The first job I ever wanted was Hitman.
I was seven years old. It was a sunny Saturday, and the only people home that morning were me and my mother’s long-time friend Josée. A thin, nervous, and neurotic woman from money, Josée had recently left her abusive husband and had started renting the extra bedroom in our 5 ½ apartment with her three-year-old daughter, Daphne. I liked Josée; she was one of those women who was decidedly and firmly unmaternal, who liked who she was pre-baby, and was intent on not letting that version of herself die. She was funny and sarcastic. She had rows and rows of expensive beauty products in her bedroom that I loved to stare at. Rows and rows of pill bottles, too.
She was sitting in the living room that morning, probably zonked out of her mind on whatever pill she’d popped, watching Luc Besson’s new film, Leon: The Professional. In it, a 12-year-old Natalie Portman’s entire family is shot dead in a crime-related hit and her neighbor, Jean Reno, who happens to be a hitman himself, becomes her misguided guardian and reluctant role model.
Josée barely registered me, keeping her eyes glued on the screen: a woman shot to death in her bubble bath, pink bubbles.
I sat on the floor and watched along with her. At some point, she turned to me and said:
Jean Reno….quel sex pot!
I didn’t know about all that. I was more consumed by Portman’s character, Mathilda. More specifically, Mathilda’s desire for revenge and her eagerness to learn. Something about her need for revenge felt familiar and gripping. Watching her become a student of righteous death unlocked something in me that still rattles around sometimes, like what I had needed back then was someone to teach me how to defend myself and others.
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