On being held

Some of the best lines from Adrienne Shelley's "Waitress" are addressed to an unborn baby. In a journal she's planning to give her daughter, Jenna writes:

"Dear Baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness to it."

When I heard those lines in the film, I thought immediately of tango. At a milonga, if a person holds you just right, it's a wonderful feeling for about 12 minutes, if not 20. As Jenna writes, he doesn't look at you or overwhelm you; he just holds you tenderly, protectively. And no one has to say a word. The sensation isn't about romance (though it could be for couples); rather, it's about connecting with another person, which is a rare event these days.

Last night, I listened to two pieces of music that reminded me of Jenna being held by Dr. Pomatter when she was particularly vulnerable. In the right embrace, a person can easily reach the state of forgetting, of oblivion. It's a good place to be, because sometimes we need to forget. And, sometimes, we just need to be held.

Oblivion, by Pablo Ziegler.

Magic Hour, by the Ahn Trio.

Posted by Monoceros at May 28, 2008 7:56 AM