Cat food and snappyhappy stories
One of my old commercials comes on the telly. Cat food. Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ plays as the fur-ball (white as snow) ambles aimlessly around the (white as snow) backdrop, apparently unimpressed with life, until she spots the bowl of food. She speeds up, still managing to look languid and aloof. Takes a haughty sniff. Tucks in. Cue logo.
We had to drizzle honey over the food to make her eat it.
Dan looks over at me and smiles. He remembers the story about the honey.
‘Didn’t that cat scratch the entire crew raw that day?’ he asks.
‘Yep. She looks divine but she’s pure evil.’
He reaches for the remote.
‘Do you mind?’
I shake my head, no, and he flicks, murmuring to himself, ‘Fifty-seven channels and nothing on.’
He pauses on SBS, looking for a doco, but there’s nothing there either.
‘Any word on them finally screening “Kids Behind Bars”?’ he asks.
‘No. Apparently we’re saturated with detention stories. Compassion fatigue, they call it. They want something different. Something happy. “Snappy and happy” is actually what the commissioning editor said to me.’
‘But they bought it. Why don’t they just put it on?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ I say.
I can’t be bothered trying to explain to Dan how the system works. It’s nice of him to show an interest in my work, but he’s never done it before, beyond the necessities of my travel itineraries. Now he’s clutching at relationship straws and it smells of desperation. We’re looking for dusty conversation at the bottom of a drought-stricken lake.
‘Do you think you might make one of those snappyhappy docos? Or maybe some more ads?’
‘Ava’s only 18 months,’ I say. ‘Are you worried about money?’
‘No, not so much…’
There’s something else he wants to say, so I wait.
‘I know that you’re busy, don’t get me wrong, I know Ava’s a full time job and then some. It’s just that I wonder if you’re…bored?’
Bored. The word stops me. Do I have the right to be bored? Isn’t what I’m doing too important to be boring? It’s too hard to think about, so I change the subject.
‘I don’t think I can make those sorts of films again. It seems unbearable now, to immerse myself in human misery. I don’t have the fight in me anymore.’
‘What about the snappyhappy stories, then?’
I look over at Dan, in his pyjamas already, even though it’s only 8pm. I try to conjure some feeling towards him, something warm, but there is nothing. No hatred, but no love either. Is there such a thing as a complete absence of feeling in a marriage? It’s not supposed to work that way. Shouldn’t I at least be mad at him?
There’s nothing snappyhappy about the look Dan is giving me, nor about the look I’m giving him, I suppose. I’ve slipped into the cracks of my life and it’s dark in here. Dan turns to the remote and settles on a channel – reality TV somethingorother.