As I often do on a Saturday night when the boy is with my parents, tonight I went to the movies. Alone. The list of current films I want to see is long, so I chose based on movie theater and start time. I went to see “Shame,” a film about emotional availability and having it in either too much or not enough amounts. The movie takes place in New York, and there is an incredibly moving scene in which Carey Mulligan sings “New York, New York.” New York is my home, and I am far away from home. I like seeing reminders of its existence. The main character is a sex addict, and the film contains scenes so raw, so honest, they hurt. It was beautiful and hard to watch.
The movie ended around 11:30. I should have gone home; I didn’t.
Instead, I decided to see another movie. I chose to see “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” I wasn’t sure if it was something I should see. I loved the book and didn’t want it ruined. Also, the subject matter so closely mirrors my own life experiences. The book was difficult for me to read, and I was a wreck during and long after the reading. As is my nature, I weighed the pros and cons of seeing the movie, decided it was in my best interest to not see it, and then got in my car and drove to the movie theater.
I drove to the movie theater (the theater where I saw “Shame” does not offer midnight showings), purchased my second movie ticket of the night, held my breath and waited for the movie to start.
Movies never just start.
The first preview was the re-release of “Titanic.”
We saw “Titanic together, him and me. We saw it at the movie theater on Broadway and 84th. I picked the restaurant, he picked the movie. (A benefit of his early death is his inability to deny my claims.) He picked “Titanic.” I teased him about it. I teased him that night and many nights after. He picked “Titanic.”
Tonight, sitting alone in a Las Vegas movie theater, while waiting for a movie about the day he died, I saw a preview about a movie we saw together.
Life is fucking ridiculous.
***
I like to think of myself as pretty self-aware. I know (usually) how I will react in certain situations, what situations I should avoid, which ones I should seek out. Knowing a thing and doing a thing don’t always go together.
Things I do that I should not:
Smoke.
Drink in excessive amounts when out alone.
Not speak to people for days/weeks/months/years at a time.
Obsess over things that can not be changed.
Also:
Sex with strangers.
It has happened on more than one occasion (although, to be honest, I don’t keep a tally), that I will go on a date with a very nice gentleman. We will have a good time. The evening ends. He will walk me to my car. And rather than driving home, I drive to a bar, alone. More times than not, I leave that bar, not alone.
I feel no shame.
In tonight’s first movie, there was a similar behavior. Meet someone nice, say goodnight, find someone temporary.
It works.
Temporarily.
But seeing it on screen was difficult. I saw the hurt that inspired the destructive behavior. I saw the hurt the destructive behavior caused. I saw myself.
Tonight’s second movie was about a child whose father died on “the worst day.” He wandered my home looking to answer questions that can not be answered. I saw how absurd it can be to try to make sense of the senseless. I saw how obsessing over the past only destroys your present. I saw myself.
In one night, I saw myself through the eyes of a sex addict and through the eyes of a child.
Life is fucking ridiculous.
***
Jonathan Safran Foer is a very visual author. “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” ends with a flipbook. It is of the “falling man” picture that was taken on that September morning. But rather than the man falling down, the pictures are reversed so that he is falling up.
He is falling up.
***
When “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” ended, I sat in the theater, crying, motionless. The tears weren’t from sadness, at least not completely. The movie is hopeful. What else is it to be human than to be hopeful? At the end of this movie, through my tears (a very human phenomenon), I was so goddamn glad to be a human.
I am so goddamn glad to be a human.
Life is fucking ridiculous. We hurt, each of us in our own way and each of us from different things. We hurt, and we do things to make the hurt go away. I’m not naive enough to think that hurt one day won’t exist. But maybe when we fall, instead of falling down, we can fall up.
