The Nature of Happiness II

The catalyst that changed the bliss I had been experiencing despite my situation, was the meeting up with an old lover; he the inconstant constant in my life for almost thirty years.

I am no longer in love with him, but I thought why not? I hadn't seen him for five years when I had fled his town in a state of shock. However we had been in touch sporadically by text and email, beginning not entirely by chance some months ago. I told myself that I would be open, not to presume or leap onto my perch overlooking the moral high ground as I had done in the past. After all, I knew what he is like.

One outcome of our meeting was certain; the historic dynamic between us would restored, albeit temporarily and as a consequence of our enjoyment of each others' company, we would sleep together. This was not an issue with me. I was certain of this because being the age when women are invisible I was consciously seeking affirmation of my femininity and sexuality with someone whose body was as familiar to me as my own.

Over three days we enjoyed companionable days and nights together. We both complimented each other on how well we looked considering our ages - he 65, me just a few years younger. I recall him laughing spontaneously, over a drink at something I said. He held my hand as we tore from bar to bar in downtown finding the right crafted beer on tap to meet his exacting tastes.

Then there was the day he had to go home.  With hindsight I think there was a subtle switch in mood for us both. He was in having to catch a flight home mode which always underpins the hours prior to leaving no matter how much time you have. I was tired because I'd lain awake in that wide bed unsettled by the fact that there was no doubt someone else in his life eating away at me. I knew he lived alone so relax, I told myself. I acknowledged he lacked emotional depth and I have known that for a long time. Yet I have always loved his company over and above that of anyone else. My expectations of him all those years ago were projections I imposed on him born out of loneliness and need. He hadn't changed, but feeling this kind of weary bleakness, had I? Did I still unconsciously expect something more from him?

Warily, I'd put my hand up when he first proposed meeting. Eyes wide open yet meeting with him again I realised with an uncanny sense of deja vu that in some ways my situation was not dissimilar from the one I was in when I knew him all those years ago. It was the difference in our material situations that unsettled me the most, now as it did then. A sense of being powerless accompanied the feeling, now as it did then. I was no longer the sole parent of young children, but here I was unemployed with nothing set by but still presenting the same confident, well dressed face to the world.

So this is what has brought me to my present state where worry and reality have set in for the winter. A familiar gnawing has settled uncomfortably in my belly as I wonder how I am going to survive financially, going forward and alone.

Isabel

  The Last Picture Show

When I was growing up we never called going to see a film, “Going to the movies” which would have been a very American expression then although it is what I say nowadays. “Going to the cinema” seemed to have a particular British ring to it. Films and “going to the pictures or the flics” was our terminology growing up in 1950s New Zealand.

Most Saturday afternoons my brother and I would be given a shilling, (ten cents) or perhaps one (shilling) and three, (about fifteen cents), to “go the pictures”. We would walk over to the Southern Cross theatre in the local township, to watch whatever was showing on a Saturday afternoon at 2 o'clock. Although my mother, unlike other women in her generation, did have a car, we were rarely driven or collected afterwards. My parents must have welcomed the respite from two boisterous children who, if they weren't collaborating to build a hut in the backyard or start their own handwritten newspaper, were always fighting.

We used to queue up dutifully at the ticket box to buy our tickets and lollies (candy). There were always the rough boys in the front of the queue, who weren't necessarily bad at all, just unruly.   We were well behaved children who lived in fear of someone telling our parents if we were seen to misbehave while out. I don't think we were ever told this, it was just implicit in how we were brought up then. When I met my future husband in my mid teens, I found out that he was one of the “rough” boys in the front of the queue!

In those days, we stood for the anthem which was not New Zealand's national anthem but “God Save the Queen” which preceded every film showing. Then there was the Movietone news reel and I remember the opening title had a fighter plane flying overhead. I recall now somewhere in the opening titles there was a shot of Kookaburras with the sound of their unique laugh so possibly these news reels originated in Australia. However I can still hear the rousing music of the introduction in my head and the dramatic urgency in the clipped, distinctly British tones of the commentator.

The floor of the huge theatre was wooden and sloping towards the stage and this offered a wonderful opportunity to roll *Jaffas which were a noisy distraction. Of course if we made too much noise an usher would shine his or her torch on you and tell you to be quiet.   We did what we were told, we didn't question or give a rude sign in return. As the festoons of the velvet theatre curtains rose I used to speculate how many dresses the voluminous fabric would make for a distant aunt, who was a rather large lady. Why I did this, I will never know.

What I enjoyed mostly were the serials. Always shot in black and white we watched “Deadwood Dick”, “The Lone Ranger” and my absolute favourite “Zorro”, which established early on my connection to my inner Latina. I so wanted to be one of those exotic Mexican women of fire and smouldering beauty, with luxurious Rita Hayworth hair and an off-shoulder peasant blouse who had been “done wrong” but drawn against her will to the handsome hero brandishing a pair of six-guns.

I don't actually recall the main features but these generally were war films set in the Pacific, pirate adventures or westerns where the Indians were always the baddies. I was fond of actors like Richard Wydmark, Gary Cooper and John Wayne. Sometimes my brother and I ventured further to the Victory Cinema where a McDonalds stands now. You could get in there for ninepence which left you with six pence for goodies. The ninepenny seats though were up front close to the screen and again the rougher kids used to sit there. The Victory was such a big theatre that it even had a balcony.  At half time, (yes there were intervals), we would cross the road, to the an ice cream factory and buy an ice cream there. If you were prepared to sit in the cheaper seats and be associated with what I perceived as the riff raff, this gave you threepence more so you could have both lollies and an ice cream!

My brother and I took our time walking home. Sometimes we'd stop in a nearby park to play on the swings and slidesr. By the time we got home it was time to wash our hands for what we called tea in those days that was served right on five o'clock.

*A small round orange-coated chocolate sweet.