It’s Okay to Cry with Your Mom at the Movies 3

As I followed the final scenes, I tried to analyze what turns on the tear faucet at certain movies. It must be that raw celluloid emotion falling off the screen as fast as the tears dribbling from my nose. We go for a diversion and pay to cry. Why is it sometimes easier to conceal tears in real life than in a darkened theater? Here the face is illuminated only by reflections from the screen, not by someone else’s eyes …

motionally exhausted yet refreshed, I was already thinking ahead, planning my escape as the show ended.

I hoped the credits would be ridiculously windy, long enough to sit through and regain my composure. By now, I cursed myself for not carrying any tissues and for wearing sleeves far too short to serve as handkerchiefs.

“How am I going to blow my nose before the flood carries it away?” I thought nervously.

It seemed almost everyone else had the same idea, lingering and pretending to stretch as the long credits inched their way before our bloodshot eyes. As wetness clouded and smeared my vision, I knew those of us wearing glasses had a greater challenge. Even when the lights came up, I couldn’t clean them too soon or I would have made a spectacle of myself. Praying the fog would evaporate in the air conditioning, I watched fuzzy people walk past us.

What theater were we in? Would we have to walk in a crowded lobby, red-eyed and sniffling? I remembered we were in the last one at the end, luckily right by the door.

Still sitting in silence, I was already planning my strategy as I rebrushed my fingers along a puffy cheek.

If my mother and I acted quickly, we could exit and scan the asphalt and sun-baked cars, pretending to be momentarily blinded by the bright light. That’s enough to make your eyes water. Then I would think of something funny and fast-forward past one of the most moving and emotional screen stories I had ever witnessed. That’s when I would finally clear my throat and announce, “Oh, I can’t wait until it comes out on video.”

It was time. We would have to leave. But first we’d have to face each other, admitting that we had succumbed to a heavy, yet healthy dose of cinema sentimentality.

Suddenly, that wasn’t so bad, shedding a few tears in front of my mother. It was just a silly old love story, but that’s the best kind, the one you should share with someone you love. I couldn’t have picked a better companion.

I felt something being pressed into my hand. A gift from a generous benefactor? A blessing from a great humanitarian?

No, just a clean dry tissue from Mom. Thank goodness, she still knows how to wipe my tears away.

(And what movie was it? "The Bridges of Madison County.")