Talking and laughing while we sit,
wading through the muck of boring and stupid and long previews,
because I was not going to be late to this movie.
But, the preview changes, and the mood, tangible between us, follows suit.
Both of us sharing secrets in a tangle of words
which spill out of me but are jumbled.
I’m hushed when he shares his and
my mind is cursedly blank with no words to alleviate his struggle
(of course the words will fill my mind later on, when I have not a
single clue of how to work it into a conversation).
The movie blessedly starts and
excitement, rather than awkwardness, fills my body.
Fingers are tip-tap-tapping next to me, making me
wholly aware of the hand,
so close
so close to mine.
How wonderful would I feel if I could just reach out and
intertwine my fingers with his
I reach between us….
and
prove that I am a coward.
Instead I push my fingers into the box sitting on the armrest separating us
and pull out an unceasing number of blues.
The crystals of the Sour Patch Kids cover my fingertips so
I brush them against my new frayed khaki short-shorts.
I shove my focus back to the movie, rather than the boy sitting next to me
and start to lose myself in the heartbreak and pain and delight of the characters in front of me.
I feel it resonate within me, feeling my own heartbreak and delight.
Colors and images explode on the screen before me and all I feel is
Awe.
And brilliance for the beautiful creators of this film
And honored to be able to see it.
As the credits roll,
I am disappointed.
That the movie is over.
That I have to leave.
That I no longer get to spend time with him.
And as I walk to my car in the light of the dying sun
I feel the awkwardness set in again
and the hope fizzle out of me.