My Awkward Valentine

For Valentine’s, I went out with some great girls for dinner and a movie, specifically sushi and a silent movie. I’ve been wanting to see The Artist since I first read about it back in November, but it’s been the waiting game until it made it’s way to less than metropolitan Texas. When one of my girl friends mentioned a few of us going to see it on V Day I thought this would be a great way to hang out with pals and keep my mind from the constant lurking to last year at this time… I’ve been doing that a lot since the month started.

Sushi was fabulous! Great food, better drinks, wonderful company. We all piled into my friend’s SUV and headed over to the one artsy fartsy theater I know I can count on for the non-mainstream flicks.

The Artist is really a very charming movie. Campy definitely, the characters are endearing, and the director did a superb job telling the story through the use of true facial expressions and acting – no dialogue to save a pretty face from a lack of talent. I found myself grinning through most of the picture. At one point I even thought this might be an interesting film to show my band kids to demonstrate the importance of music in cinema. I was having a good time.

The main character takes a turn for the worse as he finds his life not at all at a point his original path was leading. Down trodden and depressed that he has been forced from his lifestyle with the introduction of ‘talkies’, George Valentin returns to the home he previously almost burned down to retrieve a box. He sits down on the remnants of an arm chair, staring at the box, his loving dog by his side. George is not a very deep character. I’m imagining the fan letters in the box that are about to cheer him up and give him the strength and courage to take a risk and join this new fangled form of the silver screen.  As he opened the box, the course of my evening changed.

Elegantly nestled in white silk was a very small handgun.

My heart sank deep. I could feel my throat constrict. My cheeks burned. I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping against hope this was not headed where I saw it going.  What a horrible twist for such a lighthearted movie. At some point I realized no dialogue or sound effects were going to tell me if I was right. I opened my eyes to see the gun in his mouth, tears running down his face, tears that I realized mirrored my own. The soundtrack was silent, making this part of the movie I suppose more dramatic; I was trying so hard to keep my breathing under control. The little dog was jumping excitedly at George’s feet, begging him not to do it.

I couldn’t stand it. I closed my eyes again. This time I was met with an image I have successfully repressed for sometime. Please don’t do it.

I opened my eyes as George Valentin’s closed.  The title screen read, “BANG!!!” I held my breath.

The next scene was of the love interest, who has stolen her driver’s car to run to George’s aid, crashing into a tree, startling George and ripping him from his depression-fueled plans. The audience laughed at the clever twist. But I wasn’t laughing. I hadn’t taken a breath yet.

When I was fairly positive I could exhale without drawing attention to myself, I let out a heavy breath. I was so broken hearted. I tried to stay as quiet as I could, but I cried the rest of the movie. I’m honestly not sure exactly how it ends so I can safely save you a spoiler. As the credits started to roll, I took off my glasses and hoped that I was adequately rubbing clean my surely mascara streaked face. The four of us stood to walk out of the theater. I was silent. So were my friends. One of them rubbed my back on the way out, asked me if I was okay. Of course I was.

I’m really good at wearing my mask. I don’t think anyone has seen my breakdowns at school. I’m great at using humor and sarcasm to keep a conversation from getting too deep, at least around the subject of “how [I am] doing”. The problem with wearing a mask for any length of time is you start believing it to be true. And I said, “yeah” when she asked me if I was okay.

I made it out of the theater as quick as I could because a second longer and I would have cried right there in front of everyone, but I made it outside just in time for some raindrops to hopefully camouflage the tears I couldn’t control. I truly think that if it weren’t February 14^th, two days from the day that changed everything, I could have held my composure. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. Maybe it’s true.

The trip back to our cars was silent. I’m really good at being the center of a conversation with nothing to say. There have been lots of those this past year. Ordinarily I think I would have felt awkward, but instead I just felt sad and empty. I doubt that’s the response the director expected from his silent era throw back. I’m pretty sure my friends felt awkward. Sorry about that…  By the time I was in my own car, the flood gates emptied the emotion I was trying so hard to contain.

I’m home. I’m safe. I’m snuggling with dogs. I’m cried out. I’m really tired. But purging my thoughts into the written word is my choice of therapy right now, so I’ll end my first and awkward Valentine’s with a blog.