My back was to the door when he entered. Woven betwixt a room full of inane chatter, the words, "Preacher Man's back," stood out like a white thread in an all black tapestry. Slammed with 8 tables and just sat with 3 more, I had no time to turn in his direction. Tables needed to be cleared, menus to be dropped, ice creams and sorbets, by law, needed to be verbalized - all natural, all house-made, and all delicious. Our first meeting would have to wait since most annoyingly, Annoying Guy at table 6 seemed to be having a Sophie's Choice moment deciding between the Hanger and Strip Steaks. Clearly, as evident by the popped collar of his pink Polo, this man lacked all basic decision making skills. This may take awhile, so stuck in great anticipation, my eyes slowly wandered to the mirror hanging behind table 6, and for a moment, I was lost. I saw my reflection awash in the youthful glow of the room. I like how I look in this room. Dimly lit, the small flickering candles centered on each table, the soft glowing globes of light hanging from above, and in this space, 10 years have been erased - smooth skin, no wrinkles, jet black un-peppered hair. In the mirror, 10 years of lost hope, found.
In the mirror, I also saw him. Standing in the back, quietly preaching the word of God, he stood stony while the managers and the waiters tried to gently walk him out. I saw his eyes, his crazy eyes, and in them, I saw something familiar. Too familiar. In the mirror, our crazy eyes met. Locked in, distantly separated by tables and chairs and a hundred people dressed in black, but in the mirror, we were only inches away...so close to each other. In the mirror, I saw his familiar confusion, his familiar fear and he saw me, recognized the same in me. And to every one's surprise, he stopped his testifying and screamed out the words, "Oh my God! Paul-David? Is that you?" (Gulp) I guess all crazy people do know each other.
Our paths have crossed several times in the last 10 years. When I first met Preacher Man, aka Edgar DuHaven, he had been working the register at the Sunset Boulevard Blockbuster Video Store. Edgar's dream was to be a film maker, and while his professors saw in him much potential during his one semester at USC Film School, the pressure got to great. His already fragile mind began to crack and the meds he took to help, only dulled all creativity. Sane enough to know film school, at least for now, was not an option, he dropped out and applied at Blockbuster, pouring all his remaining film knowledge into that little blue vest and within a very short period of time, he claimed the title, "Employee of the Month". For now, that would have to do.
He was fired for renting out his own privately filmed bootlegged versions rather than the highly edited, family-friendly fare Blockbuster is known for. He tried getting another job but was exiled from all other Blockbusters and blacklisted among the tightly knit video store community. Without this job, he was a man without an identity, without his job, he was no longer Movie Guy. Lost in LA, he eventually lost his apartment, lost his mind, and found himself on the street where we met for the first time. Edgar, a budding psychotic movie maker, and me, just a plain psycho joined at the hip, spending the next few months filming the greatest movie never made.
Now he's Preacher Man, self proclaimed prophet, truth seeker and occasional motivational speaker. Wow. Wait till I tell Heather Mary.
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