Between the Frames

by R J Dent

Once the cartoon was over, the projectionist paused the projector and turned the house lights up. Far below, in the darkened cinema, the audience began to file noisily out of the auditorium.

          Edgar, the albino projectionist, waited impatiently for the room to empty before finishing his work. He reversed the projector’s ratchet, then pressed the blue button. The film began to rewind onto the huge spool.

          As the machine whirred, Edgar placed the other film reels shown that evening into cases and the cases into the rack. He slipped covers over machines, then checked that the room was tidy enough for the next day. It was.

          Edgar was in a hurry because he had a date with Emily Watson -the waitress from the Laguna restaurant- and tonight looked as though their relationship might develop into something more than the kissing and touching bouts that it consisted of at present. Therefore, Edgar wanted to get out of the projection booth and along to the Laguna, where Emily would have finished serving the last customer and would soon be free to go dancing.

          Suddenly more impatient than ever, Edgar reached out and switched the rewind button off. The machine stopped whirring, then fell silent. The film had almost rewound to the beginning, but not quite. There were still about ten metres of film left.

          That’s good enough, he thought. Besides, it affects no one else but me. I’m the one who’ll have to sort it out tomorrow.

          So, having justified his actions, he performed his quick, ritual look out at the screen. Nothing. He didn’t remember switching the projector beam off, but it was off, so content, he slipped his jacket on and opened the booth door. He took a final quick look around his place of work, switched the house lights and the booth light out, then shut the door firmly and locked it. He then made his way down the stairs and out of the building.

          The reason for him not remembering switching the projector’s beam off was because he hadn’t. The bulb was slightly loose in its socket, that was all. When Edgar had looked at the screen, the connection had not been firm and so the light had gone off. This had made him think that the machine was off. It wasn’t. So when he had slammed the door shut on his way out, the bulb was jiggled in its socket and had then made contact with the terminals. The bright beam abruptly came on again, illuminating the section of film that had been stopped in mid-rewind. Because Edgar had not rewound the film fully – had in fact stopped it in mid-frame – the picture on the screen was divided. The top half was of a woman wearing a grass skirt, dancing for a man who was sitting on a sofa, a light bulb, connoting an idea, illuminated over his head. On the floor at the woman’s feet was a duck-billed platypus. It was looking up the woman’s grass skirt.