dots-- weaving in between exiting patrons to pick up
the trash.
Me and
Pavan wait for the red dots.
And, then,
usually a little longer than that.
I hadn't
slept much that afternoon and was still recovering from my previous night.
Back hurt, chest hurt. The gash on my hairline was small but still stung a
little.
We stared
at the bulky rectangular panel hidden under the stairwell. It looked like
something Spock might have poked at on one of those early low-budget days of
the original Star Trek.
Me, I
wanted to crawl under the stairwell and sleep, but it was too early yet. Pavan
was going on and on about the van.
"Seriously,
you go down to the cops in Fulton County and flash them your I.D. and they
gotta give you the van, right?” His floppy hair was dancing like sea oats
in a summer storm. “That detective said it was in your—“
“I don’t
drive. What do I want a van for?”
“Then sell
it on eBay or something!” Pavan had shoveled in another clawful of fake
cheese and popcorn. I wanted to look away from the horror show he was putting
on but couldn't.
“You know
what's in that goo?” I said frowning, not because I was angry, but
because I was trying to hold back the nausea. He was hideous.
He stopped
chewing, made an orange letter “O” for a mouth, then he said, “Dude, don’t tell
me.”
“Well, just
know there’s no cheese in that cheese,” I said and nodded to theater seven.
“Judi Dench film is out.”
"Yep,"
Pavan said. "I need to be mentally prepared for anything here."
Old people
don’t buy stuff at the candy counter. They sneak in way more crap than kids do.
Two months earlier, I'd gone into one of those chatty Kenneth Branagh
films that old folks love and came out with the T-bone of a T-bone steak.
Who sneaks a steak into a theater?
The T-bone was
now hanging up in the maintenance closet and used to open import beer bottles.
We walked
slowly toward a sea of gray people.
“Listen, I
know you’re all weirded out because that dude did all the stuff to you…” he
stopped and suddenly shivered. “Dude, he knocked you out, right?
While you were in dreamland, maybe he did some weird sex stuff—WHOA!”
I’m not a
violent person but at the moment I had Pavan by the collar. His feet were dangling
off the ground, his back pressed against a Coming Soon poster of a movie's
remake I purposely avoided the first time around.
I wasn’t
angry at Pavan.
Well, okay,
I was kinda pissed about the implication the Black Knight might have finger
diddled me in my sleep but, really, it was more about feeling I’d lost control
of what had been a very controlled life.
Some old
woman nearby said something, but I didn’t hear her words. Just her tone.
Embarrassed,
the fire in my eyes drew back to a flicker, and I turned away from my friend,
slowly lowering his feet back down to the carpet. I felt more stupid with each
passing second.
“Hey man,”
he said, shaking just a little. “I got some little green monsters in the
ice machine. Why don’t you just take five and have one. I got the
Dench film.”
As I tried
to straighten his polyester vest, I saw that my little psycho Charles
Bronson move had smashed the tray of cheese and popcorn into his stomach.
He looked a little like one of the victims in the first Alien movie.
“Aw,
Pavan,” I said, suddenly my voice bubbling with more emotion than I’d expected.
“I’m sorry, man.”
“It’s all
right.”
“No, it’s
not.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” he said, walking toward where all the old ladies were coming
out, some dragging old men who looked like they’d been given a prostate exam by
a Bengal tiger. “I got this one. Not like there’s any soda cups or
popcorn bins in there anyhow.”
“Yeah, I
know. Dench film.”
“Sure, just
a lot of empty plastic baggies and shit. Kleenex and stuff.”
I nodded,
avoiding his eyes.
Not knowing
what to do next, I
the trash.
Me and
Pavan wait for the red dots.
And, then,
usually a little longer than that.
I hadn't
slept much that afternoon and was still recovering from my previous night.
Back hurt, chest hurt. The gash on my hairline was small but still stung a
little.
We stared
at the bulky rectangular panel hidden under the stairwell. It looked like
something Spock might have poked at on one of those early low-budget days of
the original Star Trek.
Me, I
wanted to crawl under the stairwell and sleep, but it was too early yet. Pavan
was going on and on about the van.
"Seriously,
you go down to the cops in Fulton County and flash them your I.D. and they
gotta give you the van, right?” His floppy hair was dancing like sea oats
in a summer storm. “That detective said it was in your—“
“I don’t
drive. What do I want a van for?”
“Then sell
it on eBay or something!” Pavan had shoveled in another clawful of fake
cheese and popcorn. I wanted to look away from the horror show he was putting
on but couldn't.
“You know
what's in that goo?” I said frowning, not because I was angry, but
because I was trying to hold back the nausea. He was hideous.
He stopped
chewing, made an orange letter “O” for a mouth, then he said, “Dude, don’t tell
me.”
“Well, just
know there’s no cheese in that cheese,” I said and nodded to theater seven.
“Judi Dench film is out.”
"Yep,"
Pavan said. "I need to be mentally prepared for anything here."
Old people
don’t buy stuff at the candy counter. They sneak in way more crap than kids do.
Two months earlier, I'd gone into one of those chatty Kenneth Branagh
films that old folks love and came out with the T-bone of a T-bone steak.
Who sneaks a steak into a theater?
The T-bone was
now hanging up in the maintenance closet and used to open import beer bottles.
We walked
slowly toward a sea of gray people.
“Listen, I
know you’re all weirded out because that dude did all the stuff to you…” he
stopped and suddenly shivered. “Dude, he knocked you out, right?
While you were in dreamland, maybe he did some weird sex stuff—WHOA!”
I’m not a
violent person but at the moment I had Pavan by the collar. His feet were dangling
off the ground, his back pressed against a Coming Soon poster of a movie's
remake I purposely avoided the first time around.
I wasn’t
angry at Pavan.
Well, okay,
I was kinda pissed about the implication the Black Knight might have finger
diddled me in my sleep but, really, it was more about feeling I’d lost control
of what had been a very controlled life.
Some old
woman nearby said something, but I didn’t hear her words. Just her tone.
Embarrassed,
the fire in my eyes drew back to a flicker, and I turned away from my friend,
slowly lowering his feet back down to the carpet. I felt more stupid with each
passing second.
“Hey man,”
he said, shaking just a little. “I got some little green monsters in the
ice machine. Why don’t you just take five and have one. I got the
Dench film.”
As I tried
to straighten his polyester vest, I saw that my little psycho Charles
Bronson move had smashed the tray of cheese and popcorn into his stomach.
He looked a little like one of the victims in the first Alien movie.
“Aw,
Pavan,” I said, suddenly my voice bubbling with more emotion than I’d expected.
“I’m sorry, man.”
“It’s all
right.”
“No, it’s
not.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” he said, walking toward where all the old ladies were coming
out, some dragging old men who looked like they’d been given a prostate exam by
a Bengal tiger. “I got this one. Not like there’s any soda cups or
popcorn bins in there anyhow.”
“Yeah, I
know. Dench film.”
“Sure, just
a lot of empty plastic baggies and shit. Kleenex and stuff.”
I nodded,
avoiding his eyes.
Not knowing
what to do next, I
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