So, a really long time ago I was living with a die hard Republican whom I did not get along with. In order to piss her off, I flaunted my liberalism in her face. What made it incredibly easy was that it was the year "Brokeback Mountain" came out,so I bought the story-to-script book, blasted the soundtrack, and made a lot of noise about going to see it. (My passive-aggressive little sibling techniques came in handy with her.) And then I had an incredibly disturbing dream two days before going. After I saw the movie, I wrote this little ditty about the weird links between the two:
I dreamed two days ago that my mother died. In my dream, I was a busy woman, running out of my house, when my sister called. She told me that my mother had died while my father was driving her to a hospital. I envisioned her words as she said them. I saw the dark road ahead of my father. Flashes of the passing street lamps blared through the side windows. He was wearing a red shirt with white piping. His hair, usually gray and in tufts, was full and riding on his back. My mother was in the passenger’s seat. She wore a white shirt and blue jeans. Her hair was long, however. I have never seen my mother with long brown hair. The car was a boat, huge and old. I believe it was brown or green on the outside. In the backseat, my aunt sat. She had her usual long, dyed black hair. She wore a cigarette shirt and jeans. The strange thing was that this was the aunt my mom couldn’t stand the most. They have bad blood between them, for all their old closeness. My sister told me that my mother had gotten bit by a spider, or maybe my mother had eaten the spider. All I knew was that it was brown. I saw them at some picnic, far in the country and surrounded by green. My father and my aunt had loaded her into the car, and my dad began to drive to the hospital. For some reason, the hospital was miles away. Day faded into night, and I watched the yellow lines in the headlight’s glare. It was so far that my aunt fell asleep in the backseat. She had been talking to my mother, keeping her awake. When she had talked, my mother shivered beside my father. He drove as fast as he could, but he didn’t make it. My mother leaned her head forward. Her long hair covered her face. He thought she had gone to sleep. When she pitched back in the seat, he knew she was dead.
I woke up from my sleep with a knot in my stomach at 4 in the morning. I wanted to throw up and couldn’t. I went to the bathroom and then tried to drink some water, but nothing helped. The knot remained. It kept me from falling asleep again. I went into the living room and watched T.V.
Tonight I saw Brokeback Mountain. This was an awesome film, about love and loss and not reaching for the thing you want the most. It was about thinking you deserved a dirty empty lot, but wanting a wide green field. It was about living without life. Heath Ledger gave a wonderful, understated performance. He’ll probably be nominated for an Oscar. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of Jake Gyllenhaal. It’s not because I have suddenly found him attractive. It was because he was so good. Heath, Ennis, was the soul of the movie, but Jake, Jack, was the heart. He wanted and didn’t hold himself in restraint. He longed for a life with Ennis. He would take the risk so he would be happy, but Ennis wouldn’t. Still he didn’t leave, not til the end. He didn’t know “how to quit [Ennis].” Even when he had a new man to make plans with, he kept Ennis’ shirt. He had restless energy and diverted purpose. He kept the movie beating. Without him, Ennis or Heath wouldn’t have lived. His soul would have been content with his life with Alma, instead of longing to be with Jack. If only he had taken the risk. If only Jack’s heart would have been enough. But the world was too much with him, and he couldn’t leave. He imprisoned Psyche, the butterfly and the soul. Jack merely hid.
The strange thing about the movie is that it has left my stomach in the same knots it had two days ago. I knew when I had the dream that it was connected to the movie in some way. I just didn’t expect the knots or the nausea. I’m not sure these knots will go away any sooner. I think that they’ll take even longer to disperse. After all, my dream was only for fifteen minutes at the most. The movie lasted two hours and fourteen minutes. I sat through most of the credits. This knot will last longer. I only hope it will let me sleep. I hope this movie doesn’t haunt as much as that dream has. I had hoped the movie would end some happy way, and the warning of the knots would be forgotten. The movie didn’t end that way. While I admire it for not doing the happy Hollywood ending, I kind of wish it would’ve. That way sleep would come easier to me tonight. I wouldn’t feel the compulsion to write this all down. I wouldn’t feel like a part of me, a chunk of my center, was gone. I would be smiling and content. Instead, I’m disturbed. And I hate it.