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“You’re crazy.” Mary says, shaking her head and taking a sip of her steaming coffee.
“It’ll be so funny though! I mean come on, who buys a ticket in the direct center of a completely unbooked movie theatre?”
“Probably some weird serial killer who hates social interaction. I mean, he is seeing Oppenheimer. By himself. Come on.”
“Ouch? I am also seeing Oppenheimer, Mary.”
“For Florence Pugh and Devon Bostick.”
“Shut up, Mary!”
“Just don’t blame me when movie theatre guy smells like gasoline and ruins your Emily Blunt viewing experience.”
..
I don’t know why or how, but I had a feeling someone who buys a single ticket for a 3 hour movie is the type of person to arrive early. Like, half an hour early. So that’s what brings me here on this friday night, all alone in a big dark box an hour before it begins, just so I can see this mystery man walk in. The issue is now I am so bored and ads haven’t even started playing and for some reason I already bought popcorn and the tub is almost completely empty and- wait someone is walking in.
The most beautiful woman I have ever seen has just walked into this movie theatre, and I can’t even fully see her. It’s dim, and there’s only a few golden lights on the wall and a glowing red exit sign - and they’re illuminating her silhouette like a horror movie demon; thick rays of black and gold casting off of this tall still shadow. Except it’s not scary. It’s entrancing. Addicting. Paralyzing.
I almost missed the way she glanced at her phone when she looked towards me, no doubt confirming her seat is in fact, right to my left. Her phone, then me, then her phone, head slowly bobbing back and forth in disbelief. I swear I could see her shudder, and then she began making her way up the aisles. Suddenly, as she got closer and closer, the black screen became so interesting to me. Not the goddess in my peripheral not-so-subtly side eyeing me as she sat down, also becoming very into the black screen in front of us.
I’ve learned that someone who buys a single ticket for a 3 hour movie is also in fact the type of woman to still sit in her assigned seat, despite the entire theatre being empty, whilst also being the type of woman to not buy popcorn, have three packs of junior mints hidden in her bag, and pretend to watch this movie that I couldn’t tell you a single thing about -something about bombs, I think- despite it being about an hour in. It’s not my fault though, that I can’t focus on pretty women and history and chemicals from a million years ago, because this woman is much, much more…exciting…than some scientist. Unless she’s a scientist. I don’t know.
What I do know, however, as I draw lasers into the side of her face with my eyes, is that this woman is gorgeous. How am I supposed to look away, when I can stare at the smooth slope of her nose, the subtle squint of her perfectly lashed eyes that tells me she’s too stubborn to get glasses, despite needing them. I don’t blame her though, the glasses would take away from the perfectly imperfect scattering of freckles decorating her cheeks and nose and even a little bit under her eyes. They’d fit well, however, with her proper fancy black blazer and thin silk amethyst button up loosely tucked into her, once again, black slacks. She looks like she either just came from a life changing business meeting, or a lesbian bar. Fingers crossed for the second option. Because what I wouldn’t give to run my hands through her beautiful dark brown hair, with golden tips and a softness to it that needs to be appreciated. What I wouldn’t give to trace those freckles, and that firm neck, and those broad shoulders that tell me she works out, and even further…
..
I’ve felt her eyes on me for the last hour at least. I barely got a look at the woman insane enough to purchase a ticket right beside me, but I saw enough to know that I wouldn’t survive seeing it again. Looking in her direction again. Unfortunately though, I am not God’s strongest soldier. So finally, I stop resisting, channeling the anti-repression Gods in my friends words over the years, mentally hyping myself up with the lesbian pep talk of “you can hold eye contact with an attractive woman you are 25 years old, and turn my head to look at her and…wow.
She is so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Her eyes, these big brown orbs glowing as they scan along my face, studying every part of me and committing them to memory. Her nose, a smooth declivity (I need a long break from the lab) dotted with red from the blush creeping onto her cheeks. Her hair, full espresso brown with lighter bronze highlights that changes with the sun, wrapped up into a loose bun that I want so badly to unravel. She is so alluring, with her gorgeous flowered crop top with a neckline wide and deep enough to show the collarbone and cleavage a Victorian child would die over. I am no better than a Victorian child it seems. Head to toe, loose baggy jeans to the sun and moon gold necklace to the shining polished Doc Martens, she is so beautiful. Her eyebrows, her dimples, her neck, her lips. Her.
I hear a cough and finally draw my eyes up and away from…her lips. I was staring at her lips. For a while. She starts to smile wide and bright at me, raising her eyebrows like she knew what I was thinking. I think the world knows. Everyone deserves to know. She really is so beautiful.
“My name is Ava. What’s yours?”
“Beatrice.”
“Fancy meeting you here, Beatrice. Now, how much are you really interested in this movie?”
Okay, I’ve had a bad history of not being able to read the signs, the subtle nods or the obvious flirting. I’ve lived through it too many times (or maybe not enough, but oh well). But this is clear as day. Hopefully. So, silently vowing to be the bigger person (I’m already bigger, she’s like five feet tall), I reach up and grab her warm, divine cheek, lick my lips, close my eyes, lean in, and…
..
Mary is calling? It’s so early.. Wait, fuck, no it’s not, it’s 3pm.
“Hey Mary-“
“I know you're not “Hey Mary"ing me after disappearing for half a day. I thought you got kidnapped by movie theater guy!”
“Nope! Movie theatre guy is actually a girl and it seems like she made a vow to God that I wouldn’t be able to walk again.”
“…I’m hanging up on you.”