Despertar

inscribed on the whiteness of the page recorded in blindness

You want me to describe my relationship with Hugh? Okay. A telling anecdote:

*

About a month ago, I went through a week of intense, impenetrable depression. I don't really know what was behind it--nothing was different then than it is now--but it was thick; I wasn't going to class, wasn't eating, kept my door locked and did everything I could to stay asleep as late as possible in the mornings.

During that time, I stayed off of AIM as much as possible, because I hate talking to people when I'm really off kilter, hate that uncontrolled feeling of not knowing when to shut up. I especially hate talking to Hugh, who is academically brilliant but whose emotional intelligence is like a child's. He's one of those types, a Marcus, who seems to truly believe we can manage our feelings by eating our favorite foods, buying (without necessarily opening) lots of wine, having sex with random new partners. And I don't subscribe to that theory.

So I especially hate talking to Hugh when I'm in a bad mood. But this time, for some reason, I did. Probably by the middle of that awful week, I was just that starved for human contact, I didn't care where it came from. Or else I was hoping he would say something obnoxious to piss me off so badly I'd grant myself license to cuss him out, a bloodletting. Something. Anyway, though, I struck up a conversation via AIM, told him I was wildly disenchanted with my life at the moment, that I was thinking of doing something as drastic as quitting school. Jumping in my car and driving out west. (Not that there was anything more attractive about out west, just, far, far away.)

He was actually a halfway decent listener, through the conversation. He let me vent about my classes, Valerie, Justin. He didn't offer his usual suggestion that I go out and get a delicious dinner. He didn't offer sex. In a dramatic departure from his usual tactic, he said, "I'm sorry the week is treating you so badly. Why don't we see a movie later this week? Your choice."

How nice! He knows I love going to the movies and that I don't go as often as I'd like because no one else ever wants to go. And that, when I do go, I usually have to make concessions to lure people in, so we wind up seeing Quantum of Solace when I'd rather be seeing some horror movie or something. He was going to let me choose the movie? "Oh my gosh, thanks!" I said. "That sounds great--I'm going to check some showtimes and get back to you."

"Okay," he said. "I'm cool with anything that's playing here: [link to website for E Street Cinema]"

"Oh, you want to go to E Street?" I said. "Well, okay." E Street Cinema, see, is our local independent theater, and it only features a few movies a month, none of them mainstream. It's the kind of theater with only four screens, that serves wine instead of soda; the people who patronize it are like Hugh, pretentious about things like film, the kind who won't buy their groceries anywhere but Trader Joe's. So by limiting my choices to "anything playing [at E Street]," Hugh was, in effect, limiting my choices to one of probably four artsy films, each of which he'd enjoy more than I would. Which he knows. He knows I like regular-people movies.

I told him I'd get back to him. Later, I went to the website and read the descriptions of every film playing at E Street, each one less appealing than the last. I really wanted to see Four Christmases, but of course, as it featured an all-star cast and promised huge holiday laughs, it wasn't one of the E-Street choices. Of course. Finally, though, I settled on Synecdoche, New York, the Charlie Kaufman film, which seemed more or less interesting both because of the synopsis provided and because Being John Malkovich is one of my favorite movies.

I sent Hugh an email containing the name of the film I'd chosen and some possible showtimes.

The next time I saw Hugh online, here's what he said: "Hey, got your email. I read some reviews of Synecdoche [links provided, a bunch of bad reviews], and I was thinking, what about Let the Right One In, instead? Here's what Rottentomatoes.com had to say about it [links provided, a bunch of stellar reviews]. It's not easy to get nine stars from Rottentomatoes, and it looks really good, I've really been wanting to see it."

I was quiet for a really long time, which most emotionally non-retarded people would have read as taken-abackness. "Oh, you mean the vampire movie?" I said, finally. "Well, I mean, it did get good reviews, but I'm really, REALLY not into vampires."

(I'm going to omit this part of the anecdote; basically, he spent about twenty minutes trying to convince me that I actually am into vampires, basing that conclusion on the fact that I like things like Saw and other psychological thrillers--ignoring the fact that one is based on something real and possible, the other isn't.)

Ultimately, because this is the way I work, socially, I caved. "Okay," I said, about half an hour into the back-and-forth. "If you really want to see Let the Right One In, I could probably be convinced. I can see Synecdoche, New York with someone else." Again, I was giving him an obvious opportunity to check himself, to realize he had browbeaten me first into choosing from a really narrow pool, then to agree to see the exact movie he wanted to see--and all of this after specifically telling me I could choose.

"Awesome," he said. "I'm looking forward to it."

Now, I'm not saying that couldn't have happened with anyone else I know. I have a huge problem with being really passive-aggressive/severe confrontation phobia, and even Tina or Meg and I have had our moments of not being able to make plans because no one will just admit they don't want to do the thing that's been suggested. But it is way, way more annoying when it comes from Hugh, because for all his professed emotional simplicity, he has to see that he's turning the screws and getting his way, again and again.

*

We never went to see either movie, because Hugh is currently very, very caught up in his pursuit of some girl he's just going to dump after he sleeps with her and realizes she's not a goddess.

Which is fine, because at least I didn't have to spend money on a vampire movie.

*

Anyway, a while back, I think before this whole movie thing happened, Hugh and I went to Kramer Books to have dessert and shop for books. I convinced him that he has to read The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and offered to buy it for him. He made a similar offer re: Blindness.

Nothing about the synopsis on the back drew me to Blindness at all, but I didn't want to seem uncultured, so I said, okay, fine, if you buy it for me, I'll read it. We bought the books and swapped outside the bookstore.

I think it's purely out of defiance that I haven't cracked my copy of Blindness yet. Partly because I'm still mad about Synecdoche and partly because, the last time I went to Hugh's house, I saw Oscar Wao untouched underneath a flower pot.