It was the boot up sound to an HD system just before a movie begins. A soft amber glow streamed from recessed lighting in the carpet and dispelled the darkness. The return of his sight caused his keen sense of smell to ebb. If he thought the television in the study was huge than this movie theater sized screen in front of him was mammoth. An antique style popcorn maker and six leather recliners, complete with cup holders and massage remotes, were the only other furniture in the room.
The screen slowly lit and the lights dimmed as soft percussions began to play a slow beat over the Bose sound system, coming from every direction. He knew those cymbals. The Paramount Pictures Mountain appeared on the screen just as the first bell tolled and the beat picked up. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
Mase laughed. “I thought you’d like this.”
Tom Cruise’s name faded onto the screen, expanding about a foot per letter and Sean was pretty sure he had a boner. The whole spiel about the navy finding the top percentile of pilots played on the screen and Sean and Mase both recited it without reading a word. They had it all memorized. It was something every guy knew.
When they reached the last line they were each smiling, recollections of reciting the litany of words a hundred times before, played through his mind. “Today, the Navy calls it Fighter Weapon School. The Flyers call it:” They waited for the screen to change and the gong to bang then roared, “Top Gun!” What a bunch of assholes they were, but no matter how old you were, if you had nuts, you still got a rush when you heard the intro to Top Gun.
The whistle of the wind blowing over the aircraft carrier was a work of theatric art on the sound system as it sung with the percussions. When the radio instructed the pilot he felt like he was in the fucking cockpit. In that moment he was Goose and Mase was Mav. The jet fuel burning out the back of the plane on the runway bellowed as though it was right next to his head. The floor vibrated with the treble and base and then…fuckin’ A, they were headin’ to the danger zone.
As Kenny Logins rocked out “Highway to the Danger Zone” a nostalgic rush of adrenaline zipped up Sean’s spine and he smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time. This was the shit he’d been missing for the past thirteen years. Perfect Mase, always doing as he should when required, was still perfectly okay with just goofing off and being a regular guy for the fun of it.
“What do you think?” Mase yelled over the roar of the jets taking off. The bass was so alive Sean could swear his hair was blowing back.
“What do I think? Are you crazy? This shit’s insane! I love it!”
“Ready for this?”
He hit a button on the universal remote and a light came on along the right wall. Suddenly a mantel began to rise from out of the floor. Thirty seconds later they were facing a wall of back to back DVDs. There must have been over two thousand.
“Shut. Up.” Sean walked over to the display. It was out of this world. The disks were organized by genre and then alphabetically. They even had color coded stickers on the spines of the cases to identify them.
Mase lowered the TV so he didn’t have to shout. “Just so you know the sound won’t work if the door is open. It’s all wired to function only when the room is set for optimal performance.” As he spoke he randomly pulled about a dozen DVDs from the shelf and just as randomly slipped then back into different slots. “You can help yourself to whatever you feel like watching and if you want popcorn all you have to do is hit the switch and fresh kernels will be popped and buttered for you in no time.”
Sean was speechless. What was there to say, really? This was probably the coolest room he ever set foot in. Mase knew he would love it. He didn’t have to tell him, but he would anyway.
As he opened his mouth to do just that Mase grabbed another stack of movies. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”
Mase stilled as if he was doing something out of habit and hadn’t realized that mixing up a perfectly organized display was weird. “Uh, I do it for Libby. She sometimes runs out of things to keep her busy and she likes to organize stuff. I’ll tell her I noticed some cases were out of place this week when I sense her getting restless and she’ll come in here and feel better when she’s done.”
Sean didn’t want to overstep, but he had to ask. “What’s the deal with her? I’m not trying to be a smartass,” he quickly assured him. “I just don’t understand.”