Picture me: 

I’m about 9 years old and I’m already a snob for cinema and notorious for movie hopping (my mom would drop me off at noon and pick me up three movies later). 

This allowed me to develop a well established palette for la cinema. I was constantly seeing different films. Some for kids. Some for teens. Some for…horror weirdos. 

I literally would drift to the next showing. It didn’t matter that it was R-rated and I didn’t have an ID or parental guidance. I just snuck into whatever (tho they did catch me on Final Destination 2. Eat my ass, century theaters, you’re a fool and this is art. You don’t make rules for art, there is no age for appreciation of a good gore score and you can be a cinephile at 14.)

If Letterboxd was available when I was 9, I would have been a busy 9 year old. Fuck tik tok. 

Anyways, I’m sneaking into a dark theater with no idea what is in store. I’m hoping for any stimulation.

Production logos. A phone rings. A girl is alone and she’s got spunk. Even back then, I knew star power and loved Drew Barrymore.

The phone keeps ringing. Suspense is building. I’m suddenly shifting in my seat more than usual. 

Leave her alone, I think. The phone rings again.

Mmmm. Popcorn. Horror film talk. I’m relating to my future. I’m having premonitions of scream queens and horror goddesses. Ten years later I would be working at Blockbuster and judging everyone in the neighborhood by their movie pass. 

The score swoons. A window is broken. The killer is in the house. I’m rocking back and forth with excitement. 

That first stab to her chest still fucks me up, even now. She runs. But it’s all for nothing. Her parents are just in time to see her corpse hanging from a tree. 

Title card. 

I’m thinking of running out of the theater.
Maybe I’m not ready for this one. I grasp for my Clifford The Big Red Dog wallet. 

But I look around and the crowd is comfortable and Im comforted. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is having a great time. 

I stay for the whole film. 

My mom picks me up and I retell Scream for her: play by play. She looks a bit disturbed. She had heard of the film and I think she was questioning her motherly instincts.

I reassured her that she’s the best mom ever and we need to stop by Blockbuster.

I rent all the Child’s Play films. My mom is begrudgingly pulling out her blockbuster card and giving me a look. 

I NEED THIS THO. I say it out loud.

She’s like ugh, okay. 

I grab a copy of FANGORIA and the rest is history.