your life as a movie

20-something guys will get a crumb of ass and begin to think that their life is an art film debuted at Tribeca. It’ll gain a cult following. It’ll be a movie that other guys will put on because the girl they are on a date with doesn’t care what they watch on Netflix. You met online, like everyone else in 2019. Neurotically think for ten minutes she’ll judge you for the elevator scene and still and put on Drive. Close enough to a romantic movie. Hope she doesn’t think Ryan Gosling is hotter than you. The movie doesn’t even matter. She came over and didn’t think you were a serial killer. The only thing that matters is getting her into your bed to just cuddle.

Someone joked to you in 9th grade health class that spoonin leads to forkin when you reached the sex-ed lessons. You laughed then, but you understood it now. She’s laying to your right and it’s great, but you are crammed against the wall with your pins-and-needles arm underneath her. You haven’t had a girl in your bed in a while. Your sole focus is awkwardly angling your dick away from her so she can’t sense it. Your hand is on the back of her head with your fingers rolling through strands of her hair.

She tilts her head to the left. You tilt yours to your right. She giggles, because she’s just as nervous. Meanwhile you’re just trying to hold your cock at an angle so she can’t tell you are no softer than granite. Look into her eyes. You imagine it as a film. The camera would shift onto her with a face shot. The sole lighting is the movie you’ve stopped paying attention to. You see her freckles and moles, her cherubic cheeks looking directly into the camera. Her deep brown eyes see through you but you can’t choose which eye to focus on so you switch left to right.

The kiss scene is integral. The director commentary says so, and so does the guy who turned a subpar film into a sixteen-minute critical analysis on YouTube. She exhales onto your face and you hope your breath doesn’t stink. Her lips meet yours and after five minutes your lips are smoother than river rock. Still trying to awkwardly angle yourself. The scene transitions to a overhead shot from the ceiling. You throw her on top of you. She’s grinding away and your anxiety fades away. Next scene is left to the audience’s imagination as two bodies push and pull under blankets.

The following scene is quintessential. The morning wake-up, with the camera aimed towards the morning sun in the window above the bed. Wake up to her fingernails gracing your chest, her smile in your face with messy morning hair. A morning kiss and she is off to work but before she leaves she puts on your hoodie like you owe it to her. You aren’t sure if you’ll ever get it back. The next shot is him in bed – fulfilled, happy, in that weird state follows projections about the future.

Avoid people who say that say she was the one who got away. They never explain this in movies. It’s never implied that you to go back to your shitty life. The plot where you get her in the end in the airport three minutes before her flight except you can’t anymore because TSA needs to feel your ass now. It ends up idyllic and you’re Zac Braff and she’s Natalie Portman and you get leave your shit life. You stop thinking about being lonely, about never having kids, about spending the rest of your life alone. Life viewed through rose-tinted glasses even if you have to plod back to a wage slavery, at least you have her.

But the art film has a twist at the end where it’s not like other movies! The director smugly reveals in an interview that the movie isn’t supposed to be like regular films. The main character – you of course, as you always imagine – is supposed to feel heartbreak in the end. To march back to the desultory dread of everyday modern life. No sunday pancakes no two-story house no 1.5 kids who are doing really well in school.

The final scenes play through the credits. The director gaffs in the commentary. The focus group loved it! She’s passed the bar from a prestigious law school. You, however, are still slinging food at the pseudo-Italian joint where the only redeeming part is the shift meal. The directory extols his film as a realistic depiction of modern love.

It pans to the main character in a dim apartment a few years later. A shot of his keys rattling in the lock. Plops down on the couch. The cornea-melting blue light from a broken iPhone reflects off his glasses. Checking Facebook but since it’s a movie they can’t get the rights so it is Facegram. She’s married. An associate lawyer at a small firm practicing family law. Prenups and divorces but her favorite is an adoption day.

You’re thinking about putting on a movie but it has to be short. Work in the morning. Netflix recommends you a new release. The director is back with a rekindled creative energy that is sure to just dazzle the viewers. Somewhere out there another guy is watching it with a cute girl in his bed, hoping, just hoping, to cuddle.