Story Frame 17 – The Man in The Mask Returns (With Half a Million Dollars)

I was struggling in the role of single parent, but I found it easier than being married.
I loved having the kids to myself on the days they were with me. In her memoir, The Giant on the Skyline, writer Clover Stroud describes these feelings perfectly as “the maternal intimacy of single motherhood.”

During the days Zoë and Leif were with me, I filled our hours together with music, art projects, books, micro soccer and small adventures. Even now, all these years later, hearing the voice of Annie Lennox or a song by Everything But the Girl brings back sweet muscle memories of those days.

But married or single, there were still days and nights of stressful parenting. The midnight ER runs clutching a child with the blue lips of asthma, holding onto the little hand of a toddler who’d just been bitten in the head by a dog while emergency room doctors worked on her wounds – those moments were left to me to handle, as Steve thought I was better equipped to deal with them emotionally. He was probably right.

There were so many things people thought I had the strength to handle. And so, somehow I did, keeping the pain and fear to myself in the blackness of my midnight sleepless thoughts. Keeping my worries from my sick sister. From my parents. But being the strong one carries the inconsolate edge of feeling so utterly alone.

On top of everything else, Steve and I were both plagued and frightened by calls and letters from the IRS demanding money we didn’t think we owed. Talk about low-hanging fruit. I wanted to suggest to each one of those bastards who threatened what precious periods of calm I was able to muster that they should emulate Willie Sutton and ‘go where the money was,’ instead of threatening people who were only just barely making ends meet.

One day, a bouncer-type menacing IRS thug actually showed up on my doorstep. I was so startled and upset, I actually yelled at him.

“Who the hell are you to show up at my house and frighten a single mother with two young kids and no money!” I think I may even have added the words, “Shame on you!”

To his credit, he actually looked flustered at my reaction, then a bit ashamed. Miraculously, he retreated to his vehicle, never to be seen by me again.

Who does this kind of work for a living, bullying and scaring people, I wondered.

I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was doing something I loved, even if it didn’t pay well. Documentary filmmaking might sound cool as a profession to anyone who doesn’t realize documentary filmmakers need to raise every single dollar they pay themselves, pay others, and spend on production. Like a nest filled with clamoring baby birds, it’s a never-ending vicious cycle of needs, mouths to be fed. Much like my home life.

Unless you’re Ken Burns, it’s a profession and craft that rarely offers a steady paycheck or standard perks like paid vacation and health insurance. Much as I would have liked to continue seeing Dr Paul Peckar doing those tough times, I simply couldn’t afford to. So, it was a surprise one day at the documentary workshop when he phoned me.

“Kristin!” his distinctive voice once again boomed into my ear. “Have a minute?”

“Of course,” I said, unsure of what was coming.

“I think I may have a project for you!” he said enthusiastically. “Can you stop by my office sometime this week?” he asked.

What kind of project could a psychiatrist have for me? I wondered, hoping he’d heard of a job with steady pay and benefits.

When we met up the following week at his office, he got right to the point.

“A friend of mine is involved in a large art commissioning,” he said. “And I think he wants to make a film about it. So I told him about you!”

His words so surprised me that for a few moments, I was uncharacteristically speechless.

“I don’t really know what it’s about,” he continued. “But I think it has something to do with a wall and a church.”

As he gazed down at me through his mask, looking for my reaction, the expression in his eyes softened. “And maybe a piece of art,” he added, thoughtfully.

Art? That got my attention. I asked for more details. He told me what he knew about it. The piece of art was to be a 37-ton, 780-square foot frieze, carved from Italian marble. It would be one of the largest art commissionings in the entire country at the time. And his friend wanted a documentary made about it.

“You interested?” Paul asked.

Was I interested in making a documentary film about art? My entire body lit up with the buzz of possibilities.

“Yes, absolutely!” I replied.

I thanked him but he brushed my words aside good-naturedly. He just wanted to help me, he said.

Suddenly, I felt a lot less alone in the world. Instead of thinking of myself primarily as a single mom, this new vision of myself as a documentary filmmaker, or at least part of a documentary filmmaking team, was slowly coming into focus.

I couldn’t wait to tell Martin and everyone else at the workshop the good news. We’d still have to convince Paul’s friend we were the right team for the job, of course, but with Martin’s credentials, I didn’t think that would be a problem.

And I was right, his credentials would win us the project. But then a different problem came up that I didn’t foresee.

Coming up next: The Nun From New Orleans & the Near-Death Experience