My Kid Sister sees any movie she likes in the theatre. Then she sees it again. The day the DVD comes out, she will cajole you into buying it for her. Then she will begin watching it over and over again. She watches with the closed captioning on, memorizing every line. If the movie is shown on television, she will play the DVD at the same time as the broadcast version, switching back and forth between the two, pausing the DVD during the commercials so that the two “don’t get messed up.” Just when you think you will go mad if you hear, “Look, it’s Miley!” one more time, she begins to watch the movie in French.
At Christmas time several years ago, my Brother took my Kid Sister to see the new, live-action Peter Pan. Kid Sister, just on the cusp of adolescence, liked the frothy, Mary Martin musical version. This darker film, starring Jeremy Sumpter, didn’t seem impress her. Kid Sister was silent on the car ride back to the house. Finally, in the driveway, my sister spoke. She was reverent. “His name is Jeremy.”
Ever since then, that little phrase has been a sort of shorthand for me. It means adoration. It means “isn’t he dreamy?” It means “this is someone I would move to Never-land to be with.”
I have a nice Boyfriend. He’s also a little magical. Over the summer, he enchanted my French press; every time I used it to make coffee, it seemed to wash itself. More importantly, he listens to me, he helps me, he cares about my friends and family.
And he takes my Kid Sister to any movie she likes.
“His name is Jeremy.”
(Photo reproduced without permission from moviesmedia.ing.com).
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