Scream Under the Stars

This year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wes Craven's Scream. It is often credited with rejuvenating horror movies. That is true, though I sometimes wince at the thought of how it was done (by basically laughing at the genre a bit too much). I like my horror movies somewhere in the middle of not-too-serious/not too campy. This is one reason I've never warmed to films such as the 2018 Halloween or, say, Dracula: Dead and Loving It. Anyhow -- because it's October, and we're but ten short days away from Halloween, I thought it would be a good time to revisit my memories of the original Scream.

I didn't actually see the Wes Craven classic when it was released. The quality control for horror movies -- always a bit iffy at the best of times -- had been on the decline for awhile by the time Scream came out. I'd made the trek to the theater to watch 1995's Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers and, afterward, thought, "Right, that's it. No more." I'd been burned one too many times. So, a year later, in 1996, I gave Scream a pass, in spite of the rave reviews and positive word-of-mouth.

Fast forward a year: 1997. I'd just started working at Circuit City in May and, a few months later, the local university started their annual schedule of films being shown on the main quad. One of the movies was going to be -- you guessed it -- Scream. By this point, we were heading into October, and it was an apt choice for the season.

During this time, I was going to the local LGBT nightclub pretty regularly. It was there that my path crossed with a guy named Rob. We'd exchanged phone numbers, talked a time or two and, to be honest, I was mildly smitten. Nothing too dramatic, mind you. I just found him to be attractive, and nice. Emphasis on the nice. So many people I'd come across seemed to have an edge to them, but not Rob. He was, in a word, sweet. Dark-haired, with a bit of a rounded, handsome face -- and a killer smile -- he was a somewhat soft-spoken person whose intelligence I found beguiling. 

I don't 100% remember who asked who, though I pretty sure it was Rob who did the asking? Anyhow, there it was: Did I want to see Scream with him on the quad?  Ah, yes, Scream, I thought. That's the horror movie that was big last year, already has a sequel coming out, and so many people say it's the greatest thing since sliced bread. Sure, why not? On the other hand...

Dear reader, I'm not sure if you're aware of the sometimes-crippling anxiety that dwells within me. I have both the ego that has propelled me to run for public office multiple times -- convinced that others should vote for me, and also a lack of self-esteem and self-worth so huge that it's a wonder it can't be seen from space. The ironic duality of this has not gone unnoticed by yours truly. So, when someone like Rob asks me to go to a movie with him, it's time to do nothing else but the only rational thing -- panic.

Of course, my mind immediately set upon the notion that this could be a romantic evening. Images of Rob and I see, sitting together on a blanket placed upon the grass of the quad, jumping into each others' arms at some of the movie's scarier parts, flashed through my mind faster than you can snap your fingers. 'Now, Matt,' I thought, my brain attempting to counter its runaway imagination, 'he's probably just asking as a friend. Chill out.' Then, we had a phone conversation about it I'll never forget, where Rob mentioned how we could sit on a blanket together on the quad, and I should be prepared for him to jump on me, as he gets scared during horror films.

Reader, my mind went reeling.

I went twenty-one-years-old, and had never -- I repeat, never -- been physically affectionate (in the sort of dating/romantic sense) with another person. I wanted to, of course, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Here, then was opportunity presenting itself, and of course my reaction was terror and dread. I told Rob I'd need to see about getting time off from work on that day (working retail means sometimes working evenings), and would get back to him. That was a good stalling tactic, but it wouldn't keep things at bay for long.

Getting the time off from proved to not be an issue. Of course it wasn't. The one occasion where my anxiety would have welcomed an obstacle, none were presented. I discussed the situation with a friend or two, and they were, of course, ecstatic for me to go on this movie date. I would give half-smiles at the encouragement, all the while feeling sick to my stomach. I guess -- to do a bit of inward armchair psychology for a moment -- I was so lacking in confidence that the assumption was that 1) Rob had made a mistake in judging me a good person to do this with, and 2) It would become obvious to him how lame I was once the evening commenced.

Finally, I called Rob and flat-out lied, telling him that I couldn't get the time off from work. He sounded a bit disappointed, but said he understood. For the next week, I felt tons of angst over the decision, finally deciding to call him back a few days after the event, apologizing for backing out. "It's fine," he said. "I asked someone else to go, and we had a nice time." And that, dear reader, was that.

Rob and I didn't really talk much after I'd bailed on seeing Scream with him. We would occasionally see each other at the club, or sometimes end up at the same after-parties, but that's about it. All he'd really done was show some interest in me, and I turned it into an epic fail. So it goes. A lot of people have had missed opportunities. Thankfully, in the end, it didn't matter. Last I heard, Rob was in a long-term relationship, and I was fortunate enough to find Ashley, so it all worked out.

I did finally see Scream, a year or two later, renting it one night and watching it alone at my house. It was good. I could definitely see what all the fuss was about it. Still... the thought occurred that it would've been nice to have watched it with someone, on a blanket, on the quad.