Man-Size (man_size) wrote,
Man-Size
man_size

Irreversible

Made a bad decision to stay home on a Saturday night when I turned down a most kind offer to hang in Allentown with the best girl in the world and wound up nursing an old knee injury. To rally, I thought I'd catch a late-late show of DAWN OF THE DEAD at the ghetto theatre below Atlantic on Court, but Mike convinced me that seeing a horror flick with an all ghetto crowd would ruin the experience [Mike is black. I be white]. He suggested we watch our horror with Park Slope whitey, who tend to respect the cinema sans cell phone banter and ooga-booga interruptions. I beg to differ. Watching kung-fu with a ghetto crowd makes the chop socky better. And a gore-fest twice as fresh. Still, I'm closer to 37 than I am to 17, and so comfort has actually become a factor to my busted knee cap, rankled ankle, and sore back. Fudge. The last time I tried to catch a flick [RETURN OF THE KING] at the ghetto theater, a fight broke-out in the first 10-minutes and I split dodge [with the best girl in the world]. Never did see how and/or if Frodo rocked that ring. Coming soon on DVD.

So, after a quick bite, I convinced Mike to watch IRREVERSIBLE, a movie that had crushed me the day before. He wanted to "know" so I hit play and the French film schooled him about all that is everyday. Animal. Harrowing. 9/11 in the loins. I watched as Mike's eyes made those "deer in headlights" look. I could usually laugh at such a look, especially because I called it. I knew it would come. It had happened to me. Only, I knew why his eyes were making that look and this time it wasn't from the spook of the living dead nor the savvy of karate. This look had a shield of tear covering it. The same shield covering my eyes.

We stopped the true crime horror and discussed. The kind of talk you can't help but speak in low tones. I guess funny allows for the higher octave? The squeak of jolly? Drama don't. Not this kind. Mike split to go hold his wife and son. I stared at a futon pillow. Dunno why my knee started up, but it did. A bone chip caused to float about my right patella from a softball accident last summer decided to punish me for making sorry plans this Saturday night. The fright faded into a long evening of making tornadoes from my blanket. Twists and turns couldn't fool that bone chip to hide. It had risen from the dead and pointed its finger at me.
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