Give Me a Happy Ending Any Old Day

by Edd

It started with An American in Paris, that Gene Kelly movie. My dead mother, who had never left Des Moines in her life, was in the café scenes watching Gene and singing along to “S’Wonderful”. She loved that film.

Good for her, I say. And good for Kellie Manx, my high school sweetheart, for appearing in the books of Mark and John in the Bible. She’s the one walking on the water with Jesus, instead of Peter. Somehow I always thought she’d be the sort to do that.

Constantin Dinescu, a fellow clerk at the law firm where I work, got run over last week and wound up in an old Woody Guthrie song. I don’t really know if it’s appropriate or not; we didn’t talk that much.

Hold on a minute. I guess that means Kellie’s probably dead. Bummer.

I’ve asked around, and nobody else is noticing their dead relatives and friends showing up in books or movies or songs or whatever. They look at me kind of weird when I ask, too, like maybe I’ve been smoking the wrong stuff.

I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s a way to make a buck at this. My first plan was to bet a guy in a bar that my mom was a film star, then show her the movie. But she’s only in that one movie, so far as I can tell, and it isn’t that big a part, and I probably wouldn’t win much that way anyway.

My second plan was to sell the rights, kind of like insurance, I guess. I went to Trevor, my best bud, and said that for a c-note I’d stick him into Spider-Man comics. At first he thought I’d got a writing gig, but when I explained it to him he just laughed.

I don’t have a third plan yet. I’m still working on it. Don’t invite me to any horror movies, though. My dog died recently and I really don’t want to see him in one.