My Heart Will Definitely Go On

The world as I knew it would change in the year 1997. I was 10 years old and obsessed over historical documentaries. I know what you’re thinking, “What a little nerd,” but it’s true. My family always thought of me as the “black sheep.” I didn’t act like the other little girls of the late 90’s. I would lock myself up in my room and pop in the newest A&E historical documentary VHS tape that I found at the library. I guess you could say, I was a little different.

In mid-December, my school had taken all of us students to the movie theatre to watch Home Alone 3. I can’t remember why the school had taken us to see that movie, but what I can’t forget is what I saw before it started. I was leaning back in the uncomfortable theater chair bored out of my gourd on having to sit through such a lame movie. The lights turned down low and the projector started humming, signaling the start of the dreaded 30 minute viewing of movie trailers.

One after the other dragged on and I thought that my little prepubescent brain was melting into mush. Then out of nowhere, the faint melody of the Hymn to the Sea swirled from the gigantic speakers and entered my ears. The god among all ships flashes on the screen and I sat up straight. My hands gripped at my knees tightly, my eyes were wide like saucers. My heart started beating fast. I couldn’t believe it, they made a documentary of the perilous journey of the RMS Titanic and I was all for it.

I busted through my front door and jumped up and down excitedly. I begged my dad to take me to see the new Titanic movie. My parents weren’t the history buffs like me, so they promptly told me no. Looking back I don’t blame them, after all I told them it was a documentary and not an “actual” movie. I was devastated for weeks. All I wanted was to see the Titanic in all her humongous glory on the big screen. My parents finally caved in and made my aunt Sandy take me.

It was Saturday December 27 when my aunt picked up my brother Billy and me and drove us to Danberry Theater. We quickly rushed inside and stood in a line that felt like it was 26 miles long. I started to worry that all the tickets would sell out and that I would have to wait until the VHS tape came out. Finally, we reached the ticket counter and there were just enough seats for all three of us. My aunt asks if we wanted popcorn, but I just wanted to get to my seat. I impatiently stood in the middle of the lobby, arms crossed, waiting for my slow brother and aunt to get their concessions. They grabbed their items and we whisked off to theater 4.

I flopped down in my seat in the very back row. I bounced my leg up and down anxiously waiting for the theater crew to kill the lights. My aunt was passing me the bucket of popcorn just as the lights went out. I grabbed a heaping pile of the buttery crunchiness and shoved it into my mouth. I thought the trailers were never going to end. I thought I was going to die from anticipation before the title card even appeared. Then, it started.

I sat at the edge of my seat and waited for the glorious voice of the narrator. The rusted hulk of the downed titan slowly emerged on the screen. I thought I was going to faint from all that authentic footage. People started to appear on the screen and my excitement faded away slowly. “Who are these people? They aren’t historians or actual scientists? Who cares what that old lady has to say?” The realization came that my developing childish brain was duped by that falsified trailer. I was ready to give up and just sleep through the rest until she came.

First off, when I was 10 I didn’t know what the word gay or lesbian meant. I never knew that same sex relationships existed. All I knew was that little girls had to find boys repulsive, but dream of being saved by a knight in shining armor and that knight was a handsome muscular man. At this point in my short life, I never dreamed of being a princess who gets saved by the noble male knight. In fact, I would rather be the knight and save the princess. Relationships to me were gross. That all changed when I saw her face.

I sat in my seat wondering how I could have been so easily duped. I look back at the screen in time to see two old timey cars pull up and stop by the docks. One of the driver’s hops out and opens the back passenger door. A small gloved hand reaches out and the driver helps the lady exit the antique vehicle. A huge ass purple hat hides the lady’s face from view. In one small lifting of her head and swooping of the camera angle her face emerges for the first time. My heart stopped.

I remember a wave of intense heat spreading throughout my tiny little body and my mouth fell agape, almost hitting the floor. My face instantly flushes with blood and turns bright red. I felt a gazillion emotions for the first time and became instantly confused. I thought, “What is going on?” My aunt noticed my cherry red face and places her palm against my forehead, “Are you sick? You want to go home?” I assured her that I was OK. I wanted to see more of this lady and wasn’t sure why.

The movie drags on and I am now fully invested. The dialogue of the characters fade in and out and mold together. I couldn’t focus on what they were saying, except for her. I stopped caring about that stupid ship. I stopped caring about whether the movie was historically accurate or not. I just focused on Rose and daydreamed of being Jack. We get towards the end of act two and just when I thought it couldn’t get any crazier the famous line, “Draw me like one of your French Girls,” is declared.

Cue the Windows 95 crashing sound. My brain ceased to function properly. I believe I was legally dead for several minutes. Troubleshoot mode, initiated. Rebooting....rebooting…restarting…ding, ding, ding, TA DA. My senses came back to me just in time for the ice burg to fatally graze the side of the doomed ship’s hull. After the long and tragic ending, we left the theater and I sat in silence all the way home.

It wasn’t until several days later I learned the name of the actress who made me realize I was a part of the diverse rainbow community. It’s as if she handed me the membership card herself. If you couldn’t figure it out by now, it’s the amazing Kate Winslet. I am 33 years old and have been out of the closet for 6. Celebrity crushes have come and went in my youth and throughout my twenties and all have been just meaningless short lived desires. The only celebrity crush that has stood the test of time has been the one that I experienced 23 years ago in a movie theater where I thought I was going to see a documentary about the sinking of the Titanic. I am glad that I got duped.