A wholesome romantic comedy. We sat cuddled on our green couch, which was covered in dog hair and stains that refused to come out no matter how hard Mom tried. The imperfections of my parents’ tiny apartment didn’t matter as the three of us sat together watching 13 Going on 30, Mom’s favorite. These movie nights always included chewing on Razzles and competing to see who could blow the biggest fruity bubble before it popped.
A quirky musical comedy. Dad and I sat in the back row with the entire theater to ourselves. We got the largest bucket of popcorn, doused in butter and salt, and a Coke so big I had to use both hands to keep it from slipping. School of Rock stood as one of my favorite movies for a long time after that. I took up guitar lessons, and for Christmas I got a pink, sparkly electric guitar that I practiced until my fingers bled. I had dreams of becoming a rockstar. My parents watched me, their fingers intertwined as they sang the songs along with me. Often, when I glanced up from my playing, their noses were touching, eyes closed, taking in the music as a fuel for their love.
A fantasy film series that is far too long. Sitting through the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy extended editions at seven years old was probably one of the proudest moments of my little life. Dad beamed from ear to ear as I talked about my love of the cute horses and pretty elves (even though I sobbed into my mom’s shirt when Gollum came on screen). Mom, who always said the movies were “too gory” for her, still giggled and comforted me. When Gollum’s frail body came hobbling onto the screen, I ran to the kitchen where we had baked cookies, until my dad called across the apartment to tell me the pretty elf man Legolas was back on the screen.
An adult comedy I was definitely too young to watch. I don’t remember why we watched this movie, but I do remember someone vomited a blue raspberry slushy, and I couldn’t bring myself to get any from the gas station for long after. It was after watching bits of the movie Juno that I asked where babies came from. This was when mom told me she was expecting.
A raunchy comedy for the girls. It was because of Mean Girls that I started wearing pink to school on Wednesdays. Or maybe it was because we were decorating the nursery. With another little girl on the way, our small apartment was no longer cutting it, so we moved in with Grandma Gina, Mom’s mom. I loved Grandma Gina. My parents, and their green couch, moved into the basement, and I got my own room. I chose to paint my walls three different shades of pink: so fetch.
A Disney princess film. At this point, we had gone through our entire collection of Disney DVDs, so much that we could quote them all. When mom came home with Princess Diaries, we were ecstatic. The main love interest was in a band and played guitar; I was surely in love. We all sat together, but our green couch seemed too small. I laid my head on Mom’s belly to listen for a heartbeat or a kick from my little sister. I don’t hear anything, I told her. She smiled with tired eyes that glistened at the corners.
A musical I watched on repeat. I asked Grandma Gina why we stopped decorating the nursery, and she explained that Mom’s belly couldn’t carry my younger sister anymore. I asked her if it was like Rizzo from Grease, all just a misunderstanding. No response.
An 80’s classic in our hometown. That became a trend: questions without answers. By the time I turned ten, I learned to stop asking such questions. Instead, I sat in my room for hours picking my guitar. Dad and I often watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off for family movie night; I imagined myself on the parade float, strumming my guitar for the entire city to see.
A reality show I should thank for most of my nonacademic education. Summers were my favorite season mostly because that meant one-on-one time with Grandma Gina. Mom had stopped going to work, and she spent most of her time sleeping in the basement. I saw her only at dinnertime, and occasionally for family movie night. The summer I turned twelve, my grandma bought the disc set of Dr. Phil. We watched every single episode that had ever aired. I learned the word bitch.
A movie based in reality. It was the first time my mom and I went to the movies in years–it was all I wanted for my eighth grade graduation. We went just the two of us to see The Help. My friends said it was funny and impactful, so I thought it was a perfect choice, given that mom hadn’t left the house in months. Mom ran out of the theater clutching her throat, her cheeks soaked and pale green, but not from the pie made of shit.
An 80’s chick flick that saved me from horror. Once I reached high school, family movie nights became near extinct. My mom seldom left her bed, my dad was working overtime. I went to my friend’s house to watch movies instead. Insidious shook me to my core, and my friends never let me live it down. I went home crying to my dad, and we watched Pretty in Pink until I felt better.
A nostalgic Disney Channel original. When I went to college, I found better friends, ones that also didn’t like scary movies. The first movie I watched with my random college roommate was High School Musical. We knew every word and danced around, drunk off boxed wine. I missed dancing. Movie nights with my roommate became a trend, and so did boxed wine.
A slapstick comedy. During my first summer back home from college, Dad and I watched movies constantly. My mom seldom left her room, and she never liked Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but that didn’t stop Dad and me from cackling, “’Tis but a scratch!” at any chance. But Dad’s laugh was distant, his eyes puffier than the last time I saw him, his hair sprinkled with more gray than black. My mom came out of her room and asked if we could quiet down.
A movie that I never thought I’d watch alone. That summer, Mom had taken her entire month’s prescription of Klonopin. Alone in the dark, in my childhood bedroom, I watched Insidious to get my heart to leap from the pit of my stomach. I didn’t get to say goodbye.
A heartfelt oldie on repeat. When I lived with Grandma Gina, Steel Magnolias seldom left the DVD player. Once she was sick of her soap operas or Dr. Phil, we would sit together and laugh until we cried. When Mom died, we never watched this movie together again. So, as a twenty-year-old woman, I sat alone in my studio apartment watching Sally Field scream about the unfairness of life and death. How she, the mother, was supposed to go first; and I think about Grandma Gina, grieving her daughter. I think about Mom, who was grieving her second daughter so much she forgot about her first. I wanted to be the Ouiser in my grandma’s life that could make her laugh in a time when it felt impossible. But even Shirley Maclaine herself couldn’t bring my grandma out of her grief.
A wholesome romantic comedy. I visited my dad for the first time a year after my mom passed. Before I arrived at my childhood home where my grandma and father still lived, I went to every store that sold candy on the way. Who knew Razzles would be so fucking hard to find? Eventually, I ended up an hour out of the way at a small candy shop that smelled like caramel and where my feet stuck to the ground with each step. Luckily, they had the candy that turned to gum. When I got home, my dad sat still, unmoving, on the green couch in the basement. I sat next to him, handing him the bag of Razzles. He took it, and after looking inside pulled me into his arms. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in days, but I pulled him in tighter. Without saying a word, he got up and went to the large cabinet whose shelves were lined with hundreds of DVDs. He came back with a cover featuring Jennifer Garner smiling on the front. We sat together crying and laughing, competing to see who could blow the biggest fruity bubble before it popped.
