The Journal Of A Writer

The Movie

10:13 A.M. - Monday
 April 21, 2019

    I am writing this on a Monday at school waiting for a class to start. I went on a movie  "date" Saturday with a friend of mine. I use "date" very lightly because I'm unsure whether it was a date or not. We didn't kiss, we just went and saw a movie trilogy that I absolutely love. (On a list of one to ten on the; top ten choices of movies, this is probably #1. And I am horrible about trying to pick favorites).

     Anyway, the movie was great, just as I expected. I cried, and he only told me after that he wanted to comfort me but, "Out of respect to you, i didn't touch you."
     I know i should appreciate that he respected me that way but COME ON!
     The other reason I use "date" s a possibility is that he told me things that you wouldn't tell your therapist.
     The point is, he and I sat in the car for at least an hour just talking. We spoke about his past life, my past life, compared things we had done in our lives, and even made plans for another "date." Sounds all great when you think about the passion I just poured out on the first journal entry about my loneliness. Except, now I have an issue because I have a second guy who might like me.
     I'm horrible at flirting, I can't read people well when it comes to romantic stuff, yet I always seem to have the most complex romantic experiences. Today before Psych, this kid who sits in the row behind me started a conversation about the test we had taken the Friday prior. "How do you think you did?" He asked. "Pretty good I think. I had a little trouble with the neurotransmitter questions, it seemed like all the answers were dopamine." I responded.
     Now before I finish telling you this (future me or whomever reads this part of my life I am living in the south, originally a northerner. I was raised with midwestern parents who were raised by midwestern parents, otherwise known as hillbillies.
     I am used to that way of life. Not used to being emotional with other people, and especially not with boys. So when he began telling me his life story, I lost it.
   I tried holding back my tears, but it just made things worse. The harder I tried to hold in the tears, the faster they ran down my face until I went into a full on ugly cry. The kind of cry you see in movies about a small town girl and a city boy.
     The worst part of all of the whole situation was that he ended it with, "when you go home will you do one thing for me?" I choked back my tears and managed a quick, "ya." "When you go home will you just tell your mom you love her? I mean it, because I never got a chance to tell my mom the same before she died."