March 1, 2010
Kristi and I are watching a movie. It is not a particularly violent or gory movie, or we would probably not be watching it. It is, mostly, a starkly eerie movie with bits of oddball humor. It is a Sam Rockwell movie, so there is lots of squinty smirking.
But, at this particular moment, it is Sam Rockwell bleeding. He has gotten into a fight, and his face is pretty well bashed in. It is not a pretty sight, and as I take it in, I notice that Kristi does not. She has turned on the couch to look at me, and cupped her hands up around her eyes so that the movie cannot enter her field of view. Kristi has a thing about blood.
She offers, as explanation: “I’d rather look at you than look at him beaten up and bleeding all over everything.”
“That may be the least nice thing anyone has ever said to me,” I say.