The movie finished and the tears started streaming.
She didn’t wear much makeup or eyeliner. She knew she didn’t have to around me. Beauty wasn’t in the appearance, it was in the demeanor I would tell her. Not that she didn’t look pretty. Quite the opposite, in fact, was true. Her eyes, even teary, emitted a sparkle of light. Or maybe that was just the reflection of the dim lighting from the screen. Either way, her green eyes looked stunning.
We sat in the seats for longer than necessary, enjoying the last bits of music during the credits. I stood, ready to leave. I reached for the plate that once held the overpriced sausage pizza. She reached for the last few drops of Diet Coke. Ice rattled in the oversized cup. Her motions seemed slow, not at all deliberate. She seemed as though she was torn between two conflicting thoughts and couldn’t make up her mind. She paused and looked up. I smiled and her face scrunched up a little bit, the way it always does just before she unleashes a torrent of tears. I wasn’t afraid … or worried. She looked gorgeous, despite the tears. No, I’m wrong. Not despite them. Because of them. She approached me and I took her into my arms, bringing her head to my chest. I looked into her eyes when she would glance up at me. Slight giggles would erupt between humming sobs. This was a happy cry I thought. I did something right. I smiled to myself. I smiled at her, at her beauty
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I replied.
Nothing more needed to be said, really.
The music changed to something a little more upbeat. Without any provocation, without any spoken words, we slowly moved our hips and feet to the rhythm of the guitar. She cried and I held her.
The theater was empty anyway. It appeared that maybe only four people seemed to be working that night. All of them waiting for the late night showings to end. In front of the large movie complex, only three cars sat unattended in the parking lot. Theater Eight had at least one hundred seats. And there we were, from nine forty-five until eleven thirty, all by ourselves, free to laugh or cry together. No lewd activity occurred.
I held out my hand for her to hold, and she took it gently. I beside her through the movie exit doors and out into the wet parking lot. A thunderstorm had raged earlier, thoroughly soaking anything porous on its downward path to the earth. There had been thunder, lighting, and torrential downpours. It almost got rid of all the snow on the ground. Odd weather for January. Fifty some degrees outside and rainy. Imagine if it had been a blizzard.
“I loved the movie.” She said while looking at the blacktop pavement.
“I want to live with you. I don’t need the insurance.” Her mother threatened to take away the health insurance if she decided to live with me.
I avoided the puddles. I realized that there was nothing more satisfying, nothing more comforting, that waking up in the morning with the person you love. I looked up at her and smiled. Mistake. I stepped into a large puddle. It doesn’t matter in the whole scheme of things.
We got into the van and she started craving ice cream. Women and their odd cravings. At least I got some ice cream. I never refuse ice cream. Even when I’m full.
We stopped at a popular ice cream eating establishment. The tears that had temporarily abated suddenly flowed harder than before. I couldn’t stop smiling. I hadn’t been this happy in a long time. My smiles made her smile. My smiles do tend to be contagious. I work mysterious magic with crying babies. Maybe I look like a clown. I do have a large Roman nose, and I personally think Roman noses are quite amusing.
“It’s a good cry babe.” She said with a tearful smile.
I know. I know, I thought.
“Do I cry too much?”
“Nope.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I replied. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
And nothing more needed to be said, really.
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