It was glowing dimly on the other side of the room, but I'm sure I saw
it. Another person with another cellphone, texting away. The concept
used to be entirely lost on me until about 4 months ago, and now I've
become one of those people. I give myself a little leniency
though, because I'm sure that what I'm texting about between classes is
a lot more pressing on my mind than the average person. Ah, shit, there
I go speculating again.
I asked her to put the phone away
while she was in the theatre because "People are complaining and I
don't want to have to throw you out, okay?". She consented, but in such
a way that told me she'd do her best to 'hide it better'. I was of
course okay with this, and returned back to my mundane tasks. Popcorn
was low so I initiated what I'm henceforth calling 'the stance' and
began to bag it. Then my mind raced again, back to that place that it
keeps going; a place I keep telling it not to go but it doesn't
even care what I think. I'm still bagging the popped-corn just as
quickly as ever, and dishing up what's expected, but it's lifeless and
second-nature to me. On the faint, somewhat greased over side of the
actual popper, I can see a distorted reflection of myself and I am a
little less than pleased by my appearance, but then I quickly remember
that I don't really care because I don't really have anyone to impress.
Screams
come from the other side of the room, but I don't want to look back
because kids have a tendency to upset me when they're not
crying. The screams quickly get drowned out by other noises, most
namely of which the flipping of the pinball flippers. They're quick and
erratic and I realize that a child must be playing that, too, and I
take a small amount of offense to it and I don't know why- maybe I'm
just out for a fight, or I'd rather project my rage on to someone that
means nothing to me as opposed to who I'm actually upset at. It's
healthy to bottle up these types of feelings, right? I think I read
that somewhere.
Click, click, click, click, click. He isn't really playing
the game but he did pay, so no one will complain. The crowd keeps
growing and I'm not sure why; did we have something that people want
finally? There's a breif gape of total silence which is quickly broken
by bellowing from our new TVs: "Shooter, Coming this Spring". I
hate TVs and I hate trailers. Is that healthy? And if it wasn't the TVs
that broke up the quiet, then the burn that I distracted myself into
getting on my forearm was enough to stop the silence in my mind. You'd
think screaming curse words in your head would do little good, but it's
actually quite therapeutic. Everything else became something very
similar to a blur, but if I focused on it long enough I could piece
together what happened. It wasn't anything important though, as none of
this arguably is.
I recall that more complaints about 'Ms.
Cell-phone' arrived at me in more of a demanding 'it's her or us' kind
of manner. I nodded, and told them I'd take care of it. As soon as the
people were out of sight I debated about how much I really cared about
telling this girl that I warned her. I thought "Man, I wish I had her
number and I could just call her and yell into the phone". Exerting
anger on someone is one thing- making the effort to find them again in
a crowded room (A crowded room that I hate) is a completely different story. You bring her to me and I'll yell at her, otherwise..
So
I'm in this room again, this room that smells similar to depression
with an erie red glow to it and a movie blaring just a tad bit too
loud. She's about halfway down the right side with a friend of hers,
and they're sitting in what I've decided have got to be my two
favorite seats in the whole of our establishment. I get about halfway
to her and get weak in the knees and as a burst of the rooms natrual
odor attacks it's way into my nasal cavity I wonder just how worth it
this is. I get to her row and sit right beside her and cross my legs,
kind of put my arm on the back of her chair and wait for a moment. She
looks over at me in disgust, which is a great look to get, and I lean
my head towards her without actually making any type of eye-contact. I
tell her that I warned her but if she just gives me her cell phone I'll
let her stay and she can pick it up after the movie out. She agrees and
apologizes a few times and I'm now the proud owner of a new cellphone.
Kind
of. I get out of the theatre and tuck it away under the counter and
realize that the entire place is quiet, and better yet, empty. It's
time to close and I go through the motions. Counting this, cleaning
that, preparing everything for the next day. It's my favorite part of
the day, not only because it means it's almost over, but the
conversations had at the end of work are always better. Stories about
fat kids and pregnancies and running away. Stories that aren't so
personal that they're going to make things awkward, but stories that
make you kind of forget that you have a problem to begin with. Problems
don't stay gone unless solved, and pushing them under the rug doesn't
do a lot of good. Though, the distractions are a nice escape to what
life used to be like. Peaceful and carefree. A little lustful and a
little hopeful and a lot of hopeless, but all for a good cause. Life.
So..
apologizing doesn't change anything. I'm not sure if you're saying
sorry for yourself or for my benefit, but I understand already. I know
you're sorry. I wish 'sorry's could change the world and make
everything okay, but the only thing that's going to fix anything is
some type of effort. I guess this is where the 'sorry's are put the to
test. If you're really sorry and if you really care you'll do
something; anything, whatever you can. You'll try, there'll be an
effort made that doesn't hurt. They're be something done that shows
that you actually do care, that I'm not just worth thinking about when it's convenient.
...then again, I guess.. that these moments that you have when you do forget about me, when you're eating pizza and being carefree.. maybe those are your
moments of distraction. Distraction from me, and maybe I'm the problem
that needs to be solved. I guess I'm kind of the one in the wrong here,
but. If you don't really care about 'solving me', then don't say you're
sorry. And don't say it like you mean it if you don't, because that
just gets my hopes up. Don't tell me that it'll be okay, that you'll
save me from whatever I'm scared of and protect me from everything
wrong in the world. Don't tell me that I matter and that this isn't to
spite me.. Don't tell me I'm worth something and that you love me and
will make sure neither of us ever has to say 'sorry' again.. unless you mean it.
~Sew
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