It was Dave and I's third Christmas together as a married couple. It was to be our last Christmas living in the apartment in Troutdale, and as tradition had it, we would spend our Christmas Eve at the local movie theater. In fact, we were set to attend the midnight premier of Les Miserables, and despite my lack of familiarity with the story, I wasn't immune to the hype around me.
We had bought our tickets and snacks. We were waiting for the ushers to open the door to the theater to get our seats. We were part of a crowd, excited and wide-eyed from the late hour as we leaned against the dark red wall and quietly chatted. I was also people watching. Midnight showings, especially on a holiday, will bring a wonderful mix of old and young, families and friends all anxious for the movie. It requires a bit of crazy to stand in line to watch a movie at midnight.
As I scanned the faces in the crowd, my eyes landed on someone familiar. I knew those eyes. My old friend. We spent our high school years together, and then years later, we spent a summer playing Scrabble or getting a beer or just hanging out so we weren't alone. It was a rough time for us both, back then, and I thought often of this friend and where he might be. And could it be him, now, standing before me?
He was with friends; he looked happy. Someone was making a joke, and he was laughing. I knew that smile and my heart leaped at that smile. I hadn't seen him in a years. Our last interaction was awkward and blurry. I immediately felt the tension of the years, the stories I had heard of his life and my lack of presence in it. I felt the the space between us enlarge, despite us being less than 10 feet apart.
My eyes hit the ground, and my body stiffened. I wanted to hide. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe I was just imagining that he was my old friend. He was supposed to have lived hours away. Was he in town? Did all our old friends get together, and I wasn't invited?
My brain was spinning, and my heart was pounding.
I looked his way again, and this time our eyes met. I froze. I didn't smile, my mouth could not move. I only looked, my face flushed. I felt the world remained still as two friends who once meant so much to each other, who spent hours talking and sharing dreams, just looked at each other. There was no nod, no smile, no hint of recognition. Just a look. Everything was in that brief look. He made no move towards me.
I turned away, the moment broken by a question from my husband. I just stood there, feeling invisible, curious and confused. I felt nostalgic for time lost, but mostly, I felt sad and forgotten. My courage was absent. I should say hi, I frantically thought. I should ask if he was my friend, who cares if I look foolish. I should introduce him to my husband. Boldness began to creep within me, and as I began to move the theater doors opened. The crowd made its way forward. I looked at my husband and smiled. The moment had passed.
We had bought our tickets and snacks. We were waiting for the ushers to open the door to the theater to get our seats. We were part of a crowd, excited and wide-eyed from the late hour as we leaned against the dark red wall and quietly chatted. I was also people watching. Midnight showings, especially on a holiday, will bring a wonderful mix of old and young, families and friends all anxious for the movie. It requires a bit of crazy to stand in line to watch a movie at midnight.
As I scanned the faces in the crowd, my eyes landed on someone familiar. I knew those eyes. My old friend. We spent our high school years together, and then years later, we spent a summer playing Scrabble or getting a beer or just hanging out so we weren't alone. It was a rough time for us both, back then, and I thought often of this friend and where he might be. And could it be him, now, standing before me?
He was with friends; he looked happy. Someone was making a joke, and he was laughing. I knew that smile and my heart leaped at that smile. I hadn't seen him in a years. Our last interaction was awkward and blurry. I immediately felt the tension of the years, the stories I had heard of his life and my lack of presence in it. I felt the the space between us enlarge, despite us being less than 10 feet apart.
My eyes hit the ground, and my body stiffened. I wanted to hide. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe I was just imagining that he was my old friend. He was supposed to have lived hours away. Was he in town? Did all our old friends get together, and I wasn't invited?
My brain was spinning, and my heart was pounding.
I looked his way again, and this time our eyes met. I froze. I didn't smile, my mouth could not move. I only looked, my face flushed. I felt the world remained still as two friends who once meant so much to each other, who spent hours talking and sharing dreams, just looked at each other. There was no nod, no smile, no hint of recognition. Just a look. Everything was in that brief look. He made no move towards me.
I turned away, the moment broken by a question from my husband. I just stood there, feeling invisible, curious and confused. I felt nostalgic for time lost, but mostly, I felt sad and forgotten. My courage was absent. I should say hi, I frantically thought. I should ask if he was my friend, who cares if I look foolish. I should introduce him to my husband. Boldness began to creep within me, and as I began to move the theater doors opened. The crowd made its way forward. I looked at my husband and smiled. The moment had passed.
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