A long time ago, I was told that the secret to love was to be comfortable with one another in silence.
As a constant talker, the idea puzzled me.
Shouldn’t you feel more comfortable if you are able to talk continuously?
I paid more attention to that idea through the years, and have come to see it myself.
Some of my best moments with people have been quiet.
Sometimes just sitting on the couch, doing our own things.
Late car rides, where talking would only use up our last bit of energy.
Now, with my girlfriend, lying in bed. Both of us next to each other, drifting off into sleep. We are not engaged in conversation, however we feel as connected as we could ever be.
David Lynch’s The Straight Story reminds us of this sentiment, building upon it further.
The quiet can make up for lost time.
Alvin’s 240-mile journey begins with bad news.
His brother Lyle has suffered a stroke.
Alvin, who is suffering from his own health issues, decides to embark on the inter-state journey himself.
The two haven’t spoken in ten years. Reasons for which we don’t know. Issues the film believes are unnecessary.
Unable to accept help, change, or his old age, he rides on only a lawnmower.
Alvin reaches his brother’s home.
The wood structure, barely holding on.
The metal roof bent in.
The porch sits askew.
He calls out to Lyle.
His eyes blinking rapidly, his mouth quivering.
No answer.
He calls out again, this time much quieter, as a breath escapes him.
This expedition, everything we’ve seen him go through, just to be too late.
Then from the house.
“Alvin?”
He lets out the breath he’d been holding onto, relieved beyond measure.
Out comes Lyle, and the two look at each other.
Both elderly and ailing, finally in each other’s presence.
The silence is loud, the decade-long tension remains.
Every memory clearly pouring through their minds.
“Sit down, Alvin,” Lyle tells him.
Both of them looking around for something to say, ultimately coming up short.
We are part of that muted, uncomfortable feeling we believe they share.
Lyle looks at the lawnmower, unable to hold back the emotion.
“You rode that thing all the way out here to see me?”
Alvin swallows the feeling.
“I did, Lyle.”
The two men, at the ends of their lives, share one look.
Both of them overcome by their position.
Now, the silence is almost invisible.
The love becomes apparent.