Family Matters: The Mr. Dressup Story - Part One

The lights, bright studio lights, dimmed down for the end of the night. The heat quickly began to dissipate from the faux outdoor set. The bustle of bodies cleaning, securing, milling, talking, made for a cacophony of sound, which echoed across the plywood walls, turning from a dull roar into a painful crashing and hollering.

Ernie was in his dressing room trailer, peeling off this week’s clown face paint. Slowly, he dropped all of his stage pretexts, and was ready to abandon his Television home for the night.

As he walked out of the dressing room, he looked over to see a light still on at the treehouse. Well, not at, but in. Ernie walked over, and peered into one of the windows.

A pen was furiously dragging across the page as a little pair of hands worked hard. Ernie watched unseen as those little plastic hands scrawled away at the paper, pages filling quickly.

Around the forth page of text, Ernie could hear a new sound coming from the little treehouse. A playful bark leapt up at him, breaking the silent contract between the man and the scribe.

“Finnegan, you old dog.” Ernie reached down and scratched under the dogs chin. “Oh, what have you been in?” Ernie’s hand was damp. He smelt the moisture, and smelt of strawberry wine.

“Casey… I thought you were not going to drink that wine anymore.”

A little voice answered back. “I just needed to take the edge off to help the ink flow, Sir. Just one glass was all. Finny got half the glass anyhow.”

“Casey…” Ernie’s voice was filled with disappointment. “You know any alcohol breaks your probation. If it happens again, I’m going to have to report it. That is the last thing I want to do. This show is nothing without you…”

“Don’t worry, Sir. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, right Finnegan?” A happy little bark answered back.

“OK, Casey, I’ll take your word this time. But this time only. I’m worried about you, my boy. I don’t want to see it happen again…”

Ernie didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and walked away. As he left the set through the lot gate, he thought to himself will I ever have the guys to tell the officer about the wine? It seems to be happening more and more often.

The lights went bright, the film started to hum, the crew grew silent, and Ernie started to glow. He started his journey, making the children understand today’s concepts, all with a song and a laugh.

Soon, the script asked for some outdoor attention. Ernie gathered his glow and left the children’s minds out to the square. The brown treehouse stood solemnly in the courtyard, a faint breeze tickling the leaves into a dance.

Ernie worked his magic, a gentle word here, a magical glance there. He was and is a child at heart with all the magic and passion of a god.

A call went out and a little light flicked to life in the treehouse.

At fist, nothing happened. Nothing.

Silence.

The cry came out again and a worried look came over Ernie’s face. A slight yelp could be heard from behind the closed door, and quickly that yelp turned into a furious barking.

Ernie motioned to the camera men to cut the video. He went to the treehouse as the crew hastily tried to find something to fill the dead air with.

Ernie swung wide the little door to the ghastly scene. On the floor lay both man and dog, blood everywhere. Wait, the dog wasn’t lying; it was nudging Casey, trying to wake him. Ernie reached in and picked up the man.

“We need paramedics…. Now!” The crew sprung to action, and had an ambulance on its way in minutes.

“Not again, Casey”… Ernie was crying. “Not again, my boy.”

It all started back where Ernie and Fred were inseparable. They crossed the border together, they lived together, they worked together, they did everything together.

However, things started to fall apart when Fred started to hang out with a new crowd. He called them his little kingdom.

They were the weirdest bunch of hooligans you’ve ever met. From a strange Northern British town, they were positively tiny. Not one was over a couple feet tall. They were a strange mountain group, some dressed as animals, some like royalty. They came to Canada to see what this “New World” held. Fred and a few others started to show them around Toronto, up and down the streets.

A few nights in, Ernie started to hang around with them too, trying hard not to lose his friend to these tiny interlopers.

This first night in particular, they all got together at a jazz bar to hear “Rusty’s Bag”, a new local jazz band. They all got a booth by the windows and sat together admiring the large man’s hands as they blew away at the trumpet.

Introductions all around: Cat girl, Owl man, etc. The only one who struck Ernie as entertaining was the old school teacher. He took to introducing himself to the Mrs. Robinson, and she giggled back.

Alcohol lubricated a downward spiral from introductions to goodnight kisses, back at Ernie’s flat.

In the morning, she was gone.

Four months later, Fred was long gone. He had taken his crew, his Kingdom with him, and they had gone back to America, his passport and Visa expired, there’s forged. Ernie had started his new show alone and put on his big fake grin, his mask to hide the pain of losing his best friend, his only real friend.

After a long show, he sat at home with a glass of whiskey and a squawking television. There was a CBC news report about the latest events in the Western European world.

Sipping from his whiskey, Ernie’s ears perked up when he heard his phone ring. He picked it up:

“Hello?”

“Hello Ernie. You might not remember me, but we spent a night together. I’m Fred’s friend…” Ernie could feel where this conversation was going…

“I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

Ernie swigged back the rest of his whiskey.

“I’m going to see a doctor about it. Fred knows some people, thought he already hates himself for doing or thinking it.”

“I understand, I guess.” What do you say to the women carrying your child about abortion?

“I felt you had a right to know.” The phone line went silent, dead.

“Thank you for telling me, I –”

“Goodbye, Ernie.”

“Goodbye …” He couldn’t remember her name through his tears. The phone made an ominous click.

Years passed.

Something grew in Ernie’s mind, some old forgotten memory, some repressed and hidden nightmare. But like true repressed desires and nightmares, it haunted him every night near without fail.

He cried sometimes for no reason, but mostly, he just repressed more.

Even his show took on a symptom of his repression. He always wore the big smile and magic always flowed; his happiness was perfect, the perfect mask. He started to dress up and live other realities, live in the imagination instead of the real.

One day, there was another ringing phone, this time at work.

A small voice answered his wandering greeting.

“Mr. Coombs?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Casey. I’m a huge fan, and I was wondering if I could talk to you one day. You knew my mother. She’s from the Land of Make-Believe…”

The words perplexed him. He didn’t know what to make of this voice. It sounded… familiar.

“Sure! Just let your mother know first, alright?”

“I… can’t. I was hoping to meet you today, Sir.”

“Probably not today, little one, I’m very busy.”

“Please Sir; I don’t have anywhere to stay. My mother said I could trust you… she gave me this number to call when I got here…”

“Alright,” Ernie paused. “What about your father?”

“He’s dead, Sir.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m at the store by the station.”

“I’m going to get you, hold on.”

Standing in the rain outside, there was a small, tiny boy, and a weird little dog. They immediately met and locked eyes with Ernie. “Hi, Mr. Coombs.”

“Please, call me Ernie.”