crying in movies (chapter 29, part 4)

(image courtesy sy parrish)

After everyone has left the theater, Drew stumbles to the restroom. From her clutch, she takes out a photograph taken on her tenth birthday. Of all the birthdays, Drew remembers her tenth most vividly because of this picture and because that was the last one they celebrated together.

Drew is barely visible in the shadow behind her mother, who is captivated by the candles on the cake and doesn’t bother looking up at the camera.

She was always like this, absorbed in something else, something others couldn’t see.

Her mother had spent the whole day in the kitchen, carefully measuring and pouring and decorating the thing. It was chocolate with blue frosting and sloppy yellow stars. The candles were already dripping into the frosting while her father, who didn’t like to waste film, fiddled with the dials on his camera.

“Aren’t you going to take a picture?” she said, and he replied, “If you’re in such a big rush then go ahead and blow them out. I’m not the one who wanted a picture.” He stopped fiddling with the dials to give her a look.

“Okay, fine,” she had sighed. “But can’t you take it before the candles burn down? That way, when she looks at the picture, she’ll always have a wish to make. She can keep the photograph in a frame, a sterling sliver frame from Tiffany’s, and always remember how I baked her a cake from scratch and wished her the happiest life, a wonderful life where all her dreams come true.” When she smiled at Drew over her shoulder, her forehead shone with perspiration.

Her father’s voice was as flat as the line of his lips. “Why does everything have to be so damn important?” he mumbled. “Why is it always the end of the world?” He took his sweet time with the dials and Drew remembers how her mother stood there frozen eerily in her pose (a wax mannequin, a soldier stuck with a live grenade). Pools of wax widened, flames sputtered, finally the shutter snapped and then her mother pushed the cake into Drew’s hands and backed away towards the bathroom, smiling as she went. Drew stood in the hallway listening to the sound of water running in the sink for a long time.

In the theater bathroom, Drew crumples the photo and tosses it down, tears off her gloves, rips the pearls from her neck and throws them in the sink, pulls the pins from her hair to let it all down, scrubs her face with her bare hands to get it off. Something like laughter gurgles up wetly, like bubbles. Oh, what a mess, oh what a pretty mess. There’s nothing left to do but stand here, laughing and crying like a clown.

When the noises dry in her throat, a stall door opens behind her and out skulks a punky-looking teenager with spiked hair and a sad, dark face. Drew forces a smile because you can’t cry in front of a kid, you’ll upset her, you’ve got to keep it together, what the hell is wrong with you? Grinning into the mirror like a crazy person, Drew splashes cold water on her ruined face.

Eleanor eyes Drew in the mirror. “Are you okay? I mean, do you need help?”

Drew’s head bobs up and down, then back and forth. She has no tongue. If she opens her mouth, something viscous will slide out.

“The movie wasn’t that bad, was it? I thought it was okay, I mean, if you like tear-jerkers, which I don’t. But other than that.”

Drew nods and grins.

Eleanor continues. She’s used to talking to herself. “Maybe if you cry during a movie it’s a good thing. My mom would say it was good to cry in movies. You should feel things. I mean, isn’t a sign of empathy if you can be moved by someone else’s experience? I say we need more things to bring us closer together.”

They both stand there, side by side, looking at each others reflections in the mirror.

Elle continues: “But my other mom would say that’s just silly. She’d say you can drown in tears but, if you save them, swallow them down, you can use them for something more useful later on. I know I’m talking too much, but I just can’t help it. That’s how I am.” She pulls some paper towels from the dispenser and slides them down the counter. “They’re together again, my moms are. And we’re back home again and they’re in love and they can’t get enough of me and it’s just like nothing ever happened. But something did happen, you know?” Drew nods. Elle shrugs. “Sometimes I cry in movies but I’m glad I didn’t this time. I’m getting too grown to cry. But is that such a good thing? Grown-ups just leave people behind.”

Drew manages to explain, “I don’t want to be left behind.”

Eleanor swings her backpack off her shoulder, rummages around inside, and pulls out a little bottle of pills. “They say these help. They’re the best money can buy. You can have the whole thing if you want.”

Eleanor hands the pills over. Drew reaches out to receive.