October 18–19, 2004 — Constellations

Today I’m remembering a night I went to a movie in high school. I think I’ve remembered it before and written about it here. Maybe not.

I remembered it tonight because I found a movie ticket for a movie that I went to see by myself a few weeks ago. The movie wasn’t particularly bad or good, and it served its purpose by not providing me with any memories. I wanted that afternoon to slip away more quickly than most afternoons, and it did.

Now I’m wondering if I still have the movie ticket from high school. I’m sure I could figure out which movie it was if I searched online for it. I think it was directed by the person who directed The Hulk a few years ago, except this movie was about the 1970s. I think it was based on a book. I haven’t seen it since I saw it that one time.

There are two scenes I remember from the movie. One was near the beginning. It was in a car, and a father was talking to his son. He was telling his son not to masturbate in the shower because it wastes water, and I remember that part because I laughed so nervously. I was in a movie theatre with the only girl at school I’d had a crush on since learning how to have crushes on girls. Two of her friends were there, too. It wasn’t a date, but it was more than I ever expected or hoped for.

The other scene I remember from that movie was in a pool. I don’t remember anything else about it. Just that there was a boy and a girl, and they were talking while sitting or lying or standing in an empty pool. I remember liking the feel of that scene and of being where I was while watching it.

After the movie we waited outside. I don’t remember who came to get us. I remember it was very cold out; it must have been winter. I didn’t remember that until now. A van picked us up, so it wasn’t my parents who had offered to drive because my parents have never owned a van. I sat in the very back with the girl I liked very much. There were a lot of things on the seat between us, and she sat furthest from the door. I found a booklet of paint chips on the seat and played with that for much of the drive. It kept my hands busy.

I don’t remember how I got home. I think my parents must have picked me up from somewhere, but I’m not sure.

Months after that I was talking to the girl I thought was very nice. Another girl said, “You two should go out with each other.” I was late for biology class after that, and my teacher made an example of me, lecturing me even though I did fairly well in biology class. I tried to listen to him even though I could still see the look on that girl’s face at her friend’s suggestion.

I gave up after that.

Years later I still had the movie ticket from that first night on my bulletin board in Richmond. Now I can’t remember if I threw it out or put it in a box where I’ll find it years from now.

And if I do find it again, maybe all of this will run through my mind once more. It still does every year or two. I wonder how many more times it will before no one remembers that night.

One more memory: After that movie but before that look on her face, I talked to her on the phone once. We were 16, I think. She asked me if I’d been drunk yet, and I said I hadn’t. She asked why not. I said it was because I hadn’t found anyone I wanted to be drunk with. I forget what she said, but I’m sure I would have started drinking if she’d been in the same room and asked me to.

Things could have been different.