excerpt from:
Things That Go
Bump
in the Night A Skeleton in the Closet
Pat Gallant
Then there was the scene in Sabrina where Audrey Hepburn, in a suicide attempt, turns on the motors of all the cars in the garage of William Holden, who doesn’t even notice this young girl exists. Humphrey Bogart to the rescue. Is love that painful? I cringed at the thought But then there were the captivating love stories; Cinderella stories that make you think maybe ifs all worth it At least for the moment But later I would come to believe that nothing’s fair in love and war; that it doesn’t take two to tango; and that it is not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Propaganda! Propaganda that forces us to endure. Propaganda that makes us yearn for that knight in shining armor. For a love that parallels no other. For the riveting love in Love in the Afternoon, where Audrey Hepburn’s “Thin Girl” is running alongside a train that’s pulling out of the station, yelling up to Gary Cooper who is on the train, leaving her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. Really.” Huge tears pouring from her eyes, she quickens her pace, repeating over and over, “Really, I’ll be all right” My heart stopped as I watched this until finally, with a grand sweep of his arm, Cooper lifts “Thin Girl” onto the train with him. And they live happily ever after. And I can breathe again.
Or Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember one arm outstretched, reaching; reaching out to Cary Grant, his back turned, ready to exit Her hand remains in the air. Still reaching, hopeless, alone. I’m yelling at the TV now, begging him to turn back At last, he listens to me, turns around, suddenly putting it all together, realizing she hadn’t rejected him but had been keeping a secret – that she had been hit by a bus while looking up at the Empire State building where he had awaited her. Indeed, she hadn’t stood him up at all, but had become paralyzed and didn’t want him to know, lest she be a burden to him. To this day I remember his words: “If it had to be one of us, why couldn’t it have been me?”
“Nicky, Nicky,” she cries into his arms. “I looked up, Nicky. It was the nearest thing to heaven and you were there.” And I wonder with all my young heart if I will ever be loved that way. If ever I will feel those emotions. If someone will ever feel that way about me. The prospect seems utterly preposterous as I look down at my gangly teen body. And being no whiz-kid either, I suddenly feel I have nothing to offer and groan aloud.
But then there was Carol, the girl in our class who managed to date an upper-classman – he being about 16 years old to our 14. No less than a coup, which drew much envy. His voice had changed and he was sexy, sensual, handsome and elicited feelings in me that were newly discovered. He was so different from the mostly moronic boys our age. But one day Carol was crying. Crying all morning; crying all afternoon. Class after class, she shifted from weeping to sobbing to weeping again. She was, I decided, in that “unreachable” stage. No one knew what happened. No one can get her to talk No one can help her. She is engulfed in a cloud of despair that brings me back to reality – love can hurt. And I am frightened once again. We all knew it was about a fight with her boyfriend, but we don’t know or understand what could have driven her to this. It is lunchtime and she is still crying. It is math and she is still crying. Then gym. Then Spanish. All day. Non-stop. Every class. And I am certain I want no part of love.
It’s at the end of the day when I once again see Carol, by the lockers. Weeping. Hopelessly vulnerable. But this time she is with him. He cups her face in his hands and lifts up her chin. She pulls away, sobbing now. Wracking sobs that come from the gut; the kind you don’t want anyone to see. I stare, shamefully unabashed. He sweeps her into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he says over and over. “I’m so sorry.” And they are holding tight She is wrapped safely in his arms. She is back. And for a split second, I am in his arms, in Gary Cooper’s arms, in Cary Grant’s arms. And I am safe. And loved. The moment is sheer magic. And I want it. I want to fall in love. I want to dance with the King in the King and I, twirling across the stage in Yul Brynner’s arms, like his Anna does. I want to be loved like that – like any of them – to love and be loved like no one has ever been loved before. With all the beauty in the poems we were given to read in English Lit
Pat Gallant