Memory is a Wonderful Thing if You Don't Have to Deal with the Past
A few years ago, I went to a friend’s wedding. Lots of friends were there, but it was a set I hadn't seen in a while. And one, who was a bridesmaid, I had had a crush on when we knew each other better, years before. We even spent a day together in DC during college. Nothing too dramatic: a few museums, cigarettes, 99¢ pizza slices, small monuments.
At the wedding, I'm flustered. She's so pretty, I thought about her a lot that day. But she was busy being a bridesmaid, running around, different tasks, different tables, and we didn't have a lot of time to catch up.
When the dance floor opened—and the bar—I remember the DJ leaning heavily into throwbacks, which really worked for me. I'm not usually a dancer, but Shania will get me on the floor, and Whitney will have me doing shots after I shouldn't. In my memory, the lights were so extreme—all one color for a whole song. We'd be drowning in blue, come up for air in orange and dive back into magenta. I thought I was making eye contact with my friend, the bridesmaid, all night, but I don't think that was real. Anyway, I think it was after we "got knocked down, but we got up again, cause you’re never gonna keep us down" that the bridesmaid came over to me. She put her right hand on my back and her left hand around my neck, pulled me close and whispered something in my ear. It felt like a scene, it felt like I’d planned it, but it also felt like I’d been right, like there was really this connection I was imagining, like there could be something next. What I’d wanted, that desire, that closeness, that touch, that yes. It was so intimate and I want to believe it was an invitation, but—I couldn't hear what she said. Probably thanks to a combination of the noise and the alcohol. I asked her to say it again, but she was already walking off. And I'll never know what she said, there's no way I could ever know—and sometimes I want to know, but mostly, it's enough to know she said something.
On the way home, sitting at a stoplight, a car rear-ended me. Low speed, low impact, no damage to their vehicle and only a little damage to mine. It was a rental, I was insured, I wasn't worried. However, the strangest thing: directly across the street from the light where it happened was a gas station where two police cars just sat watching the whole thing. They didn't come over to speak to us or investigate the situation, just watched as we exchanged information and went on our way. I remember thinking it would’ve been such a mess if they’d come over because I’d had a lot to drink (though I felt fine and the accident hadn't been my fault, just being honest).
I fell asleep that night counting my near-disastrous collisions.
Celine says it best part-way into the film: "Memory is a wonderful thing, if you don't have to deal with the past."