I was born in love with Carrie Fisher.
Ok, not exactly. I
didn’t know who she was for several years.
But one of my earliest memories is of seeing Star Wars in the theater
and sharing Luke Skywalker’s immediate infatuation with the tiny blue image of
Princess Leia pleading for help from Obi Wan Kenobi. I think I was three.
My love for Carrie Fisher was not simply for Princess
Leia. Though this role did dominate my
childhood, I did see her in other roles.
And my love was not at all dirty.
I’d like to say that I was too young to harbor dirty thoughts, and at
three, when I saw Star Wars, I certainly was.
At six when I saw Empire Strikes Back I was probably still too young to
entertain any salacious imaginings. But
by the time I was 9, when I saw Return of the Jedi, I was certainly old enough
to know that under a girl’s shirt were boobs and that I probably wanted to see
them, though anything dirtier was still several years down the road. Still, my love for Carrie Fisher was not
dirty. She was bangin’ in the Jabba the
Hutt slave outfit to be sure, but it was not sexualized to me. It could not be because my love was pure.
In first grade I had a Star Wars Trapper Keeper folder. I did not have a Trapper Keeper because they
were expensive, but I insisted on the folder.
On one side of the folder was Luke Skywalker. On the other side was Princess Leia in the
celebratory gown she wore after the destruction of the Death Star. I remember sleeping with that folder. I’d keep it Luke side up until my mother
turned the light off, then I’d switch it to Leia and I’d imagine my bed was the
Millennium Falcon and we were fighting the Empire. I remember trying to kiss the Leia lips, but
it was impossible to know if I was successful.
I had never kissed a girl and it was dark and the folder gave me
nothing. She was flat and
unresponsive. I wasn’t to the folder
what the folder was to me. But that was
ok. Her just being there was enough.
I also remember going to Lionel Play World (now Toys R Us) after
seeing the Empire Strikes Back. My
brother and I were allowed to each buy one action figure. I desperately wanted to buy the Princess Leia
in the Hoth outfit. Patrick got some
guy, probably Luke in his Bespin outfit.
When I was asked who I wanted I got cold feet. I had been holding the Princess Leia toy and
I think my father knew I wanted her, but when asked I chickened out and got
someone else. I don’t even remember who
because I immediately regretted everything for all time. I don’t know why I did it. I think it was the knowing look in my father’s
eye. That look that said, “That’s my
boy! Go for the pretty girl.” That knowing look that actually didn’t know
anything about what I really wanted at that moment. I wanted the Leia figure, but not because it
was a pretty girl. It was because that character,
Leia, was an integral part of the Star Wars universe. She was the indomitable good. She was the incorruptible defiance in the
face of oppression. Luke was a pure hero. Han was an opportunistic hero. But heroes come and go. Leia was forever. Leia was the institution. Leia didn’t need to join the rebellion. She was the rebellion. But I could never have understood that at
such a young age and I certainly couldn’t explain it to my father.
I know that I am not the most die-hard fan of Carrie Fisher
that ever lived. I have never read any
of her books, though I have always intended to.
I always listen intently when my wife reads excerpts from Wishful
Drinking, or when my daughter reads her tweets.
But I was shaken on Christmas Eve when I learned she had suffered a
heart attack. I had to take a moment to
collect myself. And I was truly dismayed
yesterday to learn that she had died.
She was my childhood girlfriend, though she never knew it. It was an innocent and pure love. The love of a woman who was struggling righteously
against the ills of a galaxy that oppresses and tries to impose its will on
others. And while Carrie Fisher was not
Princess Leia, my understanding of her life – limited though it may be –
suggests this image was not really that far from the truth. I will miss her.
