Saw Paranormal Activity on Tuesday night. It wasn't very scary. It was all, you know, "OMG that door just moved" and "did you hear that" and "I love you baby" and "get away from me."
I can't imagine why people let me into movie theaters. When the audience is silent and coiled, two hundred and ninety-nine people gasp and hold their breath as shock strokes the backs of their necks, and then out of the hush rumbles one hearty, long chuckle that totally ruins the buzz.
"You a-hole," Emi whispers, and punches me.
"Dude, this movie is hysterical."
(I just asked MoLinder what my laugh sounds like. She said, and I quote, "You sound like this booming, hilarious, drunken German man.")
Emi is jumpy as fuck, and keeps on trying to effing cuddle with me in fear, because when there is no big-armed strongman around, people turn to me for safety. Sometimes even those same big-armed strongmen turn to me for safety.
In college I would get scared phone calls from friends, and I'd have to slug up my baseball bat and head over to houses to investigate creepy closets and creaking doors. I'm not tough. I'm not very intimidating. I'm not very brave. I'm actually very, very gullible, and I tricked myself into thinking that people thought I was brave. Chances are they were humoring me, and man, I ate that shit up. Loved being the protector.
Unfortunately, that fucking movie made all of that false courage fucking worthless, even though I wasn't afraid during the movie. I wasn't afraid driving home, I wasn't afraid walking from my car across a darkened street to my building, I wasn't afraid of the gently groaning front gate, I wasn't afraid of entering a shadowy, cold apartment.
Emi was terrified and slept on our couch.
Then I tried to sleep, and the world summoned all of its subtle, sinister sounds in a eerily passive, static assault on my sanity. Goddamn terrified, is what I was.
What was that? Is that the gate? Who's there? Someone is here. Someone is walking up the stairs, holy fuck, someone is walking up the stairs. Calm down, Ross, people walk up the stairs all the time. You hear this every night. This is an apartment complex. But at two-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday? Paul is a bartender. He lives on the third floor. It must be Paul.
Watch a movie. Sleep with the light on. Wake up for work, hit the bathroom, shivering and avoiding the mirror. I do not want to shower, I want to go outside. Why are you so paranoid, Ross, chill the hell out. Slow down. Nothing is out to get you - what the fuck was that? Go outside. Go outside. It is here. It is here. Holy Fuck. Oh my god, go outside. Faster. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit - is that the bus? Oh, thank fucking god.
Get on the bus. There are people there. Calm. Down. Breathe. Stop being such a sally, Sally.
My name is not Sally, but that would be wicked awesome.