Unattended

Last night I saw The Darjeeling Limited. Owen Wilson stars as the eldest of three brothers who persuades his reluctant siblings to set out on a spiritual journey, by train, through India. Owen Wilson's head was bandaged throughout the movie because, we find out later, his character tried to kill himself by running his car into a hill. It was difficult to get the real Owen Wilson, who really tried to commit suicide, out of the equation. Apparently the making of the movie didn't bring the spiritual revelation that he needed in real life.

I wish Georgia and Willa and I could share a spiritual adventure. If only we were able to love each other. It seems like that would feel so good. The earthquake of Dolly's leaving buckled and ruptured our bleak but familiar family geography. Everything is gone.

I arrived at the theater early and waited on a bench directly under a gargantuan poster of John C. Reilly's naked torso and smiling face. An old woman, gripping her popcorn and drink, slumped beside me, and I wished I could take a photo of the three of us.

A middle-aged man on a double-date bought his tickets and strolled into the lobby with an empty popcorn bucket. Demanding a refill from the adolescent at concessions, he winked at his buddy and rejoined his companions. The teenagers rolled their eyes, I stood up, and later, when the movie was over and I walked toward the back exit, it felt a bit adventurous. A forgotten threshold of concrete and black paint, unattended and liminal. Neither here nor there.

Then? I stepped through, to the other side.