Midnight Showing
I don't know what I was thinking.
Well, actually, I do.
I was thinking that I'm busy most every evening and that I was in the mood to go to the movies and that there was a midnight showing of "New Moon" and why not go.
My wife was smart enough to admit she didn't have the stamina for a middle of the night movie and then be up at 4:30 to teach a 6 a.m. class.
I didn't have a 6 a.m. class, and so, with her blessing, bought myself a ticket.
I got to the theater around 11 prepared to stand in line, but the building's door was open and the audience, already seated. I walked in and scanned the room, which was nearly full of teenage girls.
I found a place on the aisle of the main section, about a third of the way from the front, opened the book I'd brought - ABAB: Always Bring A Book - and settled in, oblivious to the buzz of adolescent chatter. I had just finished the first three pages of "I Dreamed of Africa" by Kuki Gallmann, when a smiling young woman stopped in the aisle and spoke to me.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," I responded.
"You look very lonely sitting there all by yourself."
"Uh . . . no. I'm fine, actually," I stammered.
I could not imagine - nor did I want to - what she might say next. There was an empty seat next to me. If she sat down and tried to hold my hand, I wouldn't just get up and move, I would get up and leave. Trouble of whatever sort this was, I didn't need.
But it wasn't for herself she was accosting me.
"You look very lonely sitting there," she said again, and was joined by an older woman.
"She's lonely, too," the girl said.
The woman smiled at me expectantly. I was speechless.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" the girl asked.
"I have a wife," I said, hoping this would end the discussion.
It didn't.
"Do you have any kids?" the girl asked.
Her friend continued to hover.
"Yes," I said. "Five."
I emphasized the number, trying to give it a note of finality, but the girl was relentless.
"How old are they?"
I hate small talk, am a terrible mixer, and abhor social situations where I might be expected to do either. This was not just awkward, it was painful.
"18 to 29," I said.
"Are any of them here?"
"No."
"Is your wife here?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"She didn't want to come."
"What are you reading?"
I sighed.
"A book about Africa."
"Is it interesting?"
"Yes," I said, looking down and pretending to read.
"What's it about?"
"Africa."
I wasn't trying to be rude. Well, actually, I was. I didn't want to be fixed up with a 16-year-old or a 61-year-old or an any-year-old. I just wanted to read my book for an hour, watch a movie, then go home.
Eventually, the girl, still smiling with invasive friendliness, and the woman - Her grandmother? A stranger she spontaneously decided to Yenta for? An actress hired to embarrass me? - the woman, smiling in I don't know what - resignation? - gave up and left me to my book.
Soon, two young women asked if the seats next to me were taken. When I said no, they thanked me, stepped past, and sat down.
Fortunately, they were lost in their own conversations and in checking the caller ID on their cell phones, and displayed zero interest in the aging, balding man beside them.
Instead of returning to my book, I dug out a notebook and pen - I never leave home without them - and wrote the first part of this article, finishing just as the room darkened and the previews began.
Despite my misgivings about being an older male in a sea of pubescent femininity, the movie experience turned out to be excellent.
When the lights went down, the room quieted. During the previews and the movie, itself, the audience - me included - laughed at the funny parts, held its breath during the tense moments, and reacted with surprise at the surprises.
Midnight-showing audiences - even female ones at teenage vampire romances - remind me of Saturday matinees when I was a kid.
In the Oklahoma town where I grew up, there was one theater, which was opened on Friday evenings, Saturday afternoons, and Saturday evenings. Each week, it featured a different movie. Regardless of what was showing - romance, monster flick, western, or comedy - the theater would be full every Saturday afternoon, and the audience would thoroughly immerse itself in whatever was happening on the screen. We laughed and cried and applauded in a way that audiences seem too sophisticated for these days. Except mid-night showing audiences.
Thursday's movie experience - minus the pre-movie getting hit on - was everything that going to the movies should be.
When it was over, I hung back, allowing people to flow out, hoping to avoid my young accostee and her friend.
When I got home, my wife was sleeping. And soon, so was I. But not before going into my office and finishing this article.
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