Waiting for Lianna

During my freshman year of college, they scheduled a screening of Lianna (1983) at the theater in the student union at WVU. It was at night, so the crowd in the student union had thinned out, but there were still people around, and I was terrified of anyone seeing me going to a movie about homos. It was my intention to duck into the theater quickly, but the theater was locked when I got there. I went across the hall and leaned against the wall. I hoped no one would realize I was waiting to see Lianna.

When my nerves had settled, and I was no longer completely self-absorbed, I noticed another boy was leaning against the wall across from me. I’ll never forget how scared, alone and vulnerable he appeared. He wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. He kept his head down. And there was just something about him, the way he carried himself, that told me he had been deep inside of his shell for a long time. His skin was even unusually pale as if he avoided sunlight.

I was fascinated by him because we were so much alike. We were kindred spirits. We were both afraid. So afraid neither one of us could manage to cross the short distance between us and strike up a conversation. Looking back on that night, I see it as a missed opportunity. That traumatized boy could have been my friend. Who knows, we may have even become partners. We may have been able to live our lives more courageously as a couple than we ever could on our own. But eventually someone came by and noticed a poster by the door had fallen down, and it said that the screening of Lianna had been canceled. In a flash, the boy was gone, and I never saw him again.