Oh, the Things That Girl Does
by William Jackson on 2004-09-01
Chloë invited me to a screening for one of her classes last night. We watched Alfred Hitchcockʼs Notorious with a slew of other students studying Radio-Television-Film. She was there as part of her class. I was there for fun.
Getting there was exciting. We both had a class at 6:00 PM yesterday, the same class actually, Women in the Scriptures. That was awesome. I learned some very interesting and personally helpful things. I look forward to the rest of the semester in anticipation of learning more.
Chloë reported a similar outcome. She learned some things, too. Excitingly, she needed to be at the aforementioned screening at 7:30. She invited me along, and although it is only three or four or five blocks away, she drove. Necessarily. We found a parking spot in the lot across the street from Kinsolving, and the car behind us tried to steal it but they quietly backed down after experiencing the fury of Chloë.
The time was then 7:35 or thereabouts, and we ran to the classroom/theatre. Chloë literally ran into a friend of hers, whom coincidentally she wanted to find anyway because he had her backpack due to an unrelated chain of events that occured previously. Running stopped, phone numbers were taken, running commenced.
When we arrived at the classroom/theatre, we were relieved to discover the film had not started yet. There were people immediately behind us from which the smell of popcorn originated. I suggested I bring popcorn next time (this is a weekly thing), but only after being rebuked by Chloë did I remember that she is apparently allergic to corn products.
Consequently, Iʼll have to bring corn syrup-free chocolate.
So as I mentioned above, the movie was Notorious. It was great. Hitchcock always is. Itʼs definitely not my favorite, though. Rear Window and Vertigo are my favorites.
On the way out, I randomly removed a poster advertising the movie Wimbledon from a bulletin board. I also fiercely and mercilessly killed a cockroach that was unsuccessfully trying to eat Chloë.
We drove to lands distant and parts unknown to pick up her backpack, then she took me home. Via Airport Boulevard.
While on the drive to my home, Chloë received a call from a dear friend of hers, and apologized to me for talking with him for so long. This apology was unnecessary. Besides obvious situations such as school and church, I canʼt think of a time when this sort of behavior would be inappropriate. This was an extenuating circumstance, as well. Chloëʼs friend is serving in the military at the moment, and I think it is wonderful that he can make such phone calls anyway.
Once at my home, she asked how I was doing, and after a few minutes of “everythingʼs fine” and other social and conversational niceties and facades, we launched into a beautifully deep conversation about our respective childhood and adolescent lives, and how they have shaped us to this point. We talked about our relationship to our parents, both the positive and negative aspects of such. We talked about the kind of person I am attracted to, and the kind of person my parents probably want me to be attracted to, and how, unfortunately, that probably isnʼt the same person. We pulled up to my apartment at 10:30; I got out of her car at 12:30. Thatʼs how wonderful the conversation was.
On a lighter note, the car horn was inadvertently pushed several times, and anyone in my complex who heard might have thought there was a little less conversation going on.