You were goddamn crazy.

We barely know each other. At first, we were having a nice conversation, a polite conversation. You mentioned something about the movies — the moving pictures — and all I said was that I’d never seen one. Never’d been, never’d seen a movie in my life. Then you got all excited and begged me to come see one in theaters with you.

Goddamn crazy. We barely know each other.

I meet you in town in front of the movie theater. There’s a lot of other people around, all excitedly chattering about the new movie and the actors and how attractive they are. My hands nervously trace the pattern of my flannel. I don’t know why I dressed so nice. I don’t know why I’m so damn nervous.

You strut up to the theater with this big ol’ smile on your face, like you live here and you’re welcoming me home. My jaw is set and I don’t realize I likely look unapproachable until you ask me if I’m alright.

“People really like this?” I ask you, refusing to look in your eyes, or keep my hands still. “Comin’ to a public place with a bunch’a strangers to watch a bunch’a other strangers on a colorless screen?”