I remember watching Twin Peaks for the first time and thinking, “What the hell was that,” but also loving every second of it. Despite only a few episodes into the first season, I was on a mission to find more things like the show. The internet was not as vast as it is today, so there wasn’t a small handheld device that could easily pull up IMDB, YouTube, or anything else. I don’t think YouTube was even a thing just yet. Thankfully, there was a Blockbuster store about a mile from my house, and I didn’t have any plans for the weekend.
I walked out with a copy of Blue Velvet starring still new-to-me Kyle MacLachlan. The 1986 film was described as an “American neo-noir mystery thriller film,” which was written and directed by David Lynch. As someone who loved all things psychological horror, it seemed up my alley. I watched it four times that weekend, noticing new things and completely engrossed in the art. I was no stranger to cult classic movies, as most nights I fell asleep to the glow of The Craft from my small TV.
As years went by, I continued working my way through the vast catalog of David Lynch’s creations. Blue Velvet remained my favorite film of his, and Twin Peaks became a comfort show. I watched shows like The Office with my friends but returned to this strange town every chance I could get. While my friends would cry and watch Friends or Gilmore Girls, I would cry as I felt a deep connection to Laura Palmer. Laura was lost and felt alone with people who enabled poor behavior and felt as if she didn’t have anyone in the world.
Twin Peaks and David Lynch, in general, gave me an escape from the need to be normal. I didn’t have to be the sweet girl next door. I could be weird. I could be artistic and creative. The society around me could be straight-laced and boring, but I could, and felt welcomed to be myself.
David Lynch had bled into my everyday life, even if I didn’t realize it. His worldview was still positive, and he preached love, kindness and acceptance. He told people to fix their hearts or die, via a character he played, to those being harmful to a trans woman. I wanted to a better person because of him. I wanted a world where people are kind, while still being a bit weird. Perhaps some dreamy jazz always playing in the background, too.
Over the last few years I started reverting back into that weird girl I was as a teenager. I stopped caring about how society viewed me and fell deep into things I cared about. Maybe writing about baseball isn’t art, but it was still my creative outlet.
I put more art on my body, including a beautiful ode to the show that truly started it all. Bryan, my friend and tattoo artist had never watched even a second of Twin Peaks, but was familiar with David Lynch. He filled the lower half of my right arm with a visually stunning tribute to the show, and we talked about how he should finally watch it, and how my dream was to get out to Washington and see it.
I don’t know if Bryan ever watched Twin Peaks. He passed just months after finishing my arm. Our last conversation consisted of me telling him all about my trip to North Bend, Washington for half a day in the magical land that is Twin Peaks. I showed him pictures of Twede’s Cafe, which is the Double R Diner in the show. I told him all about the damn fine coffee I consumed and the stunning view of Snoqualmie Falls.
Yes, I did seek out my dream of going to Twin Peaks. It was one of the best days I’ve ever experienced. Taking in the town felt like returning home. Going with two people who knew nothing about the show was an experience on its own, as I felt the need to point every single spot from the show out. “Over there is where you see Laura running from a sight that startled her. She left her parked care right here in the lot.” Or freaking out when a bird landed on a tree branch next to me, just like in the opening credits, as I took in the beauty of the Falls. It was Mecca. It was home. I could be free to be myself, or Audrey Horne. Even Agent Cooper, sitting in a booth sipping on coffee that was black as midnight on a moonless night.
David Lynch’s soul left his body a week ago. While I might not be able to cope with the idea of his magnificent mind no longer being in the same existence, I try to tell myself that his soul is with all of his little weirdos now. His mind stays with the artists, the dreamers, the creatives. Someone like David Lynch doesn’t just die. No. Instead, his magic spreads all over the land and inspires those who have been touched by the worlds he created.
Eventually I’ll wipe the tears from my eyes and continue to celebrate him just as I did while he was still on the same planet. I’ll stay weird, I’ll be the kind, loving, and accepting person he would want me to be. And I’ll keep creating.
On February 24, I will eat a slice of pie, drink some delicious coffee, and nerd out over Twin Peaks for the 100th time. But before I do all of that, I will remind myself how grateful I am to have even been in the same timeline and on the same planet as David Lynch.