#yopossum

“You Bug?” Clint asked the man, shrugging his shoulders as he eased by stacks of televisions and speakers, turntables and stereos. He clenched his arm protectively around a bundle he kept tucked tight against his leather jacket.

The man, Bug, blinked and nodded. “Yep. You sellin’ or shoppin’?” He set down the small screwdriver he’d been holding with a clink and leaned forward over the counter, inspecting his customer.

Clint approached the counter and slid the black plastic box out from the safety of his arm, setting it down between them. “Neither. Need to get what’s on this tape digitized. It stopped working.”

Bug peered down his nose over the tops of his frames and hummed skeptically, inspecting. “It’s pretty worn out, buddy. Won’t be cheap. Can’t promise it isn’t damaged beyond recovery.”

Clint shook his head vehemently. “It’s important. Cost doesn’t matter. When can I pick it up?”

Bug scrutinized the case again and sighed. “If I can get it recovered - IF - it’ll be done in a couple weeks. Payment’s due upfront, I’ll call when it’s ready or I quit. Name for the order?”

“Clint Flood.”

“Alright, I’ll ring you up over there.”

———

Twelve days later, Clint had been staring at the non-blinking answering machine like he could will a missed call into it, his patience frayed and knuckles cracking, when the phone finally rang.

“Clint Flood? Bug here. Got your stuff ready. Come and get it. Open til 6.”

———

That night, Clint eased back into the worn armchair, phone pinned to his ear with his shoulder. “Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Laughter buzzed against his cheek. “Alright. TV on?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. You turn on the receiver first. Got that?”

“Mhm.”

“Then you turn on the DVD player.”

“I did that and it’s not playing. I think Bug screwed me over.”

More laughter. “I’m sure he didn’t. Did you push the button on the receiver that says DVD/VHS?”

“…of course I did. Just… give me a second.”

“Liar. Do that.”

Clint set the phone down on the side table and pushed out of the chair with a grunt, bending down in front of the tv to push the DVD/VHS button on the receiver that he had definitely not pressed the first time. Collapsing back in his chair, he lifted the phone again with one large, weathered hand and the DVD remote with the other, old gold wedding band glinting in the blue light from the screen.

“So now I just press play, right?”

“Yep! That should do it.”

Clint pushed his thumb against the white triangle button and the blue screen changed to a black menu with plain white text - CLINT FLOOD RECOVERED VHS PLAY. He pressed the button once more and the screen filled with Grace’s bright smile, her bouncing curls, hyper-saturated but still not nearly as vibrant as she’d been in life. He sighed with relief, sinking into the upholstery as his watery vision went slightly soft and blurry.

Clint heard his own voice, decades younger, chuckling through the television speaker - Hey pretty mama. Look at you. God, you’re gorgeous. And the softer, giggling response, on-screen Grace rubbing her hand across her swollen belly - Oof! Your kid is kicking me. Saying hi to Daddy!

“Sounds like it’s working now?”

“It’s working. She’s back. Thanks for your help, honey.”

“Of course! Happy to do it. Talk tomorrow?”

“Talk tomorrow. Goodnight baby girl.”

“Goodnight Dad. Say hi to Mamá for me.”

Clint hung up the phone and smiled at the tv. “Hear that, Gracie? Our girl says hello.”

Grace fluttered her long dark lashes and blew a kiss to the camera, edges of her slightly fuzzy and warping from the old film. Love you baby.