Ok, we’ll go see the film, but I think it’ll make me cry, so we should pack some tissues. Remind me, ok? You know what, I don’t want to go, it’s too far and I’ll have to get dressed since they’ll be people there…pizza, we should have pizza tonight, since Monday is fried chicken night. Umm, yeah, the pizza’ll take at least 20 minutes and since we’re taking the subway, we have to leave soon, so…I guess it’s pizza! Yeah, pizza!!! Ok, just kidding you warm something up in the microwave and I’ll go get dressed. Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!! Ok, calm down we’re really going so…fuck I gotta look indian, what do I have to look indian? Damn…Ok, there’s these cheesy dream catcher earrings my mom just sent me (snicker) what self respecting indian wears copper etched silver earrings? I guess they’re cool in a futuristic indian of the 21st century way, oh, I could wear the shell earrings the kids from camp made me with the shells? I wish I had more turquoise. I’m gonna wear a scarf, because I may get cold, that works since I don’t have any necklaces except the two bone chokers and that would be too much. Oh, there’s this one, the tan/bone looking beads that look normal but could pass for indian.
So Vic, tell me about documentaries? You went to film school right? I mean what's the point when you follow your subjects around for a day, then cut that down to grueling hour and a half. I rather not name names, but the title rhymes with "the SCHM-exiles". The program said it was released in 1961 and nothing much came of it's director afterwards, and it was filmed in the mid 50s when he, the director, was still a student. Not that I am a cinefile by any stretch of the imagination, and I can't or don't, wax poetic about a film..."oooh it was beautifully shot...the chemistry between the actors was unbelievable..." I am sure that I should have seen some cinematic greatness in the film, but to me it's just like a really bad home movie.
While watching it I am reminded of the weekend drives to the rez, when I would visit my boyfriend. I couldn't call him to tell him I was coming, because they didn't have a phone. So then I would worry sometimes when the cab dropped me off and drove away, what if no one was home? I'd have to then hope the store was still open, so I could call for a ride back to town. My walk through the snow, on the worn path between the houses was long and cold. I'm not sure why I never got dropped off in front of the house, maybe it was because I didn't want to pay extra or that I didn't want the cab driver to know where I was going, because then my dad might find out, then I'd be grounded again for another month. He didn't grow up on the rez, neither did I, but I did have contact with it and he didn't really like that. Looking back, the secret trips made me sad. My boyfriend was the middle child, 17, and he and his brothers pretty much fended for themselves. His parents worked out of town, and for all the times I'd been there I'd never met them. Their uncle, who was strung out most of the time, was supposed to keep an eye on them, but he usually brought the people over to party. It was sad, there was rarely food in the house, the fridge didn't have food, but a few beer, I always had to bundle up, because the heat was rarely on.