ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND HASHTAGS
“You and Stacia started that art-and-poetry account. It’s new but it’s starting to take off. I’m sure your followers would be willing to share info about us in their stories.” I point over to Youssef. “And you’re popular on all those projectionist film forums, do you think you could put out a post about our situation?”
“My online buddies would eat this shit up,” he confirms.
“Great! Mateo, your actor friends love movies, and I’m sure I can get Dr. Tanson to shoot out an email blast to the film studies department. Plus, she has tons of…” The key player in all of this suddenly becomes clear to me. “Excuse me for a second.” I race up to my room, phone at the ready. Oscar gave me his number before the New York City trip, so I click the contact and connect the call.
After the second ring, he answers, “Hello? I’m about to lose service any second.”
The robotic subway voice beeps behind him: “Beware of the closing doors, please.”
“Hi. It’s Wren. I’ll be quick.” I’m breathless with anticipation. My mind is submerged in visions of what could be. “Before we drop the podcast episode, I have a huge idea and I need your help.”
“Of course,” he says, sounding jovial. “Whatever it is. I’m in.”
Twitter Thread
@DontYouForgetAboutPod
Our nation’s drive-ins are at risk of dying out. Don’t let @WileysDriveInWV be the latest casualty of big business. Join me in supporting #TheLittleDriveInThatCould with our latest episode discussing #AliceKelly and her lost filmChompin’ at the Bit(1978) with special guest.
37 replies. 256 Retweets. 708 Likes.
Thread
@DontYouForgetAboutPod@RolandOnTheRiver14 is a manager and long-time employee of the drive-in. He’s leading the fight for historical preservation. Please SHARE this message far and wide. See the links in our bio on how to let the Willow Valley Borough Council know you DO NOT support demolition.
@DontYouForgetAboutPodEmails, calls, and letters appreciated! Once we’ve emerged victorious, join us for a special screening of the film on August 14. It’s an undead night of film history not to be missed!
Chapter 27
By Friday, we’ve gone viral.
#TheLittleDriveInThatCould is everywhere—from Twitter to TikTok to Tumblr. Avery asked Stacia to draw up a logo for our cause. Within hours, we had it slapped on stickers; T-shirts; stamps, of course; and more, all up for sale on Etsy with Mom’s expert help.
Local news picked us up as an unfolding story, dropping updates on their social feeds. Online film bloggers are echoing our call to action, citing developers as the death of cinema. It might be a reach, but I appreciate the gravitas.
We even got a brief ticker byline mention on a national morning news show since one of the hosts grew up going to a drive-in just like ours. It’s all moving and gratifying and scarily exciting.
I stand, surrounded by my core people, in the vestibule of the municipal building as the Borough Council meeting gets set to begin. There’s a podium off to the side of the room Alice, Earl, and I barged into only a week and a half ago. I will give my formal address from there.
My note cards shake in my hands. I donned my best bespoke suit, popped in my contacts, and fastened my popcorn-patterned bow tie to the white collar. Mateo made no mocking mention of my love of novelty attire this time.
Avery makes last-minute adjustments to my hair. Mateo runs a lint brush down my right arm. Even Claire is here, doting on me, dotting a blotting sheet across my nose so I don’t look shiny on camera. Or rather,cameras.
Yes, cameras. I panicked when I saw the news vans pull up and the primped reporters jump out. The local news and press have been allowed access to the meeting, severely limiting the number of townies that can attend. My parents are already seated up front. Alice and Earl are close by, chatting like long-lost friends. There are kids from my high school scattered throughout. Every Wiley’s employee wore their staff T-shirts in a strong show of support.
I know a bunch of people here have my back, but when the council members, mostly in their fifties and sixties, file into their seats, wearing much nicer suits than mine and looking irked beyond belief by the media frenzy, I freak out.
“This is your eleven o’clock number, babe. You got this,” Mateo says.
Claire grabs another oil sheet. “Keep your numbered cards in order, and make sure to make eye contact.”
“But not too much eye contact,” Avery warns. “You don’t want to come across like a creeper.”
“You’re giving me a lot to think about.” All eyes are on me. I’m a ball of rubber bands wound together too tightly. If one more person plucks at me, I might snap.
“Just go out there and do your best!” Avery says.
