50/50 was the first movie I saw after Derek died. We went to
the theatre. It had been about two weeks since the day. We had a great evening;
the kind where, two weeks after your best friend died, you feel guilty that
you’re out of the house having fun with friends.
In Aesthetics class my sophomore year of college, we watched
Iphigenia. We were studying catharsis and art, and we talked about how film is
often one such expression where you can experience a range of renewing
emotions. What it really boils down to is bawling until your eyes are empty and
holding onto that feeling of wholeness that lingers until your face is dry
& feels tight when you try to make a face.
Last night was our company Christmas party. I wore the dress
that I bought and wore for Derek’s funeral. It was the first time I’d worn it
since. I told myself that it was just a dress. Just material. What does it
matter? Then I added the final touch of the dark shell necklace he got me in
high school. A just because gift.
Please excuse my tenses. I cannot write about Derek
permanently in either present or past.
So I’ve been thinking about Derek. Not that I don’t think
about him anymore; just that some days it’s more than others. And some less. I
think that’s a good thing.
My roommate is out of town for the next two weeks. It feels
surreal—I have the place to myself for two weeks. Just me and the dogs…and the
turtle…and the fish. I’ve been sort of counting down for weeks, just looking
forward to having my own space. I’ve still got two months to go, but these
weeks are a taste. I can do anything. I can lie on the couch for hours if I
can’t muster up the motivation to be productive. I can listen to the radio
whenever. I can walk around in my pajamas at any hour without fear of someone’s
boyfriend coming in.
And all of this is how I found myself sitting on the couch
with Pickle licking the saltiness off my cheeks.
“I just want it to be over. I’m so fucking tired of being
sick,” the main character, Adam, cries. I wonder if Derek felt that. I felt
that. I wasn’t even sick. I felt it when Derek was in the hospital—I wanted it
to be there months from then where we would be home and happy again, like it
used to be. When that didn’t happen, and Derek died, I wanted the grief to be
over. I wanted to be past missing him and feeling empty. And now I’m here. And
I think this is that “over”, but it still doesn’t feel over, and I’m just
fucking tired.
The movie is set in Seattle. The filmmakers do a terrible
job making it look like the city, offering scenes of the Space Needle that
couldn’t possibly exist with the corresponding streets in the film. When I
first saw the movie, I knew so little of Seattle: rain, grey, Grey’s Anatomy.
That’s it. I didn’t even think Frasier (hadn’t seen it yet) or hadn’t thought
of it as a place to visit (until a few months later), and I certainly never
imagined that one year later, I’d be living there. Here.
The winter has been mild so far, but the looming grey
weights heavy & worries within me that I won’t keep happy through the rain.
Mostly I wonder how to keep moving forward knowing the life that was while not
understanding how it fits into the life that is while upholding my usual
anxiety around the life that will be.
