Forty years ago this week, I faced what must have certainly been the greatest disappointment of my little life to that point. I'm not sure where I heard it -- probably from my uncle, who kept me abreast of all cool things on the horizon, or maybe it was from the Starlog or Famous Monsters articles that I made my momma read to me in lieu of storybooks -- but I knew that Star Wars was coming to theaters on May 25. My body was ready. I already had the first two issues of the Marvel Comics adaptation of the film, and no, I couldn't read them. But that's the beauty of Star Wars, isn't it? You don't need to understand the words to understand the story. And I knew already that this story was going to be my Favorite Thing Ever.
Of course, what I didn't understand then is that movies didn't come out everywhere at the same time, the way they do these days. So I almost didn't believe my momma when I asked her, as she read over the morning paper, what time Star Wars was playing -- and she told me it wasn't. I made her show me the newspaper movie listing, because even though I couldn't read, I could still recognize the letters STAR WARS. Sure enough, that combination of letters wasn't there.
It would be more than a month before I got to see the film. By that time, I had the chance to peruse yet another issue of the Marvel comic, so I had a pretty good feel for the shape of the first half of the story. Granted, I had no idea exactly how impactful the film would be, and just how different an impression it would make than the comic book. Chewbacca? He didn't even really stick on my radar when looking over the comics (if you know me, you know this is tantamount of blasphemy). And what is C-3PO without Anthony Daniels' voice? I just knew that Luke was cool (heh!) and that the old dude in the dress was taking him on quite the adventure. And I wanted to go along with them for real.
More than anything, what blew my mind a little over a month later -- July 1, to be exact -- as my mom and I sat in that darkened theater in the parking lot of Montgomery Mall, was just how real it all was. That Star Destroyer scrolling overhead seemed to go on for miles and miles and miles. When Darth Vader lifted Captain Antilles off the floor by his neck? I bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. When R2 got ion-zapped by Jawas and face- (dome-?) planted on the ground, a little part of my five-year-old heart died. And when Chewbacca finally appeared onscreen in that creepy saloon, I knew I wanted him to be my best friend forever and ever.
What's funny is, I almost didn't even make it to the cinema on July 1. I woke up that morning with a fever. My momma told me we would have to wait until I got better to go see that space movie. If I could have willed myself to die right there on the spot, I would have. But as fate (the Force?) would have it, our air conditioner went out that afternoon. It was July in Alabama, and as you can imagine the house quickly became a place that no little boy running a fever should be. So Momma packed me into the car, drove me to the two-screen cinema in the parking lot of Montgomery Mall, where there was sure to be air conditioning, and we sat down just in time to see those big yellow letters ("I KNOW WHAT THOSE LETTERS MEAN!") whoosh out of the screen.
It's funny now to realize that we just walked up to the cinema and bought a ticket for the second matinee. No lines back then. At least not in Montgomery. Heck, I don't remember there being lines for any film until E.T.
But I digress. I finally -- finally -- got to experience the rest of the story. And really experience the first half of it for the first time. And as the music finally swelled and everybody but Chewbacca got a medal for saving the day and the tiny little words that I couldn't in a million years hope to read started rolling up the screen, Momma leaned over to me and whispered, "Don't go nowhere."
But I had already been everywhere, hadn't I? Wait, you mean I get to see it all again?!
We stayed in our seats until those closing credits rolled a second time. I went five hours without a tinkle, which I think is a record for me to this day. But I not only finally got to see Star Wars -- I got to see it twice!
That started something of a tradition for me and Momma. She took me to see The Empire Strikes Back on opening day. (Her review of the film as we exited the theater: "They better make another one. They cain't leave it like that. Hans better come back!") She had foot surgery the day before Jedi opened and made my dad take me that first night (something he still holds against me to this day), but she took me back a week later to see it with me. (Her review: "Ain't them little bears was just the cutest thing you ever did see?")
When The Phantom Menace opened, she didn't camp out with me and didn't see the film on opening day, of course, but we were there together the day after. (Her review of the film: "Didn't Yoda look so handsome?!")
Unfortunately, the week before Attack of the Clones opened, she was cut in half. Literally. Her second major cancer surgery. The only thing holding her ribs to her hips was her spinal column. She was supposed to be in ICU for at least a week, and she wasn't expected to walk for at least a week after that. She walked out of ICU three days later of her own volition, and we saw Episode II a week-and-a-half after that. (Her review: "A Jedi ought not be sneakin' around and fibbin' like that!)
She never got to see Revenge of the Sith at all. By that point, she couldn't bear to sit in a cinema seat for two hours, and by the time the film arrived on DVD, chemo had so ravaged her mind and body that she couldn't even concentrate on an episode of Wheel of Fortune from beginning to end.
I imagine my fellow moviegoers look at me sideways when I start to sob as those mythical words pop up on the screen even to this day: "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...." Part of it just the pure emotion of it, sure. The pure love of Star Wars in and of itself. But part of it just boils down to the fact that that moment is when I miss Momma the most. Not Christmas. Not Mother's Day. Not her birthday. I miss her then, too, it should go without saying. I miss her every day. But watching Star Wars without her is always the most poignant reminder that she's gone. At the same time, in a weird way, it's also the time when I feel most connected to her these days. I can't watch Star Wars and not feel her presence in the seat next to mine. For those two hours and however many minutes, she's right there beside me. Cheering on Rey, even though she never got to meet her. Crying at Han Solo's death. She would have bawled. Dawwing over BB-8, who, I can tell you with absolute certainty, would have become her favorite character, with apologies to Arty-Doo-Tee.
No matter when and where I watch the films these days, I'm suddenly five again. Not sitting there on May 25, heartbroken that Star Wars got canceled or whatever. Not even the morning of July 1, when I was told I would have to wait a few more days. But that afternoon, when Momma leaned over and whispered, "Don't go nowhere." And I took my second steps into a larger world that would forever guide my destiny.
Happy birthday, Star Wars. Thanks for the memories. The ones that helped shape me into who I am today, and the ones yet to be made.
