Episode IX: Screenings in Silence
I invited her to the screening last Thursday.
I saved her a seat three armrests from mine, far enough to keep me from looking, and yet close enough to allow me to see her. I had made sure that her seat would be in the middle, not too close to the screen to have her strain her small neck, and yet not too far back in case she had forgotten to wear her glasses.
I invited her, yes, and it was not an invite so easily handed. And given the circumstances, some might have thought that I should’ve reconsidered.
She would come, I thought, and would’ve been happy to see her friends -- my friends -- lined up in a single row, all waiting giddy-eyed to see a film we’ve all seen countless times over. And she would have had a fabulous evening. And I would’ve thanked her for coming, and maybe even more so. And maybe, after all was said and done, I’d find the courage to finally say - “It’s good to see you again.”
It’s been awhile since I’ve said anything to her. And as we pass each other amongst the corridors and foyers, I’ve managed to convince myself that I have nothing to say. There are moments, I admit, when I wish I had returned her greetings, her glances, her attempts to possibly make things easier than they are now. But I am cruel, and I am heartless, and for the most part - I am frightened.
“Cowardice has its merits,” a friend of mine told me a few nights ago. “The avoidance of pain is one of them.”
It’s a popular misconception that I do not talk to her because I hate her. When in fact, the bitter truth is that I hate myself. Her reasons for leaving me are far and in between. And although they had seemed much ‘farther’ than ‘in between’ at times, I realize that they could never have been more valid. And as I see her cross me along the corridors and foyers, I rub the sides of my eyes for I do not wish to know how great, how better off, how happy she now is -- and how, if I had just been a better boyfriend, would’ve been the same thing.
Waiting for her in the theater that Thursday evening, I realized that I was looking forward to something else. Something I had missed, and had so mistakenly thrown away - a friendship. I invited her in hopes of buying back what I had wasted, and despite bad break-ups, I wanted to prove that friendships could be mended, repaired and stitched back to what they once were.
But she didn’t come that evening, and the seat three armrests away was quickly taken. She cited school as her reason and one cannot help but understand. But for anyone who knows me to any degree, would know how much film means to me - most especially this one. I find language lacking the means to describe how thankful I am that so much of you went. And for the most part, I’d give each of you a piece of me if I had anything left of myself to give.
Seeing lightrefraction, kangkungan2001, sweatbloodtears, satanismymaster, notcheesyenough, witty_repartee, direk, knights, shoesoulmate, sundaydandelion, intrigero, shmartypants, postmodernputa, pisces_iscariot, driftrip and direk was nothing less than a moment bordering on both the romantic and the ridiculous. And if I had missed out on anyone I sincerely apologize. And for those who had watched on another evening, my gratitude is no less.
But as my name was called amongst the other directors, I stood in front of the theater, my eyes weeding through the faces amongst the crowd. I guess it was an irrational hope to believe that she might’ve taken another seat, or that she would be coming late. And that, maybe - just maybe - she had finally realized how important the invitation, our friendship, was to me.
In the end, I realize that I’ve invited myself to a screening. A silent one - about two former lovers whom have decided that sometimes things are better left unsaid. One admits that it isn’t about getting over her anymore. It’s about getting over yourself.
I saved her a seat three armrests from mine, far enough to keep me from looking, and yet close enough to allow me to see her. I had made sure that her seat would be in the middle, not too close to the screen to have her strain her small neck, and yet not too far back in case she had forgotten to wear her glasses.
I invited her, yes, and it was not an invite so easily handed. And given the circumstances, some might have thought that I should’ve reconsidered.
She would come, I thought, and would’ve been happy to see her friends -- my friends -- lined up in a single row, all waiting giddy-eyed to see a film we’ve all seen countless times over. And she would have had a fabulous evening. And I would’ve thanked her for coming, and maybe even more so. And maybe, after all was said and done, I’d find the courage to finally say - “It’s good to see you again.”
It’s been awhile since I’ve said anything to her. And as we pass each other amongst the corridors and foyers, I’ve managed to convince myself that I have nothing to say. There are moments, I admit, when I wish I had returned her greetings, her glances, her attempts to possibly make things easier than they are now. But I am cruel, and I am heartless, and for the most part - I am frightened.
“Cowardice has its merits,” a friend of mine told me a few nights ago. “The avoidance of pain is one of them.”
It’s a popular misconception that I do not talk to her because I hate her. When in fact, the bitter truth is that I hate myself. Her reasons for leaving me are far and in between. And although they had seemed much ‘farther’ than ‘in between’ at times, I realize that they could never have been more valid. And as I see her cross me along the corridors and foyers, I rub the sides of my eyes for I do not wish to know how great, how better off, how happy she now is -- and how, if I had just been a better boyfriend, would’ve been the same thing.
Waiting for her in the theater that Thursday evening, I realized that I was looking forward to something else. Something I had missed, and had so mistakenly thrown away - a friendship. I invited her in hopes of buying back what I had wasted, and despite bad break-ups, I wanted to prove that friendships could be mended, repaired and stitched back to what they once were.
But she didn’t come that evening, and the seat three armrests away was quickly taken. She cited school as her reason and one cannot help but understand. But for anyone who knows me to any degree, would know how much film means to me - most especially this one. I find language lacking the means to describe how thankful I am that so much of you went. And for the most part, I’d give each of you a piece of me if I had anything left of myself to give.
Seeing lightrefraction, kangkungan2001, sweatbloodtears, satanismymaster, notcheesyenough, witty_repartee, direk, knights, shoesoulmate, sundaydandelion, intrigero, shmartypants, postmodernputa, pisces_iscariot, driftrip and direk was nothing less than a moment bordering on both the romantic and the ridiculous. And if I had missed out on anyone I sincerely apologize. And for those who had watched on another evening, my gratitude is no less.
But as my name was called amongst the other directors, I stood in front of the theater, my eyes weeding through the faces amongst the crowd. I guess it was an irrational hope to believe that she might’ve taken another seat, or that she would be coming late. And that, maybe - just maybe - she had finally realized how important the invitation, our friendship, was to me.
In the end, I realize that I’ve invited myself to a screening. A silent one - about two former lovers whom have decided that sometimes things are better left unsaid. One admits that it isn’t about getting over her anymore. It’s about getting over yourself.