This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,35

of old, his first movie after Annie Hall. Priya’s life goal is to watch every movie on the AFI 100 lists, and it’s on the comedy one.”

I shake my head. “My family mostly watches Marvel and Pixar, or more hyped-up blockbuster movies. I have watched a lot of films about journalism, though: The Post, All the President’s Men, and Spotlight.”

“Have you seen Broadcast News? It’s a 1980s film with Holly Hunter and William Hurt. Also on the AFI 100 Laughs list.” Jocelyn pauses for a second and fiddles with the napkin she’s wrapping around a pair of chopsticks and a fork. “We could watch it. Here in the restaurant on a slow day,” she adds quickly, without looking at me.

“That’d be fun,” I say. Every once in a while my parents have the family watch what my father fondly calls “the classics of my youth”—The Princess Bride, The Breakfast Club, and E.T. “I get a kick out of eighties movies. I think it has something to do with the fact that movies weren’t digital yet, so all the special effects are so… earnest.”

That makes Jocelyn quirk a smile in my direction. Eye contact at last. “Exactly! They’re trying so hard. How can you not appreciate the craft that movies used to take?” She grimaces. “Nowadays, an elementary school kid with an iPhone can shoot a decent short film.”

“It’s like that with journalism,” I say. “Any blogger can build a platform and get as many hits as a legit newspaper with paid reporters. It’s scary, even though some people would say it allows for more viewpoints.” I stop myself before I start ranting about how the biggest papers have become worshippers of the search engine optimization gods, and how Google has lowered the bar for research to the point where the wrong journalist can find “data” to support anything.

“Yeah, it’s the same with movies. It’s just too easy,” Jocelyn says. Suddenly, she sits back into the booth, her body language relaxed but controlled. The uncertainty she had when she asked if I wanted to watch Broadcast News is gone, replaced with a wide-eyed, raw expression. She’s not shy about looking at me right now. I feel a bit like I’m a firefly that she’s captured in a mason jar, and that she’s waiting for me to light up.

In sixteen years, I’ve never been the focus of a girl’s attention like that, and my body responds to Jocelyn’s stare as if this is the most important, life-changing cold call I’m going to make in my life.

“Does it ever scare you…” She pauses, and I can feel my pulse fluttering in my neck as she gathers her thoughts. “Do you ever find it terrifying to think that with so many billions of people who have walked this earth, there is no way that your thoughts are unique? I mean, everyone pretty much agrees that at this point Hollywood is just a recycling bin of ideas. Do you ever wonder, what’s the point?”

Jocelyn’s brown eyes are impossibly dark and liquid. I can feel myself begin to flush. Somewhere above us, the central air turns on, but I can hardly hear it over the roaring in my ears as I struggle to formulate a coherent response, to say something that’s meaningful, because it’s so clear how much my answer matters to her.

What I want to tell Jocelyn is: I wonder all the time. About everything, which is why I’m so awkward at parties. I’m a writer, not an improv guy. If you need someone to come up with a cutting remark approximately seven minutes after one would’ve been useful, though, I’m all over it. The seconds tick by as I start to say something, then bite it back. Then I bark out a laugh.

“Okay, how ironic is it that I’m struggling so hard to say something original about how impossible it is to have unique ideas?”

It takes Jocelyn a moment to parse out my meaning, but when she does she giggles.

I grin back. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, the answer is yes. I wonder, ‘What’s the point?’ all the time, and not just with writing.” I balance a pair of chopsticks on my fingers, testing their weight before deciding to make my next statement. “I mean, a lot of the times it just seems like everything I want to do, my sister or my mom or my dad have done better already.”

Jocelyn lets out a huff of sympathy, and we sit in silence.