The Errant Æsthete

Stumbled across this enchanting little exchange between a young woman named Sheila (who posted this on her blog) and an older woman wearing a beret in line at a theatre in Manhattan featuring the film No Country for Old Men. Maybe it was simply the humanity of the encounter forged by their mutual love of Dickens or maybe, like Sheila remarked, “it was a glimpse of a possible future.” Nevertheless, it is charming.

No Country For Old Women

I went to see No Country for Old Men tonight. The crowd gathered outside the theatre - and they wouldn’t let us in because the cleanup crew was still going thru from the showing before. I stood there, nose in Bleak House. I can’t stand crowds (which, yeah, uh huh, is why I live where I do, and why I choose to go to movies on 42nd and 8th at 7:30 pm) - so the best way to deal is to just read, totally divorce myself from the possible mayhem. I was reading the chapter about poor little Jo - being tended to by Mr. George (whom I love so much - I need to talk more about him later) and Mr Woodcourt … and it got so sad at the end, I was in the last paragraph of the chapter, that my eyes filled with tears.

I am standing in the lobby of the theatre, surrounded by a pressing crowd … I am aware of none of them. Suddenly, a voice next to me says, “Excuse me …” I looked up. It was a little old woman, probably in her 70s. She had on a nice wool beret, a scarf around her neck - and her eyes glimmered with clarity. She said, “I hope you don’t mind my asking - but what Dickens is so engrossing you?” Her energy was so forthright, so … so NICE … that my normal urban reserve (especially in crowd situations) dissolved immediately. I said, “Bleak House.” She gasped and put her hand over her heart. “Isn’t it wonderful?” “You’ve actually caught me kind of crying right now … it’s SUCH a good book!” “Rather ‘bleak’, is it not?” She laughed at her pun. I said, “Yes.” She said, “I just love Dickens. I can’t do without him.” I said, “God, he’s just so wonderful …” (Normally I don’t like being interrupted while reading - but this woman? I just got so sucked into her energy which was just LOVELY.)

She said, “I think my favorite is Tale of Two Cities …” I said, “That’s one of my favorite books of all time, I think …” She said, “I love Great Expectations, too. Have you read this book?” gesturing up to the marquee, meaning Cormac McCarthy’s book. I shook my head no - and she said, “Oh, you must! I am so eager to see the adaptation … and to see how they deal with the character of the sheriff. I have read reviews that give it 3 stars, they seem to have some reservations about it - but I’m very excited to see it. You really have to read the book!”

I suddenly got this wave of emotion over me … this woman, in her 70s, coming down to go to the movies, by herself … all excited to see what “they” did with the adaptation of this book she had enjoyed … standing in the midst of a huge jostling crowd, by herself … and she noticed I was reading Dickens … and reached out to me. We walked into the movie theatre together, chatting about Cormac McCarthy’s other works - and then parted, saying, “Enjoy!” I’m still kind of emotional about the encounter. Maybe one day I’ll be a little 70 year old woman going to the movies by myself. Maybe I’ll be hyped up to see the adaptation of a book I just read, and maybe I’ll chat with someone else in line about the movie we’re about to see. And I won’t be lonely, or sad. I’ll be open-eyed and clear and interested. So maybe everything will be okay after all.

Thank you, lady in beret. Thank you. For the glimpse of a possible future. [