The Movie

Last night I went to see a movie alone.

"This is my first time going to the movies by myself!" I told the boy at the box office. "Is it a good movie?"
"It's a little depressing."
"Oh, thats great, going to see a movie alone and getting depressed!"
"If it makes you feel any better: I hope you have a good day."

It was night. He must have been working all day long. His slender fingers shook a little, with nervousness, when he passed me the ticket underneath the glass pane. I had to tilt my head to the right to see his face.

Earlier that evening I went to a lecture about the mind from the world's "top expert" on the brain. He spoke softly, billowy, with a rich accent, hints of cocoa and pepper. He was small man with heavy glasses, tiny gestures. Easy to crush-very easy to stomp. I knew everything he spoke about, I knew what he was saying. I understood his demeanor, and, while the neuro-scientists picked at him with scientific terms, he recoiled, asked his heart, went back to the day he fell in love, and answered them kindly.

The movie was a black and white animation, all french. I tuned my ears to the language, picking out the words I knew. My legs were up in the air, reflecting the screen. My dress was wide open, but I didn't care. No one could see. The couples in front of me cried heavily and laughed heartily. They knew the inside joke. They were familiar. We all walked out like a funeral procession.

Quickly,
though the puddles,
through the piss in the parking garage,
through the light rain and heavy wind,
I found my way to my car and drove home in silent regard.I was the girl in the movie, the lost one, the lonely one. Movie scripts were made from my words, from my life. It was all so easy.

"You are so dumb!" I hit her chest.
"You say you are looking for love, for someone to love, for truth, but you don't even pay attention to it when it is standing right in front of you!"
Tears streamed down. The little gay men held me and carried me away. Earlier, my stomach tingled, my lips pressed together, my heart fluttered.

I had to park down by the electrical station. The rain poured down in sheets, but, lightly, misting my face. It smelled like sea, like sardines and burning wood. I could hear the waves churning, the small droplets pricking the skin of the roofs, the palms of the trees. I stood in the middle of the street for a moment, letting the rain brush my face, the streetlight and I were the only ones awake then.

I didn't cry, even though I thought I was going to.
I changed.