(500) Days Of Summer

When I popped this DVD in my laptop, I expected a Nick & Norah-esque quirky romance movie. David had lent it to me (shortly after I returned his Mean Girls DVD that I had been holding captive for months), and Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist is his favorite movie of all time. Don't get me wrong, I liked that movie, but I don't see how it could be your favorite. It's completely unrealistic! How often do two teenagers meet by chance and fall for each other while chasing an underground indie band all over New York City? Yeah, never.

Anyway, (500) Days Of Summer was nothing like I expected. It was the story of a young man named Tom who wrote greeting cards, an unconventionally beautiful girl named Summer that worked at the office with him, and the 500 days between the day Tom meets Summer for the first time (convinced it's love at first sight), and the day he lets her go. Tom loves love, but Summer doesn't believe in it. So, their relationship is caught somewhere between friends-with-benefits and boyfriend-and-girlfriend, with each one standing firmly on either side, not backing down from the endless tug-of-war. And one day, Summer becomes distant, dumps Tom in the middle of a pancake house, and simply disappears. This leaves Tom stuck in a void of depression, doubting the existence of love, something he'd pined away for for his entire life. As soon as it seems that there is still hope for Tom, he runs into Summer once more, and they reconnect, dancing (literally) on the line between friendship and flirtation. Shortly after this reconnection, Tom discovers that Summer is engaged to be married, and their points of view on love have been reversed. And after another long phase of depression on Tom's part, which included quitting his job in a fit of rage and deciding to pursue his dream of becoming an architect, another encounter with Summer gives him the closure he needs. The film ends with a possible new beginning, a girl interviewing for the same architect position as Tom is, that he asks out on a whim. Maybe there is such thing as fate after all. And guess what her name is? Autumn.

I'm guessing that was kind of a crappy summary, but I decided to talk about this movie because of the impact it made on me.

I looked at Tom and I saw myself. And when I looked at Summer, I saw Floyd. It was like that moment when you're listening to a song, and every word relates to your latest predicament. (Ahem, The Story Of Us by Taylor Swift) Floyd and me's relationship is (was) nothing like the relationship that Tom and Summer share. But I saw us there. I saw me, pining away for true love, hoping that it exists, and convinced that I've found the one person I was meant to be with. I saw Floyd, who doesn't know what he wants. And at the end, Tom let Summer go and stumbled upon another person who might be his soulmate. I stopped and I asked myself, "Self, are you wasting your time?"

And the next day, I'm sitting in my Creative Writing class, knees pulled up to my chest and feet crossed on my chair, and I'm talking to him across a noisy row of desks. And it's easy. There's no anxiety hatching cocoons in my stomach, filling it with newborn butterflies. Because he's just a person. I talk to people. I'm a talkative person. Why not talk to Floyd? What's been stopping me?

Am I supposed to feel giddy? Nervous? Happy? Because I don't. I just feel like I'm me, and he's him, and we're having a conversation. And he's the same person he always was. Green fire eyes, words dripping with sarcasm, believing the world cares about his opinions (I may be the only one), gray and white t-shirt with uneven stripes that would drive an OCD person insane (probably intentional), Catholic pendants hanging from his neck, reddish brown stubble decorating his chin. He's him. But am I still me?

Am I a different person than I was a year ago? Am I still the same girl who would do anything to please Floyd? Am I still the same girl who perched him in the spotlight, where I could see him in just the right lighting, and he appeared to be the perfect muse, the perfect boyfriend, perfect for me, a person whose flaws were even perfect? After a while, I got sick of setting the stage. I wanted to share that spotlight with him. But if I was down on the stage, who would be controlling the spotlight? Holding him tight in my grasp, would I then find myself in the dark, wondering "What do I do now?" I don't know anything about what comes after the chase. It's all I've ever known.

I'd write him scripts, beautifully written happy endings, and watch him toss them aside, demanding another. In a fit of rage, I'd produced one more, and no more have followed. I had shoved it in his face, then simply turned on my heel and walked away, not bothering to wait for a reaction, spotlight in hand. I had decided that chasing love was a useless, destructive hobby that I had essentially become addicted to, and I was growing quite tired. He's the one who runs track. (He's damn fast, too) Why make me do all the chasing? Did he like to see me suffer?

I figured that if he wanted me, he'd come and get me. It was the type of guy that he was. I'd seen him in action. Flirtatious, bold. He knew what he wanted, and he went and got it. One second, this cocky redheaded dude is hitting on you and you don't know what to think, and suddenly, you're falling for him. He was irresistible, if you gave him a chance.

After observing this behavior, I stopped beating around the bush and decided to find out: Did he like me? Or did he like the spotlight?

So, I turned off the spotlight.

And consequently, we fell apart.

Why do I spend so much time trying to figure out how to fix this, when I'm the one who broke it in the first place?

Do I turn the spotlight back on? Or do I tear the idealized memories from the walls of my brain, erase the expectations my inner dreamer set up subconsciously, and become the architect for my own life instead?

After a bit of counting on my fingers and deep thought (on my calculator's part), the very rough estimation I've come up with is (450) Days Of Floyd.

Floyd is my Summer. He is my narcotic. Addictive and destructive, but I'm far too captivated by him to care. I love everything about him. I hate everything about him. I'm convinced there is no one else in the world who could be as perfect for me. I'm foolish. I'm ridiculous. And I'm right until proven wrong.

But before doing something as simple as watching some film, lent to me by a friend, I never believed that it was possible: being proven wrong. Especially about this. But, hey.

I did say Autumn was my favorite season, didn't I?