Crash Test Love (16 page)

When I ask Garret to see al ten movies with me, I assume she wil say no. It’l require some rearranging of our work schedules, and I ask her mostly as a joke anyway, but she says yes without hesitation.

I am pleasantly surprised.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Huntington as a moviegoer. I’ve traded in my uniform for a light blue V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans.

“This is me going to pick up a girl,” I say out loud, dabbing on some cologne and heading out the door.

Now that I’ve broken the No Dating seal by taking Garret to Night of the Living Dead, there’s nothing else to do but go ful -steam ahead. To drive at a reckless speed and see what wil happen and hope I don’t get hurt.

INT.—HUNTINGTON CINEMAS

(It Takes) Ten Movies to Fall in Love

10. City Lights, 1931

Monday Night

Garret and I watch this movie in one of the smal er theaters. She’s wearing a dress that shows o her bare shoulders and she smel s like honey.

City Lights is a silent Charlie Chaplin movie in which he plays his slapstick tramp character, but this particular lm happens to be pret y heartfelt.

The tramp fal s in love with a blind ower sel er, who mistakes him for a mil ionaire, and Chaplin tries to raise money to pay for surgery that wil restore the girl’s eyesight.

I’m a huge Chaplin fan, and the movie doesn’t disappoint. I’ve seen it before, but I forgot how touching the ending is, when Chaplin is released from prison (he’s mistakenly arrested for stealing money) and encounters the ower girl months after her surgery, and she can see. Or maybe forgot is the wrong word. Maybe I never realized how touching the ending is in the rst place.

9. Love Story, 1970

Tuesday Night

This movie is about a guy named Oliver whose family is al Harvard grads and are general y pret y stuck-up. He meets a spunky girl named Jenny who goes to Radcli e and they fal in love. They graduate from col ege and decide to get married. Oliver goes to Harvard Law School, and when Jenny wants to have children, it becomes clear (to Oliver, at least) that she has cancer.

I’m not wild about the premise. I think it’s pret y sappy (she dies, and Oliver reunites with his father, who’d shunned him), and I don’t think there’s anything too inventive about the storytel ing.

“Do you like this?” I whisper to Garret about halfway through.

“No. I want more popcorn.”

“I like the way you think.”

8. It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946

Wednesday Night

A guy about to commit suicide is visited by his guardian angel, who helps him appreciate life by showing him what the world would be like if he’d never been in it. Sort of cheesy, but the good kind of cheese (e.g., Brie).

“Was that screenplay writ en by a man?” Garret asks once it’s over. We’re outside the theater, walking to my car.

“I have no idea. Maybe?”

“I bet it was,” she says, shaking her head. “Why is it that if George hadn’t existed, Mary would be some old spinster librarian? She was cute. Are you seriously going to tel me she couldn’t have found another guy? I don’t buy it. It’s total y misogynistic.”

“I think you’re reading into it too much,” I tel her. She seems real y enraged; I’m total y turned on by the fact that she has such a strong reaction to the lm.

I kiss her.

“You taste good,” I say. “Like M&M’s.” When I look at her, I feel so much. “Are we crazy?”

“You taste good,” I say. “Like M&M’s.” When I look at her, I feel so much. “Are we crazy?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Kiss me again,” she says, and it almost sounds like she’s begging for it.

7. Doctor Zhivago, 1965

Thursday Night

This movie is hard to fol ow. I think it’s al the Russian names. It’s based on a book about this guy, Dr. Zhivago. It’s set against the Russian Revolution of 1917 (and, I think, another war that fol ows). A lot of the lm is about how Zhivago’s ideals and dreams as a young man are ripped apart by the violence in his country. He is torn between the love of his life (Lara) and his wife (Tonya).

I can de nitely relate to the guy-with-two-ladies aspect, but I don’t particularly like movies with characters who “tel the story” in ashbacks, and either does Garret . The movie is also way too long. There is something endearing about it, though.

“The score was beautiful,” Garret says on the way home. “Isn’t it interesting how music can real y make or break a lm?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, you know, the actors don’t hear the music when they’re performing. It’s added in afterwards. Yet it’s so important. It total y sets the tone. I can’t imagine a movie without music.”

I agree. “That’d be a pret y cool job, huh?”

“What?”

“Picking the songs that get played in movies. Figuring out exactly where they go. Working with the composer on the score. That kind of thing.” I watch her; I can tel she’s seriously contemplating this. “Yeah,” she says, “it would.” I ask her to come back to my house, but she declines. “We’re stil on for tomorrow, right?”

“We are,” I say.

She kisses me so softly I can barely feel her lips on mine. I wrap my arms around her. Don’t stop, I think. I’m wild about you. Don’t stop.

Eventual y, she stops, opening the car door and stepping outside. “Good night, Henry,” she says.

Later that night, I check my phone. Four voice mails. Two from Duke, two from Nigel, wondering where the hel I am, and why I haven’t returned any of their cal s. I debate cal ing them back (I know it’s rude not to, and I’m only delaying the inevitable), but there’s real y only one person I want to talk to.

Even though I just saw her, I dial up Garret . We talk about things like whether Dr. Zhivago was actual y a doctor and if we could eat anything right now what would it be and what it means in the Kil ers’ “Human” when Brandon Flowers sings the line “Are we human or are we dancer?” even though it doesn’t real y mat er because we both love the song so much.

I fal asleep with the phone on my pil ow. I know this because I wake up in the middle of the night and feel it there, and I wish so hard that it were Garret resting next to me.

6. The Way We Were, 1973

Friday Night

“You’re not sick of me yet?” I ask jokingly. As soon as the words are formed, though, I realize it’s not real y a joke. I’m nervous. Is she tired of me? Am I boring her?

“Shut up, Henry,” she tel s me, turning on the radio in my car. “And drive. I don’t want to miss the movie. I love this one.” Barbra Streisand plays an intense political activist who marries Robert Redford even though they don’t have al that much in common. They have a baby, and once they, you know, realize they don’t have al that much in common, get a divorce. Years later, they meet in New York. Redford has a new gal and seems happy; Streisand is also shacking up with another dude. Basical y, Redford realizes that no one has ever chal enged him like Streisand did, and even though he’s middle-of-the-road happy, he’l never have everything without her. At least, that’s how I interpret it.

There’s something to be said, I think, for the past remaining in the past. So many people try holding on to things that simply aren’t working: jobs, friendships, relationships. Maybe certain things only exist in a certain time, though. Maybe things aren’t meant to last forever. And that doesn’t mean they didn’t change our lives. Garret and I sit and watch the credits and I wonder how long this whole thing between us is going to last, and what I wil be left with once it’s over.

5. An A air to Remember, 1957

Saturday Night

Garret and I are working tonight, so we skip this one. I’ve already seen it anyway. Missed connections, misunderstandings, pride, injury, Cary Grant, and true love. It’s a pret y good lm, but after ve days of melodrama I’m in need of a rest.

After our shift, Garret comes over to my house. She hasn’t met my father yet; tonight he’s already retreated to his room when we come home.

“He works a lot,” I say casual y, as if that explains his behavior.

Upstairs, we make out for a while and listen to James Morrison’s album Songs for You, Truths for Me.

“He must real y miss your mom,” Garret says, stil in her work clothes. I run my hands up and down her back, pressing her body to mine. I feel her shiver.

“He does,” I say. “A lot.”

I have never spoken about my mother to anyone, except for Duke and Nigel. Even then, I never revealed how much my father stil longs for her.

“How did she die? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I’ve been waiting for this question. It’s the moment of truth. It would be so easy to lie and make something up. Oh, cancer. You know how it is.

But I look at Garret , I feel her against me, and I know I cannot lie anymore. Not to her.

“I have to tel you something,” I say. “My mother isn’t dead.”

She pul s back a lit le. “She’s not?”

She pul s back a lit le. “She’s not?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. She left when I was twelve and I haven’t heard from her since. I have no idea where she is or what she’s doing. I told you she was dead because, wel , basical y she is. To me. She’s dead to me.” Garret slips her arms around my waist and hugs me. I feel a light wetness on my skin; I can’t tel if it’s her kisses or her tears.

“Henry,” she says quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” I tel her.

But it’s not okay, and we both know it. I try to cry and mourn the loss of my mother, but I can’t. Nothing escapes. So I hold stil and let Garret feel the things I cannot seem to feel, and hope that someday I wil be able to grieve like she can.

4. Roman Holiday, 1953

Sunday Afternoon

Trouble arrives around eleven a.m. in the form of Duke and Nigel, who pul up to my house just as I’m about to leave.

They run toward me and bang on the window of my Jeep.

ME

Uh, hey, guys.

DUKE

Where ya goin’, Henry?

ME

Work.

NIGEL

We’ve been calling you all weekend.

ME

I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been crazy busy.

DUKE

Doing what?

ME

Stu … with my dad.

They look at me as if I’m going to elaborate. But since I’m lying, I gure brief is best.

NIGEL

You’re always busy these days. What gives? Didn’t you have fun the other night, Phantom?

ME

No. A little. I don’t know.

DUKE

You don’t have to keep us in the dark, dude. Tell us what’s going on.

NIGEL

We’re worried about you, Henry.

I should just tel them things are get ing serious with me and Garret , but al I can think about is how much shit they’l give me for ditching them and get ing involved in something, wel , serious. For abandoning the Crasher Code and keeping it from them.

ME

Look, I’m gonna be late. I’ll text you guys later.

I know they deserve a friend who can open up and let them in. Deep down, I want to be that person. But until I can, I’d rather put the inevitable confrontation o for as long as possible.

Our shift doesn’t start until later, so Garret and I watch what I’l cal one of the best romantic comedies I have ever seen. Audrey Hepburn plays a princess who is pret y overloaded; she pretends to be a commoner and wanders around Rome with the help of Gregory Peck’s character, a reporter who realizes her identity but keeps quiet in the hopes of scoring an exclusive story and some pictures of her to sel for a lot of money.

Peck ultimately winds up doing the right thing, but he and Audrey don’t get together in the end. It’s not sad, though. You nish the lm with a smile on your face, wondering what might have been between the two of them but glad they got the chance to meet.

“Are you okay?” Garret asks during our break. We’re standing outside, drinking fountain sodas and leaning against the brick wal of the cinema.

“Sure. Wel , I don’t know. I think Nigel and Duke are mad at me.”

“For what?”

“Spending time with you,” I say.

“Are you upset?”

“Are you upset?”

“I mean, sort of. Yeah. What can I do, though? I’m not going to stop seeing you, which is what they want.”

“It doesn’t have to be al or nothing,” Garret tel s me. “I’m sure they want you to be happy.” I shake my head. “It’s hard to explain. They’ve been my friends since forever. I wouldn’t have made it this far without them. But it’s complicated…. They wouldn’t approve of you and me.”

“Why not?” Garret asks.

I shrug. “They just wouldn’t.”

There’s a thoughtful expression on her face. “Despite what you may think, I know a thing or two about complicated friendships.” She touches my shoulder and says, “You know, we haven’t real y spoken about last night.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Your mom …”

“There’s not much else to say.” I’m not harsh, but my tone is de nitely I don’t want to have this particular conversation right now. Which is true.

Being emotional at night when you’re in bed with someone is one thing; doing it in the daylight is something else entirely. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

“I think there’s a lot to say.”

“Garret , can we talk about this later?” I ask. There is a hint of pleading in my voice, and she picks up on it.

“Okay. Later.”

3. West Side Story, 1961

Monday Night

“There’s nothing bet er than star-crossed love,” Garret says emphatical y. She’s hooked up her iPod to my car stereo and is playing one of the songs from West Side Story, which we’re on our way to see.

The song is cal ed “One Hand, One Heart.” It’s basical y about two people becoming one, and how the only thing that can separate them is death, and even death isn’t enough to keep them apart forever.

“Isn’t it romantic?” she asks, resting her hand on my knee.

I am stil get ing used to having a girl—the same girl—touch me day after day. My instinct is to push her away and say Stay on your own side of the car, but there is something comforting about Garret ’s touch, about the ease and con dence with which she handles me, as if there is no doubt in her mind that I want her to touch me. What would it be like to be that kind of person?