn’t even past, especially for a man whose youthful dreams still reside right around the corner from the newspaper office in the university media arts classrooms where he learned narrative filmmaking, not reporting the news?
If only he could consult with his old college friend Kunk, long dead of suicide, his old mentor might have insight. Or perhaps Camille, a forever-friend for whom the protagonist still pines after thirty years, a different breed of pain.
Alas, [REDACTED] must rely only upon his own memories as he reconstructs the truth about Kunk, Camille for whom our melancholy narrator remains unrequited, and most of all himself, their time together in the mid-1980s growing so hazy that his college days have begun to seem, almost, like some sort of long-ago, twice-told fable….
