When we get older

We were all clumped in Karen’s car, Petunia, coming down out of the parochial southwest hills. Karen came from farther out, over the hill past the Alpenrose Dairy and Albertson’s to my house in the hills proper. Then down twisty Vista and over the bridge, across Burnside past Henry Thiele’s, with its odd palm treed grass triangle, over to Everett where we went right and left on 21st—then looking for parking. Cinema 21 was showing the Talking Heads’ ‘Stop Making Sense’ again. I had never seen it, I think Karen had, and we were meeting people—this kooky mix I mostly knew. But of them, I was only friends with Karen. Little spider webs of teen-angst twisted. The Talking Heads were a mystery too: ‘Road to Nowhere’ had this compelling video, ‘Stay Up Late’ was kookily charming, though it wasn’t nearly melodramatic enough for me in my deep drama days. Schmeer knew things about Jonathan Demme: movies I hadn’t seen (yet: as time went by, Karen made me see them): ‘Something Wild’ and ‘Swimming to Cambodia’ which we talked about a lot. Spalding Gray was fascinating to her, while I couldn’t believe a movie was just one man talking. Mike Sweeney had us watch it in class once. I’ve wondered since if Karen was drawn to Gray for his staid neurotic intensity and the haunted sadness that coursed through his tales. She always had a thing for freaky geniuses. When Petunia was embedded in her spot, we walked a few blocks. This was when Northwest 21st was still sketchy at night for young dressed down teenagers from the hills. Weird exhilaration of walking in the fluorescent corner store glow, the shabby building shadows, and the muttering of down in the heel locals. Being out of place was fun. But the movie: I had no expectations. Sometimes I felt like Karen invited me into these para-worlds: gritty NW at night, or loopy people she befriended at Saturday Market, these sorts of things. I have realized since then that she loved the movies and it was a ticket into this scene. I might have (or mostly) cared about the scene—and she did too—but she also cared about the movie. I didn’t think about the movie: I was thinking about who was there, how cool it was to be out, my girlfriend, if this was the place to be. Parking meters. Small line at the booth. And then we were in, past the concessions, into this huge room of seats, red curtains, too much space and not enough people there. Things were scarce at the Cinema 21, even then. As we sat, more people we knew came, leaning their heads to see who was where. I worried about who would be near by, if I was with the people I thought I should be by: Stranger Than Fiction: were those people there? Doug Kenck-Crispin and Andy Lindberg: really? Matthew? Luke? I stuck by Karen, but kept wondering if I should look around. Really, my overriding deep insecurity and pathological need to not miss out makes me cringe. Film came on. And with it I was distracted from myself—thankfully—and all the double self-consciousness melted in complex polyrhythms and words, giant suits, hand-held lights. Things kept creeping upward: the energy, the volume, the surreality, the pace. Dancing standing up. Popcorn flying. Seat drums. After the crunchy ‘Burning Down the House’, people started running laps around the blocks of seats—down the right side, across the front, up the heft side, across the back—round and round during ‘Life During Wartime’. It was so cool and it took me a minute, but I realized Schmeer was off, hands making big circles, loping with everyone round and around to the driving complex paranoid wonder of the song.
‘You make me shiver, I feel so tender
we make a pretty good team
Don't get exhausted, I'll do some driving
you ought to get you some sleep.’
I knew I would not look as good, wheeling about the place. I sat for a stretch during that song, wondering if that was me, if I could be that. But then, I jumped—ran out behind Karen and started doing laps. I was just getting sweaty when the song ended—I think the movie breaks there—and we sat back down. Intermission. Breathing heavy. It was really fun. I wanted to rewind. Best part of the movie. But on the way home, cassette of ‘Speaking in Tongues.’ Petunia played ‘Naïve Melody’. That’s my favorite.

The Talking Heads, ‘Naïve Melody (This Must Be the Place)’