A Night with Red

It was a rainy weekend in New York. I was working all weekend in the office.

Tonight, Sunday of April 23, I know I had to leave at 7:30 from work, to make a date. Powerpoint deck can wait.

Today is the last day of A Road Map of the Soul: The Complete Keislowski at Walter Reade Theater. I did not invite any friend either, it will be me, my soul and Keislowski.

The closing film is what I have missed for so long, Three Colors:Red, or Rouge. I watched it for 10 minutes long time ago on DVD. Then I said I was not ready and it deserves a better time and better me. So I waited.

I was wandering around areas near Walter Reade Theater weeks ago and happened to see the brochuer about his film showing. I wanted to see the Double Life of Veronique as well, but I missed it. It was hard to keep track of life these days.

But I would not miss Red, this night.

I almost. I left arond 8 from office, the film was at 8:20. I got out of the cab and ran. When I reached the ticket office, the woman inside said: it is sold out. But that is the stand by line. I looked to my left, 3 people were standing there. I waited. I would stand by for Red, for Keislowski, for worthy things in life.

The line got longer. 10 minutes past the show time.They began to sell tickets to us. "You either sit in the front or the very back." We were told.

Taking a cup of coffee and a piece of banana bread, I walked in. I saw in the semi darkness there was empty space at the end of a long bench at the very back of the theater. It has the best view, since it is the highest level. I went straight there. Butt on the hard wood bench, leaning againt the iron bars, I realized it is not as comfortable, but it suited me just fine. I would rather sit in the back than in the very front, looking up.

Valentine was in the car, changing channels, right before she run over Rita.

Red curtain in her photo shot with her facial profile, red Jeep driven by the young man who was taking exam; red and worn out wall in the old judge's house; red sofa in the fashion show....I was watching Red. I felt familiar and warm.

Her face outside and inside the mirror in the same shot is stunningly beautiful, when she talked to him in his house.

"I dreamed of you last night. It has been a long while since I dreamed of anything nice."

Tears came to my eyes.

"You were 50, happy. When you woke up, you smiled at someone beside you." You know he loves her then. When he dreamed of her getting old and happy.

Tears came out of my eyes and going down my chin. I had to wipe it with my fingers.

"Maybe you were the woman I never met." So much pain in that man's eyes, and love.

I dreamed of you Saturday night. In that dream, I was walking out of the office building, you walked in. You were smiling.

Somehow next moment you held me from the back. Then I felt that we probably made love like that. I forgot. It was a dream. Then I fell into sleep.

I was missing you, am. I have not made love with anyone since we were last together in January.

I loved my dream, because you were smiling, and holding me.

When you first dreamed of me, you told me, I was laughing, bare footed, asking you: then why do you kiss me?

I felt like Valentine in the film, living a peaceful and quiet life, waiting.

She wore black in the film a lot, never red.

When I got out of the theater, in love with that old judge's face, looking through the broken window, I walked past Juliat school and turned left, down the steps, toward Lincoln center. Home is 10 blocks away.

A rainny and foggy Sunday night, there were scarely any souls in the garden. Last September, we stood there and kissed for a long time. Tonight I walked past it silently, slim, light, and alone.

Met was still magfinicent, I made a mental note to myself that I should catch an Opera before the season ends, if possible. Anything will do.

There was one guy sitting at the fountain, smoking, blowing out his smoke, toward the direction of Met, alone. He looked like a man with stories. He looked like he came from somewhere else. A couple sat on the other side of the fountain. The girl looked me when I passed her.

Why this night of wet and lovely April felt like a night of stories to me, ghostly, or it is just Keislowski playing his tricks, touching my soul.

I walked down 9th Avenue, three college student-looking young men stopped infront of Fordham University and tried to take a picture of a sculpture in the mist. "You can not get that", one of them said. They looked at me when I passed them.

I walked past them, passing the Starbucks where I sat and took a black and white picture on July 4th last year, before my trip to see you out in the west. That Starbucks then alwasy reminded me of that July. It was closed and empty when I walked by it tonght.

I crossed the street toward 8th Avenue on 56. I always like that quiet street. Somebody whistled some tune in the distance, behind me.

An old woman smoking outside a building, short, small, wearing slippers. She stared at me serioulsy when I passed her. She had something in her eyes. Do you want to talk.

I thought of the old lady trying to throw that bottle inside the recycle bin. I will help her as well.

My bread factory store on 8th is still bright. The young Hispanic guys who work there have facial features that were almost Asian.

When I got out, and walked along the 55 street, toward 9th, I realized the holiday light is finally gone. It is Spring and trees are clouded in that tender green of new leaves.

A man in his late 20s was parting with his parents on the corner of 55 and 9th, maybe after a show. He was relieved to say goodbye, the parents were hesitant to leave just yet.

I crossed the street, before getting into my building, I felt that I love so much, this city, this night with Keislowski , and you, and people that we were and will be able to connect to, so long as we live, turning a corner, right there. Nothing will be too late.

Red stands for fraternity in the French Revolution, Blue, liberty, White, equality.