June 26, 2012, 9:13 pm:
A text comes through from my best friend. "Did you see about Nora? Are you so upset? I'm so sorry."
Bewildered, I immediately dial Shirah, thinking, oh no, did Nora get fired? Is her new play gonna be a flop? No, not Nora! She'd never be a flop. The line rings, once, twice. "Hmm, maybe Shirah ran into her in Manhattan and she was terribly mean to her because she'd just been dumped. Maybe her husband left her! Oh no, what happened to Nora, my beloved writer, favorite filmmaker, most treasured essayist, dearest hero? Third ring. "Heyy......" Shirah's voice is sullen.
"Hey, I just saw your text...what's up about Nora? What did I miss?" my voice is casual and a tad indifferent. If Nora was fired, screw them. She'll be better off somewhere else. Omygod, what if she had a stroke? Is this why the text said, "I'm so sorry"??? She won't be able to write anymore, or make another film because the side of her face is sagging and her neurological disorder prevents her. Is this why my best friend, a New Yorker now, like Nora, immediately wrote me, her most dedicated devotée? Who already has her future baby named Nora, after the great Nora Ephron. I think back to Spring when Shi texted that she was in a café and saw Nora in a corner reading a paper. I wanted to book a flight to that café then and there. I've always dreamed of one day meeting her.
"She passed away....." Shirah's voice is crackly and breaks off. My world goes silent. My body is numb. I don't breathe or think. My face feels like it's falling. Salty liquid drags at my tear ducts, but I'm still silent and numb. "What?" is all I can muster up, thinking I heard her wrong. "Shannon she passed, I'm soooo sorry. I thought you knew?"
Numbness turns into immediate devastation. I can feel my face now. I can feel the liquid salt bursting to break free. I lose it. My bed is near, thankfully, and I fall into a million pieces. My body is heaving, I'm weeping and gasping and begging that this isn't true. I feel like my grandmother has just passed, not a stranger I only "know" through words. I start hyperventilating, but realize I'm also still on the phone and I stop hearing my best friend's voice, as I run to my iPad for confirmation. Maybe there was an error. In a brief memory flash I think back to Joe Paterno, and how CBS announced his death erroneously.
My fingers dance across the screen's Google bar. "Nora ephron"
Search.
"Nora Ephron dead"
I cannot exactly process what this death means for me. I have never met this woman. I always thought I would, and yet now that time has passed. I remember all of my favorite movie lines from "You've Got Mail", my all time favorite of hers and in general, and keep crying. Now I'm convulsing, which brings my poodle George walking cautiously into the room. He jumps up on the bed, licking my tear-stained shirt, licks up my arm to my drenched cheeks and licks the snot bubbles at my nose before I push him away. I don't even care that my face is destroyed. My heart is, at this moment, broken.
Shirah and I hang up, because I need to tell my mom, who is saddened but not in a crushing way that I am. I'm devastated. How many laughs and tears has dearest Nora brought into my world? From a young age, how many times did I doodle "Harry and Sally" in the margins of middle school looseleaf paper? How many times did I put the You've Got Mail VHS into our VCR, growing up in Florida? Or cry during Sleepless in Seattle, in that end scene when they FINALLY meet? I know every line of her films, yet in this moment of shock, can remember none. All I see in my mind is her characters, and her laughter in my heart as I grew up. Nora raised me. Through her charming and magical films, she reared an insecure doodler into a confident diarist. When grappling with a difficult situation and a conflicted heart, she gave me and countless other women the summons, "Write about it."
So write I shall. And my dear, precious writer, filmmaker, essayist and wishful friend, may you be forever writing your screenplays for all of heaven to witness and love.
Rest in peace, dearest Nora.
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Wednesday, June 27, 2012
"Did you see about Nora?"
June 26, 2012, 9:13 pm:
A text comes through from my best friend. "Did you see about Nora? Are you so upset? I'm so sorry."
Bewildered, I immediately dial Shirah, thinking, oh no, did Nora get fired? Is her new play gonna be a flop? No, not Nora! She'd never be a flop. The line rings, once, twice. "Hmm, maybe Shirah ran into her in Manhattan and she was terribly mean to her because she'd just been dumped. Maybe her husband left her! Oh no, what happened to Nora, my beloved writer, favorite filmmaker, most treasured essayist, dearest hero? Third ring. "Heyy......" Shirah's voice is sullen.
"Hey, I just saw your text...what's up about Nora? What did I miss?" my voice is casual and a tad indifferent. If Nora was fired, screw them. She'll be better off somewhere else. Omygod, what if she had a stroke? Is this why the text said, "I'm so sorry"??? She won't be able to write anymore, or make another film because the side of her face is sagging and her neurological disorder prevents her. Is this why my best friend, a New Yorker now, like Nora, immediately wrote me, her most dedicated devotée? Who already has her future baby named Nora, after the great Nora Ephron. I think back to Spring when Shi texted that she was in a café and saw Nora in a corner reading a paper. I wanted to book a flight to that café then and there. I've always dreamed of one day meeting her.
"She passed away....." Shirah's voice is crackly and breaks off. My world goes silent. My body is numb. I don't breathe or think. My face feels like it's falling. Salty liquid drags at my tear ducts, but I'm still silent and numb. "What?" is all I can muster up, thinking I heard her wrong. "Shannon she passed, I'm soooo sorry. I thought you knew?"
Numbness turns into immediate devastation. I can feel my face now. I can feel the liquid salt bursting to break free. I lose it. My bed is near, thankfully, and I fall into a million pieces. My body is heaving, I'm weeping and gasping and begging that this isn't true. I feel like my grandmother has just passed, not a stranger I only "know" through words. I start hyperventilating, but realize I'm also still on the phone and I stop hearing my best friend's voice, as I run to my iPad for confirmation. Maybe there was an error. In a brief memory flash I think back to Joe Paterno, and how CBS announced his death erroneously.
My fingers dance across the screen's Google bar. "Nora ephron"
Search.
"Nora Ephron dead"
I cannot exactly process what this death means for me. I have never met this woman. I always thought I would, and yet now that time has passed. I remember all of my favorite movie lines from "You've Got Mail", my all time favorite of hers and in general, and keep crying. Now I'm convulsing, which brings my poodle George walking cautiously into the room. He jumps up on the bed, licking my tear-stained shirt, licks up my arm to my drenched cheeks and licks the snot bubbles at my nose before I push him away. I don't even care that my face is destroyed. My heart is, at this moment, broken.
Shirah and I hang up, because I need to tell my mom, who is saddened but not in a crushing way that I am. I'm devastated. How many laughs and tears has dearest Nora brought into my world? From a young age, how many times did I doodle "Harry and Sally" in the margins of middle school looseleaf paper? How many times did I put the You've Got Mail VHS into our VCR, growing up in Florida? Or cry during Sleepless in Seattle, in that end scene when they FINALLY meet? I know every line of her films, yet in this moment of shock, can remember none. All I see in my mind is her characters, and her laughter in my heart as I grew up. Nora raised me. Through her charming and magical films, she reared an insecure doodler into a confident diarist. When grappling with a difficult situation and a conflicted heart, she gave me and countless other women the summons, "Write about it."
So write I shall. And my dear, precious writer, filmmaker, essayist and wishful friend, may you be forever writing your screenplays for all of heaven to witness and love.
Rest in peace, dearest Nora.
A text comes through from my best friend. "Did you see about Nora? Are you so upset? I'm so sorry."
Bewildered, I immediately dial Shirah, thinking, oh no, did Nora get fired? Is her new play gonna be a flop? No, not Nora! She'd never be a flop. The line rings, once, twice. "Hmm, maybe Shirah ran into her in Manhattan and she was terribly mean to her because she'd just been dumped. Maybe her husband left her! Oh no, what happened to Nora, my beloved writer, favorite filmmaker, most treasured essayist, dearest hero? Third ring. "Heyy......" Shirah's voice is sullen.
"Hey, I just saw your text...what's up about Nora? What did I miss?" my voice is casual and a tad indifferent. If Nora was fired, screw them. She'll be better off somewhere else. Omygod, what if she had a stroke? Is this why the text said, "I'm so sorry"??? She won't be able to write anymore, or make another film because the side of her face is sagging and her neurological disorder prevents her. Is this why my best friend, a New Yorker now, like Nora, immediately wrote me, her most dedicated devotée? Who already has her future baby named Nora, after the great Nora Ephron. I think back to Spring when Shi texted that she was in a café and saw Nora in a corner reading a paper. I wanted to book a flight to that café then and there. I've always dreamed of one day meeting her.
"She passed away....." Shirah's voice is crackly and breaks off. My world goes silent. My body is numb. I don't breathe or think. My face feels like it's falling. Salty liquid drags at my tear ducts, but I'm still silent and numb. "What?" is all I can muster up, thinking I heard her wrong. "Shannon she passed, I'm soooo sorry. I thought you knew?"
Numbness turns into immediate devastation. I can feel my face now. I can feel the liquid salt bursting to break free. I lose it. My bed is near, thankfully, and I fall into a million pieces. My body is heaving, I'm weeping and gasping and begging that this isn't true. I feel like my grandmother has just passed, not a stranger I only "know" through words. I start hyperventilating, but realize I'm also still on the phone and I stop hearing my best friend's voice, as I run to my iPad for confirmation. Maybe there was an error. In a brief memory flash I think back to Joe Paterno, and how CBS announced his death erroneously.
My fingers dance across the screen's Google bar. "Nora ephron"
Search.
"Nora Ephron dead"
I cannot exactly process what this death means for me. I have never met this woman. I always thought I would, and yet now that time has passed. I remember all of my favorite movie lines from "You've Got Mail", my all time favorite of hers and in general, and keep crying. Now I'm convulsing, which brings my poodle George walking cautiously into the room. He jumps up on the bed, licking my tear-stained shirt, licks up my arm to my drenched cheeks and licks the snot bubbles at my nose before I push him away. I don't even care that my face is destroyed. My heart is, at this moment, broken.
Shirah and I hang up, because I need to tell my mom, who is saddened but not in a crushing way that I am. I'm devastated. How many laughs and tears has dearest Nora brought into my world? From a young age, how many times did I doodle "Harry and Sally" in the margins of middle school looseleaf paper? How many times did I put the You've Got Mail VHS into our VCR, growing up in Florida? Or cry during Sleepless in Seattle, in that end scene when they FINALLY meet? I know every line of her films, yet in this moment of shock, can remember none. All I see in my mind is her characters, and her laughter in my heart as I grew up. Nora raised me. Through her charming and magical films, she reared an insecure doodler into a confident diarist. When grappling with a difficult situation and a conflicted heart, she gave me and countless other women the summons, "Write about it."
So write I shall. And my dear, precious writer, filmmaker, essayist and wishful friend, may you be forever writing your screenplays for all of heaven to witness and love.
Rest in peace, dearest Nora.
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