For my 15th birthday sleepover party, I rented a Leo DiCaprio movie because Leo was so very cute, and ended up with The Basketball Diaries, a “kaleidoscopic free fall into the harrowing world of drug addiction.”
May 11, 1996, Saturday
Last night/this morning at my party, Jen, Jessica, and I watched The Basketball Diaries, which was a horribly depressing, yet wonderful movie. In it, a basketball player (maybe 15 years old) gets into drugs, is kicked off the team, kicked out of school and his house, and almost dies.
One of the saddest scenes was when his old friend finds him almost dead in the snow and takes him home. The friend will not allow Jim drugs, so Jim goes insane that night. He screams, cries, begs, swears, foams at the mouth, and in the morning when the spell has passed, his friend goes to work and Jim escapes. He goes out with another friend who kills a man who sold false dope.
So now Jim is afraid and depressed and desperate and goes back to his mother’s house to beg for money. This was the most heart-wrenching part of the movie because he is almost insane and screams at her and sobs, and his own mother won’t let him come into the house. She calls the police on him. The mother was brave and wise, I thought.
She could not let her son control her life with the anguish he was causing her. She could not succumb to his plea, because if she gave him the money, he would get high. There was one hidden, yet very important idea in this scene. She held the phone in one hand, and in the other she held $20. She chose to call the police.
The part that made Jen and Jessica hate the mother was that when she called the police, she said that “a man with a knife” was trying to break in. But if her son was causing her so much grief, I understand why she did this.
She said “a man” and not “my son” because it would hurt to much to name this drooling, swearing, sick person at her door–the little boy she once held who called her “mommy.”
It was, as I said, a sad, sick movie. But it was also really wonderful.
I have to stop getting so involved in things I read or see because now I feel as though I have a hangover and lost my only son.
Damn. I shouldn’t feel like that. It’s my birthday.
My godparents are coming over in a moment for my special family birthday dinner. It is odd that every year on my birthday, it is the most beautiful day of May. For the last week or two, it’s been raining and cold. Today was the breaking point.
Connecticut is the only clear and sunny state in the United States today. Because of me? That would be nice.
The burden of an Author is great, is it not? We have to notice everything, write everything, feel everything…it becomes depressing. Even on one’s birthday.
I had to take a break from my birthday. At times, when intellectually advanced people get together, they tend to cause quite a ruckus.
I was chilly, so Mom brought me down a shawl (given to her by an old boyfriend named Philip) and before long, we were dressing like Arabs and snapping pictures left and right.
I’m drained of anything worthwhile to write. So, bye.