Stopping after 10 miles is a waste

Yesterday I spent 12 hours downtown experiencing one of my all-time favorite things about living in Savannah—the annual SCAD Savannah Film Festival. I’ve lived here for about 18 years now, but I never went to the festival until I was a student at SCAD and we had an assignment to do. And then once I started working at the newspaper and I got to actually be a part of the festival events, interview celebrities on the red carpet, and review movies, I was hooked. It’s still a little crazy to me that our little city offers such a wonderful experience for locals. I think some of my favorite memories of film fest involve my children. Growing up in Dublin, Texas, the idea of meeting celebrities and going to movie premiers was not something I was aware of even being a thing people did. One year, Robby and I took the kids out of school for the day—it was Halloween so the cosplay game that day was strong—to see Stan Lee at the Spiderman movie. At the end of the movie, they asked for questions for Stan Lee and Robby immediately started waving his extra-long arm in the air, and I leaned over and said, “What are you going to ask?” He excitedly said, “It’s not me, it’s not me. JUDE wants to ask a question!” I thought, Jude? Quiet, shy Jude? But the tears in Robby’s eyes let me know it was a true thing happening in real time. The usher brought over the microphone and 9-year-old Jude jumps to his feet and grabs the mic. He took a deep breath and said, “How long does it take for you to make a comic?” An audible “ahhhh” came from the audience and then Mr. Stan Lee, the creator of wonderful memories for comic book geeks around the globe, answered Jude’s question while Jude stood there proudly, hanging on every word and shaking his head--below is the interview and Jude is at 8:05 but the overall interview is pretty awesome for nostalgia sake. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lq-OVhr3w7A)

Another year we stood in line for more than an hour in the cold to see the premier of Big Hero 6 in 3D; we got special glasses and everything because several former SCAD students worked on the film.

When the kids were much older, we took them to see Logan, Wolverine’s final film, and Sir Patrick Stewart was there and he talked about Taco Bell and the time he and Hugh Jackman held hands and cried together as they watched Logan, knowing it was their last together.

As a teen, Roni seemed to have more interest to see certain movies. I’d take her out of school, we’d get lunch on Broughton Street and see some of her favorite actors. She even joined me on the red carpet one year and met John Boyega. The memories go on and on and I’m not writing all of this to brag, I’m writing this story because yesterday, while I sat alone on a bench in one of my favorite squares, drinking coffee in between films, my chest hurt with sadness thinking about all of these memories. 

At Robby’s memorial, one of his friends got up to speak and said he was so happy when Robby and I met because he always knew Robby was meant to be a dad and we gave him that chance. But, of course, that goes both ways--he also gave us the chance to have that geek dad who gets as excited about movies, books, and comics as the kids and I do. And even though he was the ultimate movie geek, he also missed those red carpet interviews with me because he was at home, being my husband, and taking care of the kids so I could work and have the time of my life—he never once complained.

One of the best things about sharing these kinds of experiences with Robby was he was usually the most excited out of all of us and it was hard to not share that excitement, even when you are a grumpy teen that wants to be upset about standing in a long line early in the morning to see a movie you could have watched on Netflix.

But then Robby starts talking to people that are wearing costumes for the movie and you all end up friends before the doors open. And then there’s also the time Robby and I showed up on a date night to see a movie that was getting all these great early reviews, but it ended up being so painfully boring. Robby kept looking over at me until I finally looked at him and whispered, “You wanna go grab a drink somewhere? This is terrible.” He did his ‘not so quiet’ laugh and covered his mouth quickly, grabbed my hand, and we walked across the street and had a drink and talked and laughed.

It was one of the best memories we had at film fest even though the movie was a total bomb for us. I guess these memories should make me happy, but they really don’t right now. Well, they make me happy at first, and then so sad my chest hurts. My body felt heavy while I sat in the square alone, drinking coffee, watching tourists gather around waiting for their ghost tour. I looked over at an empty bench and remembered Robby and me sitting there, shoulder to shoulder, eating Leopold’s ice cream, people watching, and laughing. Maybe one day I won’t feel like this. Maybe there is a chance that new experiences will make room for more happy memories, so these old ones don’t feel so tragic and lost. The way my body feels sometimes reminds me of how I feel during a really long workout and I reach the point where my body hurts, I’m tired, and my mind says it’s time to stop. Like when I decided to run my first half marathon. Luckily, I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t just throw on my New Balance running shoes and take off for the 13 miles; I had to work up to it. I had to start with a mile before I gradually increased my distance to 2 miles, then 3, and so on. It took a lot of time. Time to train my body, but most importantly, time to train my mind. And when I finally ran that half marathon, I was in pretty good running shape, but damn that race sucked. I got to mile 10 and wanted to stop. My body hurt. My feet were blistered. My legs were chafed and I just wanted to go home. I would do anything for it to be over and I promised myself I’d never run that far again. But somehow I made it to the finish line. I wanted to cry. I was so tired. But as I kept walking along, I got my breath back, I started to feel better. I was ready to go find my free beer that turned out to be a cheap Coors Light, but it tasted like the best beer I’d ever had. I sat on the grass with my friends and laughed and listened to music. Made new memories. Even decided that we would run it again next year. And when next year’s race came along, I felt like quitting at mile 10 again and wondered why I thought this was a good idea. But I made it. And I felt good for finishing once again. Yesterday while I sat in the square remembering all of those memories of film fests, holding hands, eating ice cream, and sneaking to-go cocktails into the Lucas Theatre to see Big Lebowski with Robby, I made the decision to move away from Savannah. I realized I couldn’t take the memories. I couldn’t take the loneliness. The heavy feeling in my chest and legs were too much.

I thought about other places I could go where I could start new memories that didn’t take the breath out of my lungs. Then I got up and started walking a few blocks down to my dinner date with a friend and I passed a guy dressed like a pirate with a fake bloody sword stuck in his chest carrying a beer and heading over to probably lead one of those ghost tours I just passed. A bar on wheels passed by with a group in a bridal party peddling their way around downtown, getting wasted, listening to bad rap music, and laughing their asses off. I passed a homeless man playing Moon River on his saxophone while an older couple danced together before dropping a $20 bill in his tip jar. Then it hit me. Sitting there on that bench in the square, feeling sorry for myself, was my mile 10. It’s that part of the day where I just don’t want to keep walking and smiling and cleaning and baking and washing clothes and turning off lights and being productive at work and driving home and eating dinner alone on the couch. I guess most days lately are my 10th mile. I guess I need to remember that. Because I have a lot more movies to watch, ice cream to eat, cocktails to sneak, and crazy characters to run into in this weird city. It’s a place that holds more memories for me than anywhere else in the world and stopping now would be a fucking waste. And besides, why would I want to live in a city where I can't stand on the stand on a sidewalk and share a beer with a freaking pirate giving ghost tours?