A brief history of the recent past, and a potential plan for the next little while
Georgia Rooney
This is a nice and fresh space for me to write, the book is brand new. Three hours ago, it was on the shelf wrapped up and completely unopened… except for during its production, where I assume opening the book is required for the actual binding part to take place. I saw a book being bound once, in a movie… but the scene was more of an emotional and conclusive montage rather than a demonstrative example of bookbindery. The movie was Little Women, and the scene was at the very end. That movie was the first movie I went to the cinemas to see alone.
I purchased popcorn and Bhuja snacks for the occasion, which, now looking back, I can comfortably deem essential. I sat in the back row slightly left of centre, in the tiny cinema room. The place was attached (that place being the cinema) to a video shop. It seemed kind of cartoonish to me. Unrealistically simple, like the movie version of fast food… ‘Eat in or take away?’ Except with films of course, rather than fast food. Cartoonish like a Wes Anderson film, where all is simplified but makes sense. I allowed myself to see the cinema complex in this imaginary manner, as I was walking towards the entry door. I watched the footpath move behind me as I walked forward. A mass of grey pavers shaped like pizza shapes, with four small steps down to the entrance. Weeds were growing from the gaps, and nobody had ridded them for visibly, a long time. I remembered a poem I had heard:
Personally, weeds are pretty,
They have flowers, the flowers are just shitty.
A flower is a flower and it is nice to see,
That they surprise you in everyday places for free.
So even if that person who you saw for lunch,
Doesn’t see you deserving of a pretty bunch.
Things could always be much worse,
As you’re still getting flowers from the universe.
The road seemed further away, and the cars parked, out of reach. Ceramic pots skirted the way, and housed pink grevilleas, green sedums, and yellow dwarf banksias. The door was the same as the one at my house, which was great because it meant I knew exactly how to open it, and nobody would be suspicious of the fact that I’d never been here before. And so, I did. The walls inside, a solid deep purple. And the sky was on the carpet, as I looked at my two shoes and saw a galaxy of stars and darkness orbiting them. The snack bar labels of the snacks at the snack bar, were shiny and magical. The place felt safe and comfortable, and, allowing myself to shift my cartoon back to real life, it felt safe and comfortable still.
The cinema part of the cartoonish duo had three small screening rooms which each showed two movies per day: The matinee and the night screening. Matinee, being the French word for “morning” yet meaning “afternoon performance in a cinema or theatre”. I do suppose that afternoon is a kind of morning, when juxtaposed with the night. Since, I guess, it is before and at an earlier time. Everything makes a bit more sense when you look at the stuff surrounding it. Just as the word soon can be understood when its context is explored. Soon can mean in a short moment… again, what defines a moment? And it can also mean years…
I will eat dinner soon (seconds/minutes)
It’s okay, we will have another election soon (approximately three years time).
Everything makes more sense when you look at the stuff surrounding it. Especially people. People make more sense when you meet their family, or the people they live with, when you see their bedrooms, hear the noise their doorbell makes or otherwise. Notice the tea flavour they choose when you offer them one, see the items on their windowsill, the fruits in their fruit bowl and the fruit that’s always eaten last. The degree to which their curtains are left opened overnight, their default radio station that plays in their car. The shade of red their cheeks go when they are embarrassed. The shade of red their cheeks go when they are ashamed. The shade of red their cheeks go when they are puffed out. The favourite day of their week, their potential plans for the next little while. Defining intricacies of their small worlds waiting patiently to be understood by somebody who wants to know.
In the entry room, where the snack bar is, and where you purchase tickets, they have summaries of the films currently premiering blue tacked to the wall. The titles were in large text, followed by a short recount of the plot, in smaller text. Along with the duration time, genre and classification (PG, M, R18, etc). I recognised the font from childhood PowerPoint presentations and projects. Comic Sans. Why would they choose that one? Honestly to think that that were a conscious choice…
I remember at the time, imagining a person walk up to the “plot wall”. I imagined them reading what all the films at offer were, internally deciphering which they like the sound of most, before going to the snack bar to purchase a ticket for that film. I remember it making me feel depressed, thinking of that. Even though that is the purpose of the wall, to provide the necessary information about the films, not too much to give it away, but just enough context so that one can make an educated decision, guided by personal preference. And if the person did decide on a film and purchased the corresponding ticket at the most convenient session time, it’s a good result. It is the best result even. But it still makes me experience this invisible, intangible sadness at the account of a seemingly breezy instance. “There’s something for everyone”. I don’t know what it is. Even now thinking about it I feel sad. Maybe it’s because the person is alone, but so am I. Or because they would pay for the ticket with their money, that they own, and possibly worked for. But so am I. Maybe its because the text was written in fucking Comic Sans and everything written in Comic Sans has the potential to make somebody laugh in pity or feel copiously sad. I don’t know what the reason is really, maybe a sad potion of each reason put together.
I had already decided on a film prior to my arrival, making the plot wall not necessary for my experience. I decided I’d read them anyway, all four of them. I walked over, put my reading glasses on and began to read the plots of the movies, just for the sake of it, and because I was early. I marvelled at the thought of the other cinema goers watching me read, and quietly hoped that somebody was. Why then, did this not make me feel depressed? Do I think that I’m better than other people, particularly the ones inside of the cinema entry room at Rye Cinema? I certainly don’t think that I do. Maybe it’s because I know it’s me, and I know I’m okay and fine and well and glad to be at the cinemas… Whereas with a stranger, I wouldn’t know how they felt about the whole situation. I can also assume that most strangers wouldn’t be thinking so closely about these kinds of things. And likely, rather than feel depressed over font selection or about a young person like myself going to see a movie on a Wednesday night, would be looking at what I was wearing, or the colour and state of my hair, or the degree to which I really needed glasses. Which was respectively: black cotton trousers with a white tee-shirt that read “blue suede shoes” in red embroidery. I love colours that are written in another colour, and not the one being read. Like: yellow or green or purple. It makes me think hard and makes me feel tentative and uncertain. The hair: a mousy brown bob with a lot of clips. And the glasses: necessary for reading, driving a car/vehicle, and during movies with subtitles… which I was about to find out, all of the films on offer were not. I wondered if anyone were watching me, and more so, I wondered if I were interesting to watch…
I eventually passed the 30 minutes I had spare, before the film was due to begin. I was early, but there were a few reasons for this. As I said, this had been the first time I had attended a movie alone… the one with the book binding scene that is, and so I didn’t want to be late. I also had the afternoon off and wasn’t really doing much, other than waiting for the appropriate time to go to the cinemas, but I didn’t know what the appropriate time bracket was, so I figured I’d just go. I actually came in extra, extra early. To buy a few snacks from IGA, down the road, and just to have a look around, and walk through the aisles, maybe say hi to Reed, who was in fact there working. Reed asked me what I was doing on that particular evening of February, before joking and telling me I will get into trouble for smuggling imported snacks into the cinema.
“You know, Rye Cinema even check your bags now.” I remember laughing, and explaining that:
“I take my snack selections pretty seriously, arguably more serious than do the Rye cinema staff in regard to their foreign snack prevention, and the measures they take for this.” It doesn’t make me laugh now though, thinking back. I just feel that indescribable invisible sadness again.
I placed all three items on my far end of the conveyor belt. I could have easily just handed them directly to Reed, but I wanted to see them move along, like a flying fox, but less exciting. Bhuja snacks, a car smelly thing, and one of those pencil cases that come with letters so as you can spell your name. He scanned my items, whilst holding my gaze and charged me accordingly. I paid in $1.00 coins because I’m a pain in the ass, and because my glove box needed emptying out. But it wasn’t a cause for comment, as he graciously held out both hands to catch my money, like a child in their first communion, taking the bread. Though, instead of saying “Amen” and eating it he rather dropped the coins into his till. Thankfully, otherwise he may have died, or contracted an irreversible disease of the mouth/tongue. I bet money wouldn’t taste too much worse than church bread though, tastes like cardboard and headache.
I imagined going to the cinemas with Reed. We had only met within the recent past of about one to two weeks and didn’t know each other rather well at all. I think we were fond of each other at that point in time. Though, its ever right to rely on assumptions alone, or to have expectations of other people, especially ones you don’t know rather well, and have only met within the recent past of one to two weeks. Suppose then, I think I were fond of Reed. It’s really not that difficult to tell the truth, only to begin with. Starting now.
The two of us would probably drive separately if we went to the cinemas together. Though, I don’t know why I think this. Ideally, I’d be the driver, picking Reed up in my wagon, and beeping twice when I’m out the front, like a bad boyfriend from a predictable film, probably like the one we we’d be about to see. The radio would be so loyal to me, with the intention to excite and entertain, and it wouldn’t cut out the whole way from West Portsea to Rye back beach. Fantastically, the radio would play a few songs that I used to like a lot… to which I may even sing along casually, sounding fine. I’d tap three fingers on the wheel, especially when I turned corners, which would be turned with the perfect executional nature of careless, but safe enough to feel so. I would change gears knowingly, and every now and then, would feel two green eyes on my left hand as I did it.
I’d probably parallel park and do a good job of that too. I would have to perform this parallel park quite a distance from the cinema, due to it being peak summer season. Reed would comment on my calm nature despite the very apparent car-space-lessness, and I would say nothing, eventually making my way. We’d be early to our appointed cinema time and spend it walking up and along the main strip of shops. I would purchase a coffee and reed, a tea. A big part of me would want to bring up the fact that paying $4 for one tea bag is a fairly poor economic decision to make, given that you can get a whole box of tea for that much, even less with his IGA staff discount. But I thought I’d perhaps hold my tongue on that one, as many people get weird about what they should order, and placing even more judgement on them is just a bit nasty… especially when its somebody you are fond of, and are beginning to get to know them.
The movie would be chosen upon after an amount of awkward consideration, which the cinema staff would be immune to even noticing. I really don’t mind!! God, does anyone ever care about the actual movie? I marvelled at the idea that the walk back to the wagon at the end of the evening would be different than the walk from it… It would be dark. And humans, like animals, behave differently in the night. They’re more likely to voice their minds, as their faces are shadowed by the suns absence, more likely to hold a gaze for longer than one may in a platonic sense. The conversation would likely, on the walk back, be one that didn’t make sense to somebody else, somebody who wasn’t there earlier, they wouldn’t understand… I suppose that’s how it feels to get to know somebody, to be less understood than everybody else.
“I’d like your phone number. Will you give it to me?” I heard myself say at the checkout. I heard the man next in line do an on-purpose-cough. Why the fuck do people on-purpose-cough? It’s a cross between a laugh and a cough, an interruption of whatever their breathing cycle were doing in that moment, I get that. But all it does is spread germs and make me feel as though I’m not allowed to ask any question I feel like asking. I glared at him for about three seconds, until he looked away from me and into his shopping basket, the contents to which are no business but his own, and are by no means worth on-purpose-coughing over. I then looked back at Reed to hear his answer.