An Old Flickering Theatre Reel

I saw a red ball cap.

No one else wore a red hat, or any hat at all. I thought that peculiar. With your back to the screen, I sat on the very top right of the theatre, fourth seat from the right wall. Facing the screen, my friend sat on my right and two and a half empty seats to my left (my empty bag of popcorn sat taking up half a seat). During the course of my over enthusiastic, popcorn-infatuated gobbling, a few pieces missed their target and fell to the floor. I laughed at the poor fools whose duty it is to clean this mess. I pondered tossing a few more pieces on purpose, it would help keep those theatre workers employed. I am a sincerely cruel person. I watched an odd, oldish couple sit in front of me. How awkward they looked, I guessed they were re-enacting dates from their teen years. I mused myself, although partially agitated, with the pairs and groups of people pondering the availability of the three vacant seats to my left, despite the rows of unfulfilled seats beneath my particular location in the theatre. One intriguing girl positioned herself in the middle most of the three empty seats. She leaned over and found it necessary to interrupt my important conversation to inform me of how her two friends would be joining her shortly and how the other two empty seats shall be designated to them; I vaguely recall her insinuating the relocation of my depleted popcorn bag, but her friends failed to show and to my left the Empire Theatres bag remained. The lights dimmed and I discovered myself wishing I could go to a movie where the lights turned off (when there was actually a difference between on and off, not these fancy dimmers) and the movie projector made loud reeling noises and flickered momentarily like a bug colliding with a a bug zapper. The projected movie on the canvas would flash 5-4-3-2-1-0 and the movie would start. Oh, how it must have been in the olden days. But I'm stuck in this would-be-then sci-fi advance theatre, how boring. I leaned my head on my hand and my eyes traced lazily down my silhouette to the blue-cushioned arm rest of my theatre seat. A pang of memories came flooding back. Months ago, myself and him sitting in a theatre not unlike this one. His hand entwined with mine. His excuse: he’s cold. My thoughts: a lame excuse. My pathetic attempts to disguise my overly-happy smirk fell beyond me. I can still remember the contrast in temperature between his hand with mine, each of his cool fingers resting firmly in the grooves between my knuckles. Our arms, twisted in a vine-like embrace, oddly comforting to have the warmth of his soft skin touch mine. I remember the innocent actions which sparked fire within us; a squeeze of a hand, a movement to close the already nonexistent gap between us. Now, I think inwards of myself. I want nothing, miss nothing, love nothing. I do not feel regret or remorse, upset or disappointed. The void that is not a void within me is neither broken nor empty, and definitely not full. My mind loops like an old movie reel, “I miss him, I want him to return”. But honestly, I do not understand why. Why would I think those thoughts if I feel infinitely nothing?

I hate movie theatres.
~Chiko.