mr. hollywood

by Christie Chapman

My cousin Jack went to a casting call on a lark, and they chose him to be an extra in a Civil War movie by Steven Spielberg. For several hot months, Jack put on a fake-bloodied historical costume and played dead on a battlefield. One time Spielberg himself walked through the scene, correcting the placement of extras’ fallen rifles and limbs, rearranging bodies. He moved Jack’s arm into a different position. Jack told this story to everyone he knew.

We started calling him “Mr. Hollywood.” The brothers he beat up as kids now joked that they wanted to be part of his entourage.

My mom always said Jack was a "bad seed." Born bad. Mean. Going nowhere. We were all relieved he’d found something to be proud of. He talked about other casting calls, other movies. Maybe his buddy Spielberg would hook him up.

When filming was done there was a premiere for the cast and crew. Jack went with some friends. He sat in the theater and got ready to see himself on the big screen. His friends would nudge him when he appeared, and they would celebrate with booze afterward. This was his night.

He never saw himself up there. His scene got cut. No one had told him this would happen – he simply didn’t appear.

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BIO: Christie Chapman's work has been published by The Lascaux Review/The Lascaux Prize anthology, Ghost Parachute, ARTWIFE, The Argyle, The Good Men Project, and Washington Writers' Publishing House, and nominated for Best Microfiction. She is very friendly on Instagram (@christielauryn).