Mary, Paris, Texas

By Clare Needham

Watching the Wim Wenders film with Mary when we were twenty-two and in Berkeley  – she’d wanted to show it to me, she knew I’d like it. The first minutes of the film, Aurore Clément’s French pronunciation, “Chris – But, Chris!” – and the car with its lights climbing a hill at dusk, purple, rose, blue – “Those lights!” Mary said, and I felt them, too. This was the same week she had me sit next to her in the dark and watch Gregg Araki’s Mysterious Skin. One boy believes aliens abducted him. The other boy knew what was up, and made a life from selling sex. The next morning Mary and I reported nightmares, both saying we didn’t know why.