Having a Good Friend for Dinner

To whom it may concern, otherwise everyone:

Now that the summer is almost behind us, I feel comfortable looking back at my summer goal and seeing how far I have come in accomplishing it. As many of you may know, I have no idea what I want to do with tomorrow or next year or my life. But I have thought about including film in my future, and thought that watching all the Best Pictures would be a good background in showing me what “good” film is.

This summer I have watched 13, all of which have affected me in a small way. However, none more than the Jonathan Demme classic (I had to Wikipedia that), The Silence of The Lambs.

While my neighbors were barbecuing chicken and tossing a football in the park on Labor Day, I was laying down on the couch for a night with that infamous face muncher Anthony Hopkins. I was complaining to a friend earlier that day that I had to watch The Silence of the Lambs and she said, “Don’t worry. It’s not scary. It’s just weird.”

Not scary? Really? When was the last time an overbearingly cold-stoned* man grabbed your head and BIT your mouth off? Oh, never? Well, then you wouldn’t know would you, if it was scary or not. I really wish on my life I never meet Anthony Hopkins because I never want to hear him say “Hello, Nasrin”. Even if he says “Hey, Nasrin, what's up?” or “Yo, Naz” I would scream “CANNIBAL!” and bolt.

(*By cold-stoned I mean unemotionally creepy, not full of ice cream)

If you don’t believe me, please let me continue my story. After 118 minutes of gut-crunching terror (I had to IMDB that), I sat in silence staring at the black screen. How could Jonathan Demme make such an afflicting movie? I knew I would never be the same.

Suddenly the phone rang, and I jumped. But I wiped my brow because it was only my friend asking me to come pick her up from her apartment so we could have dinner together.

I grabbed my purse and started to walk out the door, but too late did I realize that it was dark out there. I slowed my pace but kept telling myself I was being silly. Hannibal Lecter was not real! And even if he was, he didn’t live in La Jolla. So I began to calm down as I walked to my car and climbed in. But even so, I looked around for a few seconds and quickly locked the doors. Better safe than eaten.

My friend’s apartment was suddenly far too far. Why did she have to live three blocks away? Anything could happen in three blocks. And it did. I was almost eaten that night.

I was stopped at an intersection, my friend’s apartment complex right in front of me and my destination clear. I turned up the radio, encouraged by the thought that I wouldn’t be alone soon. The Jonas Brothers were on and everything was working out in my favor. I danced along to their catchy rhymes but looked around to make sure no one could see me enjoying them so much. When I looked to the left, the coast was clear. I was free from Jo Bro ridicule. But when I looked to the right, my heart started racing.

A man dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and black slacks stood motionless on the sidewalk, staring into my passenger side window. He began to walk towards my car.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Hannibal, it’s Hannibal and he’s coming to eat me.

I locked my doors again, hoping the loud click of the lock would distract him and I would be able to drive to the haven of the McDonalds across the street. This, however, did not affect him even the slightest bit, as now he was three inches away from my backseat door.

Oh, God. Oh, God. What do I do? The light is red and the traffic is heavy, if I drove into the intersection I would be road kill. But if I stayed still I would be dinner. I couldn’t believe that Hannibal Lecter was actually out to get me.

I studied my rearview mirror and saw Dr. Lecter slow down and walk behind my car, only his chest and upper legs visible.

I kept trying to tell myself, “Stop it, stop it, it’s just some creepy man who for some reason had to cross the street an inch behind your car. Obviously your magnetic personality attracted yet another one.”

But when he stopped behind my left tire, I couldn’t take it anymore and jerked my car forward, hoping somehow to scare him away.

This is when the Man in Black, who in the time I had taken to move my foot off the gas had continued to walk toward the sidewalk, turned around and looked me square in the eye. He stared at me and slowly smiled, sending a shiver from my nose down to my knees. The light turned green and, when a few seconds before I couldn’t wait to speed out of that intersection, now I couldn’t even move. A car behind me had to honk and flip me the bird before I realized that I should keep driving.

Not scary? I beg to differ.

Signed,
Prudy