To fill the time, we went to see a movie called the Witches. According to the newspaper, it was a children's movie, and it starred Anjelica Huston. These facts made it an ideal choice for the both of us.
In the first minute of the film, a witch kidnaps a little girl and traps her in a painting in her parents' house. The little girl spends the rest of her life in the painting, unable to move or speak, and then she dies.
So I walked out.
Or I would have...if my nurturing, lovely grandma hadn't grabbed me by the armpits, lifted me off my feet, and fastened me down into her lap.
I was trapped, and the movie got scarier, and my grandma's grip got tighter. This stalemate continued for hours, days, weeks...
...until finally, on the anniversary of our entering the theater, I realized how good the little girl in the painting had it. She got to spend her life sentence watching her living room, whereas I was gonna die watching the Witches.
Once I abandoned all hope of escaping, it dawned on me...the plot was kinda cool. And the jokes were sorta funny. And the effects were vaguely awesome. And yeah, I was frightened, but only because I still had hope for the characters.
By the end of the film, I was riveted, and my hope was rewarded with a happy ending.
My grandma took me for pizza afterwards, and we talked about how the film made us feel.
"It made me scared of dying," I said, and the thought was still frightening, but saying it with a mouthful of pepperoni made it kinda funny.
"It didn't make me scared of dying," my grandma said, "but I know how you feel."
Just like that, the fear of mortality, that insurmountable feeling of loneliness and despair and loss and futility, was diminished into a few words...and it was okay to feel it.
Just like that, I understood that the very act of expression means you're not alone.
In all, it was a pretty good day with my grandma.
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