This past weekend I had an interesting roundtable discussion with some friends. We were talking about movies (as per usual) and I mentioned one of my favorite scenes of all time -
"A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn't think he'd remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all, but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl."
Which prompted the question - who is your girl with the white parasol? It turned out we all had one.
Mine was a girl in college. She always sat at the end of an aisle toward the back of the hall in my freshman year psychology class. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and the loveliest smile I've ever seen. I don't remember who I met yesterday, but I still remember her vividly.
The professor made us all stand up and introduce ourselves on the first day. Her voice trembled a little from speaking to a group of people. She said her name was Kim. She was from Sprayberry, Georgia and majored in broadcast journalism. In a pre-Facebook world that's all I was able to learn about her.
One day I decided to sit next to her. She got up to let me into the aisle, looked at me and smiled. I panicked and sat several seats down from her instead. The next day I went back to my usual seat in defeat.
Eventually the class ended. I saw her on campus a couple of times after that, but never worked up the nerve to approach her. Now she's a piece of Technicolor film in my mind - old and tattered, but sharp and colorful.
In a weird way the experience became a motivation for me to approach women and at least fake being confident, especially after I moved to Los Angeles. I'd rather make an ass out of myself than regret not trying.
Now, tell us about your girl with the white parasol...
That's one of my favorite scenes in a movie too and it's my all time favorite story recounted in a film. It just strikes a chord in me and rings true as a lovely moment of gentille reflection snatched out of time forever.
I wish I could share a similar special moment or experience like yours Sarge, but those that I probably had when I was younger, unlike Mr. Bernstein, I don't remember anymore.
Oh, man, I've got several of them, if the only criteria are frequency of remembrance and brevity of exposure. Most of them follow the Sarge example: those I regret not having spoken to further. If you narrow it down to just those who "didn't see me at all," still two would qualify. One was a girl I saw waiting at a bus stop in Poland, while I was on another bus that went by. And when I started writing that sentence, I would have sworn there was another, but now I cannot call her to mind, so I guess it's just the one.
However, I think the scene itself, as specific as it is, can also be seen as a metaphor for the concept of regret in general. I think Bernstein is comfortable with his one little regret and it doesn't dominate his psyche. He has a wistful nostalgia for it. He isn't preoccupied day and night with the "what ifs," constantly reliving and rewriting the past.
I, on the other hand . . .
(I do wonder who Herman Mankiewicz' "girl with the parasol" might have been, too.)
The closest I ever came to having one, was once in 1972, I walked into an audition, where I was familiar with everyone there, except the girl who had just stepped onto the stage. When she opened her mouth to sing, I fell instantly in love with her. Her voice was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I kept asking people who she was, but no one seemed to know her. She finished her song, and quickly left the theater. I couldn't get her voice and the song she sang (So Far), out of my mind. As fate would have it (luckily for me) I saw her again, less than a year later, when we were cast opposite one another in a show. We've been together for 38 years!
that was beautiful Philly Son *wipes tear* mine was the first one I ever fell for. had her, lost her, and got her again. but this thread reminds me of the Sandler joke from "funny people" about guys and serial killers having that one that got away
Old Carl Jung had a lot to say on this. He recounted how he was entranced by a girl he spent only an hour with in his early adolescence, on a trip to the mountains. They hardly spoke. He never found out who she was.
This is the 'formation of the anima' or Robert Bly's 'Woman with golden hair and delicious confusion'. She's a projection made at an early age to exteriorise and differentiate the feminine. We all do it.
It rarely happens to me that I'm struck by a random stranger like that, but there have been plenty of "distance enamourments" or whatever you call it in English. Mostly for girls that happen to be in the group of friends I'm hanging out with. Some have turned into one-night-stands, some have turned into brief romances, some have just disappeared forever, some have already been occupied. None have turned into genuine relationships.
But....there was one instance quite recently. Last year, we had a party with the film magazine I'm writing for. One of the female friends of a colleague of mine immediately struck me. Darkhaired, mysterious, but with a smile and charisma to die for. A little bit "off" too, as she's an art student. I love that. Didn't get to talk with her so much, but I followed her home after the night out and the conversation flowed smoothly. I tried to make sure not fall into the "friend trap" and retain enough mystery and testosterone while at the same time being a good listener. Nothing happened that night, though. Nor afterwards. We became friends on facebook, but didn't meet again. Untill recently, where the magazine had another party. There she was again! Unfortunately, it was the end of the evening, I was very drunk. I tried to pull myself together as much as possible and walked up to her.
"Are you going?" I asked.
"Yes".
"Ah, too bad. I didn't know you were here; otherwise I would have talked to you sooner"
"Oh well, we'll probably meet at another party!"
At that point, I noticed a tall, rather strange, bearded fellow standing next to her.
"You're both going?" I asked.
"Yes, we are".
So it was a date of some sort, perhaps a budding boyfriend. Oh well. The funny thing, though, is that we both looked into each other eyes quite passionately for those few minutes. There was a spark there, I thought, if I wasn't just imagining things.
It rarely happens to me that I'm struck by a random stranger like that, but there have been plenty of "distance enamourments" or whatever you call it in English. Mostly for girls that happen to be in the group of friends I'm hanging out with. (
I think the original post is about long distant early visions of girls that we never get to know. You describe too many of these events for it to be the 'special' mystical event.
It rarely happens to me that I'm struck by a random stranger like that, but there have been plenty of "distance enamourments" or whatever you call it in English. Mostly for girls that happen to be in the group of friends I'm hanging out with. (
I think the original post is about long distant early visions of girls that we never get to know. You describe too many of these events for it to be the 'special' mystical event.
Maybe that's what you missed out on, Thor?
Yeah, I know. But it's probably the closest I can get. As I said, I don't really have these abstract, one-off, special events with random strangers very often in my life.
My problem is that I have a little bit from here and a little bit from there. Certain women from certain points in life. Each one came and went and brought and took something different. I've talked about "The One That Got Away" before (I'd talk about it here, but that would require a picture and everyone here would punch me in the face for letting her go) and I've not talked about "The One That Got Away This Past March" (I'd talk about it here, but that would require a picture and everyone here would shake their heads and I'd have to leave in shame, despite trying my best with her). So instead, I'll talk about the one thats most odd.
Not odd as in weird - but odd as in how things matched up. We grew up together - went to the same elementary school, same daycare, have the same memories from growing up in the same town - but never knew each other really. Knew OF, maybe but didn't talk or interact once.
We both went to different towns at age 11, different middle schools. And then she reappeared in my high school - a junior to my senior. I was a fucking angsty "leave me the hell alone, I'M MAKING FUCKING ART" art student who liked to skip class to read about Blade Runner on the internet and she was... the prettiest fucking girl in town. Oh, and she can fucking paint like you can't believe. Why she kept bothering to talk to me is still beyond my reason. Or hers, for that matter - I've asked her and she doesn't know either.
We dated briefly. It didn't work out. Not because we're bad but because it was agreed that it was like making out with your sibling. And its not always easy to stay in touch - I'm as tempormental as the media wants you to think Christian Bale is and she's in a stable-if-distant relationship and has a kid - but we still hang out once in a while. We can read each other like a book. And to this day, I still have old, old friends ask me why I'm not married to / sleeping with / dating her.
We were working together for a spell on an industry trade paper and, after a few introductory months, the editor decided to pair us with her acting as a support system whenever our reviewing deadlines became overwhelming. She was willing, game and gifted enough to take on the challenge and, eventually, our professional union inevitably started moving in the profoundly personal arena.
However, there was one (well, actually two) obstacles in the way – we were both engaged at the time with long-distance paramours who never seemed to be getting around to joining us in El Lay (hers was in Seattle, ours back in Pennsylvania). Still, hormones and desire subside for no woman (let alone man) and the endless screenings, drives, dinners, talks and walks were getting to be tooooooo damn much to ignore – let alone stifle and forget about in any way, shape or form deny.
So one evening, after a screening at Fox, we had a late dinner and decided to take a stroll around the grounds of the County Museum of Art (which looked nothing like this at the tyme!). But it had become a favorite spot for us to slowly meander under the moonlight surrounded by the grass and the stars overhead that seemed a pale shadow compared to what kept emanating back and forth between our eyes.
And we Knew we were at That Moment: when there was no turning back and whatever decision we made was gonna irrevocably change everything from then on. The emotional connection, the escalating affection, the mental mirror and the percolating passion made time itself stand still … as we stood there and looked at each other. Can’t recall who spoke first but, following an elongated embrace (and we still don’t believe either of us did it to this dang day):
decided to Walk Away – and stay ‘true’.
Ya hear that nonsense? WE MUDDERFLAMIN’ WALKED AWAYYYYYY.
Talk about yer basic Kosmic Krapola.
And y’wanna hear the kicker to all this (well, we were gonna tell ya, anyway, so it’s not like ya hadda choice):
Not long after that non-Brief unEncounter, we were both unceremoniously replaced by newer versions from those we were supposedly remaining faithful to.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. ”
stoopid, Stoopid, STOOpid.
We had lunch a few months later (she’d moved on to dating a director – we were simply about to Move On) and, at one point during the ketchup catch-up, she looked at us with the kinda intensity we hadn’t seen since Then.
“You ever think about That Night?” she softly asked.
“Always.”
“Me, too. And, speaking of Always, there’s a question that keeps returning to me and I promised myself I’d ask you this in case this is the last time we see one another.”
“Ask away.”
“If you had to do it over again, do you think you’d be that noble?”
“Hell NO,” we immediately answered.
Her giggle advanced into a smile which spread into a robust laugh. “Neither would I.”
On an intuitive impulse, we tracked her down via her maiden name about a year ago. She moved back to Europe (tho her family and relatives remain in Los Angeles, which she visits occasionally), has married with a daughter about to graduate college in Paris – where they have one of their two homes – and she’s partnered with her husband producing a successful soap opera filmed all over the durn place (her last e-mail had them on location in Italy).
It made our heart smile to hear how happy she was about the long-distance cyber reunification, and the anchored feeling was more than mutual. “I still think of you with much fondness”, she confessed in one uncharacteristically effusive ode.
All we can say is this: if the opportunity EVER arises again …
As FSM DisAssembled is our witness, we're gonna hold you to that, PJ.
It may yet see some brilliantly-belated birth anon - as Act III of our perpetual soap opera ("Days of Our Lives" next to "General Hospital" because we've got more than "One Life to Live" - hah!) begins to rise, it's a tantalizin' tale we aim to fashion into fictional form.
Mebbe we can get some, uh, non-first hand advice from HER. That's as good a sneaky excuse to see her again as any, no?
“Yeah?”
