This story is less of a story and more of a moment in time, a dreamlike scene that has become a phantom, haunting my memory. I was living in a little apartment on Clay Street in Santa Cruz, we lived in the top left apartment in the quadplex. The residents of the apartment below us had just moved out, they were a stoner couple who always seemed to be either fighting or having sex very loudly. I must say, it could get a little irritating but they were nice people and they threw great parties that we were always invited to. The guy hated our landlady with a passion, he was constantly telling us horror stories of fights between the two of them and then he would confide in us his plans for revenge. We all would laugh and then a somber silence would set in as we realized that we couldn’t wait until our leases were up. His ended, sooner than ours, and he was out like trout. I later saw him in a meadow on campus, some friends and I were filming a movie and he was sitting out in the field alone smoking weed. He was lighting his pipe with a magnifying glass, it happened to be a beautiful day, he told me he had broken up with his girlfriend. 

Well, moving on, out with the old and in with the new. The new residents of 137 Clay St Apt 1 were two young girls, sophomores if I recall. They were both perfect, beautiful beyond belief, with long dark hair and model figures. We became friendly in a neighbor sense, they borrowed a screwdriver, we borrowed a cup of flour, hello how’s it going, kind of thing. Well later that quarter I was doing a film project and I needed a pretty, skinny actress for a bit part. Either one of them would be perfect so I decided to ask them if they would like to participate. If there is one thing that I have learned from film school, it’s that everyone wants to be in the movies, even if it is only a bad student film.

I went down to their apartment one afternoon, it was still early, probably around three or four. I knocked on the door. From within, they told me it was open. I opened the door, and found the strange sight, the dreamlike scene I speak of. The door opened onto their living room where they had two couches, about five feet apart, facing each other, and a coffee table between them. The shades were closed and it was very dim. They were sitting across from each other on opposite couches. The strangest part was their hair, they both had their hair up in an elegant do that would only fit in at a royal ball in some time long ago. It reminded me of Audrey Hepburn’s hair in the ball scene of My Fair Lady. They sat poised and regal. They were dressed like normal students, in jeans and some casual top. They were smoking cigarettes and the smoke wafted through the air and the columns of light that were peaking through the shades. They didn’t turn to look at me, they just sat, looking at each other, smoking their cigarettes and looking unnaturally elegant. I asked them my favor and they politely accepted. I walked back up the stairs in a strange daze, wondering if perhaps it was a dream, feeling a little embarrassed for interrupting, I don’t know what. I thought only briefly about why and what they were doing, but I quickly realized that I didn’t care. In fact I don’t want to know. The mystery of it is so beautiful.

Here is a little story, the following events are all true.

Elliott and I had just moved in to our new place on Myrtle St. in Santa Cruz. Kane, our housemate had not yet moved in. Let me describe the house for it is a character unto itself. It was a little two story back house, built over a century ago. In front was a garden which had not been maintained since the original owners lived there. Bushes, trees, and vines had their way with the walkway and lattice work. The back was right up against a narrow, ancient alley, people occasionally walked through, leaving their empty beer cans and cigarette butts along the way. When you entered the house you were met with the smell of a hundred previous residents. The odors of every meal ever cooked in the little kitchen stuck to the walls and carpets and united to give it its unique flavor. The walls creaked and moaned with any movement. When you looked at the door jams long enough you realized they were all crooked, built at slight angles. There was a downstairs bedroom and a loft upstairs, Elliott and I lived upstairs. So much architecture was crammed into such a tiny space that there was a blind corner every few feet, going down the stairs, to the right, further around to the right, and to the bathroom. I soon learned that during the day the place was quaint, at night it was something slightly more than creepy. 

Less than a week after we moved in Elliott went on a vacation with his family, leaving me alone for a week. The summer was winding down, school would startup soon and I must say, I enjoyed the peace and quiet, during the day that is. At night I was on edge. Every creak of the stairs, every unexplained shadow strained my eyes and perked up my ears.

It was on such a night when it happened. I was in the bathroom and something caught my eye in the bathtub. The tub, which was a free standing, legged antique, sat right under an eye level window which opened onto the alley. Inside the tub sat about seven little spheres of a dough-like substance. They were white and about as big as a golf ball. My already stressed brain did not know how to handle this new information. I was sure that they were alien eggs. If you have seen half of the sci-fi movies I have, you know that nothing good could come of this. I looked up and saw that the window was open slightly, I slammed it shut and locked it. Not letting my eyes off my new visitors, I looked for something long to poke them. My heart was racing, my mind was racing faster, and I was sure that I had been propelled into a movie. I was hoping that this was a G or PG family film. If it were rated PG-13 or R, I was either going to die or have to defeat them and it as going to be violent. After poking one of them I found that my dough hypothesis was correct, they definitely had a dough-like consistency. I leaned down ever so cautiously to see if they smelled, they did indeed. They smelled just like pizza dough. Okay fine, so they aren’t alien eggs, they are little balls of a yeast based dough. The question still remained, what the fuck were they doing in my bathtub? And then I reminded myself not to curse, one more F-bomb and this would have to be PG-13. The next logical thought was that they were dropped in here by some kind of dough ball killer. This was his mark and I was sure to be his next victim. It was getting late and I was too tired to keep reeling over this so I closed the door, went upstairs, pulled the covers completely over my head and went to sleep.

I woke up the next morning grateful to be alive and wanting a logical explanation. When I looked into the tub I found that the balls had risen. This proved that they were indeed balls of dough, they were twice as big as the night before. Still careful not to touch them, I pried them off with the delicate, scientific, poking instrument: the stick, and put them in the trash. I concluded that someone must have been walking by in the alley and dropped them through the window. To this day I do not know why. I think about it from time to time and it still puzzles me.

I am going to take this opportunity to acknowledge Elliott Callahan, without whom this blog would not be possible. Thank you. 

Second order of business: My film The Heart is playing tonight, Friday October 24 in the Small Films Festival at the Berkeley Art Center. I am very excited. I am trying to work myself up to have the courage to meet some of the other filmmakers. I will let my readers know how that went at later date.

And finally, I want to encourage anyone who reads any part of this blog, or the website in general to participate and comment, also feel free to contact me regarding anything.