Page 2 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime
The note is pretty much as I expected: enthusiastically upbeat.
And, for the now officially middle-aged recipient, an unwelcome wake-up call.
I can just picture the bright-eyed young me hunched over her writing desk beneath the Tom Cruise posters, surrounded by stuffed toys and a stack of dog-eared Dolly magazines, imagining a more glamorous future for herself.
She’d be giggling at some of her more outlandish predictions, sharing a joke with me across the decades.
But even with her tongue planted firmly in her cheek, she absolutely believed that I could achieve anything.
That my life would be extraordinary. She never planned for anything less.
Sitting at my grown-up desk all these decades later, I am ashamed that I have veered so wildly from her script. I have let her down on every single point.
I’m not a journalist or a writer. And I’m certainly not starring in any fitness videos.
I don’t even have a gym membership—although my mother has taken it upon herself to solve that particular problem.
I live in a smug, upper middle–class suburb, rarely venturing beyond the city limits.
Travel is limited to Western-style luxury resorts.
And as for my relationship with my mother, the woman remains an oversized and overbearing presence in my life.
By contrast, young Eva completed eight of her resolutions that year.
Okay, so she never did strut around in a bikini sans T-shirt.
And she still butted heads with her mother.
But she managed to check off everything else on that list. She even bought a pair of size 8 Guess jeans with her birthday money.
Whether she passed as hot or not, I’m not sure.
But given that she was wearing them when she acquired a very handsome and socially desirable boyfriend, she can’t have looked too bad.
I push the journal to one side and fire up the computer.
I don’t want to analyse my various poor decisions.
Not today anyway; maybe in another thirty-six years or so.
Much better to stick my brain in neutral and engage in some aimless scrolling.
A couple of cat videos. A quiz or two. I might even trawl through Facebook; the birthday wishes are always a pleasant read.
Last year, there were some very thoughtful greetings from people I couldn’t place by name or profile picture but it was nice of them to take the time.
Right now, I’ll settle for anything that will distract my mind from middle age, the empty bed in the next room, my wayward mother and my many, many life failures.
Facebook Messenger is flashing when I log on. That’s unusual. Most people know to text me if they want a response because I consider most other modern methods of communication to be the domain of young people.
Perhaps it’s Emily. Maybe she’s found time to touch base this year amid her various acting auditions and increasingly chaotic relationships. If my daughter is going to remember any birthday, it will be the one that I’d rather forget.
The possibility of hearing from Emily lifts my spirits. But only for as long as it takes to read the six words shouting at me from the screen.
Ernest Friend
YOUR HUSBAND IS HAVING AN AFFAIR!
From the journals and miscellaneous paperwork of Eva Reddy (Age 14)
March 8th, 1986
ONCE IN A LIFETIME
Based on a true story (And I’m not even kidding!!!)
Draft screenplay
by Eva Reddy
CAST:
Eva Reddy—Phoebe Cates
Jonathan Moore—Michael Schoeffling (or Tom Cruise if available)
Rachael Ezzy—Molly Ringwald
Depressed Girl—Ally Sheedy
FADE IN ON
1. EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD—LATE AT NIGHT
A party is winding up in a leafy, well-to-do suburb.
The camera tracks through the backyard of a single-level sixties brick veneer home.
It looks like a tornado has ripped through.
Empty beer cans and plastic glasses are strewn everywhere.
Bodies are passed out on the outdoor furniture.
From somewhere nearby, the metallic scratch of a lighter is followed by the bubbling sound of someone smoking a bong.
Teenagers giggle from the shadows. A mixtape of make-out music is playing from the house.
THE CAMERA STOPS TO REVEAL
A girl (EVA) sitting on the grass alone, her knees to her chin and a cotton blanket draped lightly around her body.
She’s pretty in an artsy rather than a cheerleader kind of way.
Her gaze is focused on the night sky but every now and then she looks down at her Swatch watch.
It’s almost midnight. She observes the hour, minute and second hands converge at the top of the watch face.
The time ticks over to midnight. It’s March 8th, 1986.
She smiles and returns to scanning the sky. Billy Joel croons in the background.
CUT TO
MALE VOICE
Do you mind if I join you?
EVA swivels her head. She looks annoyed at first, but her expression changes to astonishment as a perfectly proportioned body steps out of the darkness.
It’s JONATHAN MOORE. Sports star. School legend.
The most popular boy in EVA’s teenage universe.
The guy is genetically blessed on every level.
He looks like a vertically enhanced Tom Cruise.
He’s breathtaking—literally—because EVA immediately loses the ability to speak in coherent sentences.
A nervous rash creeps up her neck. She stares, gobsmacked, as her not so secret crush ambles toward her.
He stops and stands, hands in his jeans’ pockets, waiting for EVA to reply. She just keeps gawking at him.
JONATHAN
(Bouncing uncertainly from one foot to the other. He tries again.)
I was hoping you were up for some company. The last hour of a party is kind of lonely by yourself.
EVA
(She pats the ground and stammers, her rash and her anxiety rising incrementally.)
S-S-S-sure.
JONATHAN
(Lowering his magnificent body beside her.)
Although I have no idea why someone as pretty as you is sitting out here all alone.
JONATHAN offers EVA a lopsided, almost apologetic grin. His pick-up line—in the extraordinary event that it is indeed a pick-up line—is terrible. EVA looks at him suspiciously. Surely someone has put him up to this. She’s wondering what the punchline is and hoping she’s not it.
JONATHAN
(Passing a plastic glass of white wine.)
Here, I thought you might be thirsty.
EVA takes the glass. JONATHAN fishes a beer out of his jacket pocket, pulls the ring tab and raises the can to her.
JONATHAN
(Taking a long gulp of beer.)
Cheers.
EVA
(At last finding her voice.)
Cheers.
(She raises her glass.)
Let’s toast my birthday. I turned fourteen a few minutes ago.
JONATHAN
You did? That’s fantastic. Happy birthday. And yet another reason you shouldn’t be hanging out by yourself.
EVA and JONATHAN sit cross-legged side by side, not touching. JONATHAN is relaxed but EVA feels his presence like an electric charge. She scrambles to think of something to say. Up at the house, the tape skips ahead to a Foreigner power ballad. She needs to keep the conversation going.
EVA
This playlist is woeful. First Billy Joel and now this? I’m half-expecting ‘Endless Love’ to turn up next.
JONATHAN
(Waving his beer can at the source of the music. A lonely silhouette is crouched over the cassette deck, swaying mournfully.)
I know the girl who made the tape. She’s getting over a nasty break-up with one of the footy guys. I’m afraid ‘Endless Love’ is a very strong possibility.
EVA
Now I’m really scared. If Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie are on the playlist, what’s to protect us from horrors like ‘I’m Not in Love’? Or dare I even say it … ‘All by Myself’?
JONATHAN throws his head back and laughs, a full-throated belly laugh that makes EVA’s heart sing with all the octave-defying intensity of a stadium rock band frontman.
JONATHAN
Both in the running, I’m afraid. We might even be subjected to USA for Africa.
EVA
(Hunching over and slamming her hands to her ears.)
Off genre but the worst of all possible musical tortures. Does this girl have no mercy?
JONATHAN
What can I say? It was a bad break-up.
EVA and JONATHAN sit in companionable silence, waiting for the next assault on their musical senses. After a few clunks and false starts, the opening bars of Air Supply’s ‘All Out of Love’ drift across the yard.
JONATHAN
(Groaning as if he is in real pain now.)
This has to stop. Hold my beer, will you?
CUT TO
JONATHAN jumps up and races across the lawn, bounding over the rockery with the loping grace of a natural athlete.
CUT TO
EVA sits clutching her wine in one hand and the can of beer in the other. She’s terrified this has all been some cruel joke and JONATHAN won’t come back. She stares straight ahead, her face carefully neutral.
EVA has almost given up when Jonathan comes bounding back. Stevie Wonder’s ‘Happy Birthday’ fills the air.
JONATHAN
(Sitting down so their knees are touching.)
You are far too lovely not to have your birthday properly celebrated.
EVA
(Lying)
Oh my God. Thank you. This is my favourite song.
JONATHAN
(Taking his beer and letting his fingers graze EVA’s knuckles.)
I promised our lovesick DJ that I’d set her up with another guy from the team if she found this track in the host’s record collection. My offer was obviously very motivating.
EVA and JONATHAN fall back into silence, listening to Stevie Wonder and staring out into the night. Jonathan edges closer as the song ends.
JONATHAN
(Placing his hand on EVA’s shoulder.)
Do you mind sharing your blanket?
EVA nods a little too eagerly. This can’t be happening. Not only is JONATHAN MOORE talking to her, it seems he is making some kind of move. It is incomprehensible. JONATHAN rearranges the blanket around their shoulders, looping his arm loosely around her waist.
JONATHAN
I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these parties before.