I was in the prep kitchen of the deli at Metcalfe’s Market Hilldale quickly panning up the rotisserie chickens and seasoning them for cooking. One of my co-workers over in Artisan Cheese had come over to wash a cutting board, when he turned to me:
“Did you hear the news?”
“Carrie Fisher died.”
At first I thought he was kidding me. BBC News had reported her in stable condition after suffering a heart attack on a flight from London to L.A. Many of us, her fans, thought everything was going to be okay. Some of my more crass friends even told bad jokes about how we’d recently sacrificed George Michael to 2016. The deadly year wasn’t allowed to take Carrie Fisher, too. I simply couldn’t believe it.
I have been a Star Wars fan for quite a long time, after seeing the original when I was five-years-old. For the next few years, I would dig up whatever movie books I could find in the school library and at old junk shops in town. I would try to find and watch other movies in which the stars of Star Wars had appeared. I was thrilled while watching Blues Brothers to see Carrie Fisher show up once again in a badass persona, this time carrying a rather large assault rifle and hunting down the titular characters of that movie. Much later, I learned she had written a memoir, but I was too scared to read it thinking it might taint my image of her as Princess Leia.
I think I will read it now. Especially upon learning about her advocacy for the treatment of mental illness and the fact that she suffered from bipolar disorder, an illness my dad was diagnosed with a few years ago. I’m learning a lot about her now that she has passed on. I wish I had taken the time and saved the money to possibly meet her in person. I heard she was wonderful.
R.I.P. Carrie Fisher – ” [She] drowned in moonlight, strangled by [her] own bra.”