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Yep, Narnia. I went with Bianca instead of the adults since it seemed she was going sooner, despite the warning about a mall expedition and the stupidity of teenage boys. Foolishly thinking about the specimens I knew, I decided I could handle it. I should have gone with the adults. Not only was it the mall, it was wandering through the mall and not getting anything, all the while smelling the enticing and forbidden scents of cookie cakes, chocolates, sugary coffee, candied nuts, cider, ice cream and all manner of other holiday resolve-killers. But I held firm, standing outside the various ridiculous stores the boys (Bianca’s boyfriend and his two friends) were drawn into.
Now that I’ve seen the real thing, I’m so grateful not to have been exposed earlier to genuinely normal, working-class-descended small-town teenaged boys. I have male acquaintances, and I’d seen this kind of purposeful masculine imbecility in movies, but it really does exist. Bianca’s boyfriend, Alan (or Allen, I didn’t ask), even mentioned how he dislikes Jeff, Raven’s boyfriend, because Jeff remarked once to Bianca that he thought she’d be with someone more intellectual. I agree with Jeff, though I’ve never met him. Bianca’s very obviously not stupid, but she fits herself in with what appear to be the dregs of society. And it’s not just because they’re gamers. Ah, well. They were entertaining, to a point.
Then there was a movie. At which I was a (quiet) sap. I think the Stone Table scene was the first in a book to make me cry, ever; I read C.S. Lewis before even Pern, and it was sad to see my first private world converted to a rigid line where everyone can see it and know it and maybe mock it. I wanted to keep it.
Afterwards Bianca mercifully dropped me off at Opal’s house, where the adults had gathered after their own Narnia. I arrived in the middle of Episode Three, which was much fodder for my bitter sarcasm. Mama hadn’t seen it, so I was able to explain a couple things to her, and to my grandmother who sat down fifteen minutes from the end and made irritatingly clueless observations. She seems to do that a lot, and then ask you questions with no intention of understanding the answer. It’s maddening; Grandjo knows nearly everything, or if she doesn’t she’s ultra-quick and receptive. Grandma, on the other hand, acts like an airhead. Perhaps it’s her recent loss. I’d be less prone to paying attention, too.
In any case, we toured Opal’s house and then left at the end of the Star Wars movie, and I lay down behind the last row of seats of the SUV to go home because I hadn’t come with them. In the back with me were the remaining entrails of a chicken casserole for me to smell wistfully as we drove; I scraped all the stuffing off and had a small plate when we got here, because I hadn’t eaten since the couple of eggs an hour before lunch.
And now mama’s looking for Desperate Housewives. The TV is in front of the couch where I sleep. Oh, well.
Now that I’ve seen the real thing, I’m so grateful not to have been exposed earlier to genuinely normal, working-class-descended small-town teenaged boys. I have male acquaintances, and I’d seen this kind of purposeful masculine imbecility in movies, but it really does exist. Bianca’s boyfriend, Alan (or Allen, I didn’t ask), even mentioned how he dislikes Jeff, Raven’s boyfriend, because Jeff remarked once to Bianca that he thought she’d be with someone more intellectual. I agree with Jeff, though I’ve never met him. Bianca’s very obviously not stupid, but she fits herself in with what appear to be the dregs of society. And it’s not just because they’re gamers. Ah, well. They were entertaining, to a point.
Then there was a movie. At which I was a (quiet) sap. I think the Stone Table scene was the first in a book to make me cry, ever; I read C.S. Lewis before even Pern, and it was sad to see my first private world converted to a rigid line where everyone can see it and know it and maybe mock it. I wanted to keep it.
Afterwards Bianca mercifully dropped me off at Opal’s house, where the adults had gathered after their own Narnia. I arrived in the middle of Episode Three, which was much fodder for my bitter sarcasm. Mama hadn’t seen it, so I was able to explain a couple things to her, and to my grandmother who sat down fifteen minutes from the end and made irritatingly clueless observations. She seems to do that a lot, and then ask you questions with no intention of understanding the answer. It’s maddening; Grandjo knows nearly everything, or if she doesn’t she’s ultra-quick and receptive. Grandma, on the other hand, acts like an airhead. Perhaps it’s her recent loss. I’d be less prone to paying attention, too.
In any case, we toured Opal’s house and then left at the end of the Star Wars movie, and I lay down behind the last row of seats of the SUV to go home because I hadn’t come with them. In the back with me were the remaining entrails of a chicken casserole for me to smell wistfully as we drove; I scraped all the stuffing off and had a small plate when we got here, because I hadn’t eaten since the couple of eggs an hour before lunch.
And now mama’s looking for Desperate Housewives. The TV is in front of the couch where I sleep. Oh, well.