Best date night ever
So last night, my husband took me to a nearby college town to see John Sayles, my favorite film writer and director. We didn’t have advance tickets, and I was totally set to continue my mopey pattern of post-injury nesting, but not my husband. He picked me up from work, drove 75 minutes, and we arrived in town just as the box office was set to open.
Opening night of the film festival was a complete clusterfuck and the volunteers sent us running back and forth between locations in search of tickets.
With tickets in our hands, we staked out a little noodle shop where my best friend and I had once ordered one of everything on the menu and eaten almost all of it. I think I have the menu memorized: dumplings, pork buns, veggie buns, sesame noodles, hot and sweet noodles, and hot and sour soup. So delicious. Between the two of us, my husband and I had everything but the buns.
We cut out to the theater about 15 minutes before the show. As we approched the theater, I heard a street musician sing the opening verse of “Tangled Up in Blue” and for a split second my life folded in on itself, past meeting present. The man who introduced me to John Sayles’ work over 7 years ago once transcribed the lyrics to “Tangled Up in Blue” while we were waiting for a bus to take him home from his visit to my village in Zimbabwe. Dee transcribed while I tried to hit a nearby rock with handful after handful after handful of pebbles. I was known for my good bus karma (among other things) while living in Zimbabwe, but apparently it’s not contagious because Dee and waited for hours along the side of that dust road until a bus finally came for him and we parted ways. Even if bus karma were real and contagious, I probably would have kept it to myself in order to lengthen the time I got to spend with Dee.
Still smiling from that memory, I noticed that John Sayles was standing directly in front of the theater, just 20 yards away. I pointed him out to my husband who encouraged me to say hello. After all, Sayles wouldn’t be out front if he didn’t want to interact with fans, right? I chickened out and proceeded to kick myself until the movie started.
“Honeydripper” is delightful. It’s flawed, but I loved the flaws. Sayles could have cut more, but that’s true of all his films. If it were pared down perfectly, it wouldn’t be Sayles.
After the film, my husband and I stepped out into the cold and rain and decided that gelato would be just the thing to take the edge off the chill. The pistachio was divine, and as we walked back to the car laughing and sharing treats on tiny spoons, I saw John Sayles coming toward us. This time I said hi and told him I loved his work. He smiled, shook my hand, and walked briskly into the night.
My husband drove home and I slept the whole way home. It was perfect.
