Tales of a Family

In 1973, The Exorcist thundered across the screen, frightening people across the country. Moviegoers had never witnessed anything quite like it. They whispered about it in the aisles of grocery stores, on city buses, and at school, as if talking out loud about this film might just conjure unexpected and unwanted evil forces. Some believed the movie was cursed; others thought it was real. And naturally, as a reasonable twelve-year-old, I decided I needed to see it.

At school, the movie had taken on a life of its own.

“I didn’t even get scared,” one boy bragged, which was code for he was absolutely terrified by the fast-paced film.

Another leaned and whispered, “Her head spins all the way around.”

Now, I didn’t know anything about possession, but I was fairly certain that it defied anything humans were designed to do. Still, I was mesmerized by the school banter and the press.​

My friend Tammy and I listened to every dramatic rendering, eyes wide and, in turn, wonderfully horrified by each event. As our curiosity grew, so did a dogged determination. We were committed; we were going to see that movie. There was only one obstacle – my mother.

“Absolutely not! I will not allow you to see this film.”  

She used HER voice. The one who would never allow her middle-school daughter to watch the most dreaded movie of all time. She had also witnessed the publicity on TV.

Still, I pushed, “But, Mom.”

She turned around and gave me “the look,” which I was pretty sure was even scarier than the scene where Linda Blair’s head rotated around her shoulders. I remember thinking, whatever was in that movie, I was now facing something much stronger.

Still, the wanting did not go away.

The next day after school, Tammy and I sprawled across her twin beds, plotting like two girls who had watched zero spy movies but felt very qualified anyway.

“What if you spend the night?” Her voice was giddy with excitement. “I’ll just tell my mom you have permission, and she’ll take us.”

But I had questions that rapidly fired in my twelve-year-old brain.

“What if we got caught?”

“What if someone saw us?”

‘What if my mom’s uncanny ability, the one that always seemed to sense the exact moment one of her chicks was about to step out of line, suddenly shifted into overdrive?”

“What if she somehow pieced it all together, guided by that eerie intuition and those sharp, almost unsettling maternal instincts?”

All sensible concerns. But then Tammy smiled. And I made the decision that every middle schooler makes at least once. With my heart pounding, I recklessly ventured, “Let’s do it.”

Early Friday evening arrived, and it was official. I was now living a double life. My dad dropped me off at Tammy’s place, completely unaware that his only daughter was defying orders and going rogue.

“Have fun,” he said.

Oh, I planned to. I leaned into the car window, kissed him on the cheek, and felt just enough of a pang of guilt to know I should confess every sin, but not enough to rethink my questionable plans for the evening.

Later, that evening, we found a parking spot near the theater. The dimly lit streets provided the perfect cover for our covert operations. And the soft lighting inside aided in our deceit. I held my breath, worrying that at any moment, one of my mother’s friends would discover my deception. To be safe, I kept my head down as we walked into the auditorium. When we found our seats, I sighed with relief.

And then it started; we tried to act brave. Calm. Mature, even.

But then the bed started shaking, and we became extremely still, grasping the armrests with all of our might as if some evil force might tear us out of our seats at any moment. We didn’t talk; we held our breath. And we certainly did not eat the snacks purchased before we entered.

By the time the movie ended, I wasn’t sure what was more frightening: the movie or my questionable life choices.

The ride back to Tammy’s house was quiet–not a peaceful quiet either. More like we both witnessed something we weren’t quite prepared for-quiet. That moment when you realize you should have listened to your mother – quiet.

When we settled into her room, each of us tucked into the matching twin beds; we whispered like survivors.

“Were you scared?” Tammy asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes,” she slowly replied.

Without speaking again, we both knew we had made some questionable decisions, but eventually we fell asleep, with the lights on.

​

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to the terrible realization that my bed was shaking. It was sliding across the floor like it had somewhere to be. And at that exact moment, every single scene from the movie flashed in front of me. I sat up, convinced I had crossed a line and was now facing the horrifying consequences.

Tammy woke up, too, and we both screamed as if the devil himself, along with his goon squad, were on the verge of attacking us. Horrified, we could see the terror on each other’s faces since the lamp, now shaking on the nightstand, was still turned on. We had refused to fall asleep in the dark.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and the overhead lights flashed as Tammy’s mom scrambled into the room. Her mother took one look at us and the errant twin bed and tried not to laugh.

“Girls, we just had an earthquake,” she explained.

Of course, an earthquake. Not possession. Not consequences. Not the beginning of a very terrifying tale. Just seismic activity.

Tammy and I looked at each other and started nervously laughing, a little shaky at first. Because honestly, when you’ve spent a moment believing hell had unleashed its fury, there’s really nowhere to go but laughter. That unhinged release of knowing that you are somehow still here and okay, well, for at least the moment.

​

The next day, I went home and told my mom everything. All of it. The deceit. The movie. The sleepover, and how the earthquake convinced me I needed to come clean.

She listened. She smiled, and then she began laughing uncontrollably.

I stared at her in utter disbelief. My mother was laughing at my harrowing confession. It was not just easy, carefree laughter, but a deep guttural belly laugh that made tears run from my mother’s eyes. It was the kind of laugh that held a moment of clarity. This would be one story I would hear about for years, even decades.

When she finally gained her composure, which took some time, I asked, “That’s it? You’re not mad, and I’m not grounded for life?”

On the verge of another fit of hysterics, she took a deep breath and smiled.

“Well,” she remarked, you did disobey.”

I waited.

“But, I think you were already punished.”

Then she added to make sure the lesson stayed with me, she raised an eyebrow and stated, “See what happens when you defy your Mother? God will get you.”

And with that, she started laughing again; tears and all.

​

That night I didn’t sleep well, not because of the movie, not even because of the earthquake. But because somewhere deep down, I wasn’t entirely convinced she was joking.

Even now, I can’t say what frightened me most, but I learned that night that some warnings are worth listening to… especially when they come from your mother.