âThe girls are never supposed to end up together. I watched that movie with Ellen Page and Alia Shawkat, the roller-skating movie, the one where Ellen and Alia are best friends, each otherâs only comforts in their podunk town. They need each other, and they hug, and they dance, and they tell each other I Love You, and Ellen meets a skinny boy who plays in a band. It doesnât even work out with the boy, but thatâs almost tangential. The girl was never a real option. I think thatâs why itâs really difficult for girls. For me. We follow narratives and our fingertips trace the contours of the stories we love and we long to escape within the confines of our own lives. Meet your boyfriend in the pouring rain and yank down his mask and kiss him upside down. Run with your boyfriend to the front of the ferry and throw your arms out to the side and scream, âIâm king of the world!â If you are a girl in love with a boy, your possibilities are infinite. If there is a special girl in your life, you love her as a friend. You love her as a friend, but she becomes less important to you as you grow, and you leave her behind for a boy. She might even stand next to you when you marry the boy, and she might catch the bouquet of flowers that you throw to her. Youâre giving her permission to move on, move away from you. Itâs a ceremony of separation. But if you should fall in love with a girl - and loving and falling in love are two very distinct things - the first kiss is the end. Youâve all seen the movie. Or the television show. Or the after-school special, or youâve read the book that was banned from your schoolâs library for containing Sexual Content. The point of your story is not to fall in love. The point of your story is to struggle. Your story begins with a lie and climaxes in a truth and ends with a kiss. In the movie of your life, forty-five minutes are devoted to you figuring out how to say that you want to kiss girls, and another half-hour is devoted to peopleâs objections, and maybe the last fifteen minutes is you kissing the girl. Maybe you donât even get to kiss the girl. Maybe she tells you that sheâs flattered, but she doesnât bat for your team. The critics swoon; itâs realistic, they say, so realistic, to depict the struggle of the modern teen, the heartbreak of irresolvable incompatibility. Isnât that always what celebrities cite in their divorces? âIrreconciliable differences.â And so youâre lying on the floor of your bathroom, your knees curled to your chest, or youâre on your sofa with a pint of ice cream, or youâre in bed watching your favourite sad movie on Netflix, and the collective weight of all that you consume settles on your shoulders, leans in, and whispers, âYou were never meant to fall in love.â You were never meant to fall in love. Your story ends in tears or it ends in death. Jack Twist was bludgeoned to death with a tire iron and Ennis Del Mar was left alone in his closet to dance with an empty shirt. Alby Grant found Dale Tomasson swinging by a noose in the apartment that had been their safehouse, their respite, and he sank to his knees and cradled Daleâs bare feet and he cried. The Motion Picture Association of America axed Lana Tisdel and Brandon Teenaâs sex scenes, but they didnât have a problem with the extended shot of Lana cradling Brandonâs corpse in her fragile arms and falling asleep next to his body. Love and intimacy are ours only in death, or so it would seem. I donât want to die. Isnât that a very human experience? Not wanting to die? When does anyone who looks like me get to grow old and raise grandchildren and hold her wifeâs hand as the skin wrinkles, turns translucent? Sometimes my father asks me if Iâll ever date a man. Sometimes he doesnât ask. âYou are attracted to men, and you dream about falling in love with men,â he says, as if he can will his imaginary daughter into existence merely by speaking about her. Or maybe he is just looking out for my safety. Heâs seen the movies, too. He loves me. He doesnât want me to die.â
pixelskylines
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
snowghoul
