Right after I watched THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK I came down with a nasty cold, and my illness induced several nights of nightmares in which I was an underpowered Luke Skywalker, stranded on Dagobah. As it turns out, Dagobah didn't have a DAMN thing on the San Fernando Valley. For a long list of reasons I was sent, two summers after Empire hit the theaters, to live with foster parents in San Antonio. That might've been tolerable, if… I wasn't from Portland. Seriously. Name two places in these United States of America that are more different.
…So of course, there I was, 2000 miles from my family and everything I knew worth a damn, still feeling totally stranded, going through hell in school because OF COURSE I'm a discipline problem (gee, really???), when E.T. goes into theatrical release. Using a Speak & Spell to "phone home" when home is zillions of miles away? Getting dreadful sick and lying dying in the sterile beating heart of a funky polypropylene tent, surrounded by guys in positive pressure suits? Jesus on a pogo stick, talk about isolation piled on isolation. Â I had nightmares for weeks afterward, in spite of spending a good part of the film with my eyes screwed shut.
…The guardianship arrangement that had caused me such grief was ended in the summer of '83. Â Even after 25 years of chances to get over it, I've never watched it again, and if I go the rest of my life so bereft, I'll be okay with that.