At the Movies

            She held her head high caressing fingers through coifed hair as she looked around at us, her only audience. Her face wasn’t pretty, but her make-up was tastefully done- enough base and eye-liner to know it was there.

“Senior? Oh, yes! I’m a senior.” And then she laughed, a bass laugh that didn’t match her petite body. She laughed as if in surprise. “How could I be a senior? Look how hip I’m dressed!” She laughed with confidence. “Ha, ha! Yes, I’m a senior but I’m not old yet!”

“Come on, babe.” The man hustled her away from the ticket kiosk. There were flecks of grey in his short curly brown hair.  He was of average height and build, unremarkable really. It was the woman he was with that made me take a second glance and see the animal in him, his masculine frame, sculpted by weight lifting, his self-assured gait like that of a lion. And it was her jeans that fit just right, jeans with rhinestones on her butt that kept my eyes focused on her backside.

They held hands as they walked up the ramp to the ticket taker. I thought they’d be going to “50 Shades of Grey,” but no. Here they were, choosing a seat in the same theater as we were for “Still Alice.”  How could a couple so excited about each other choose to watch a film about suffering, about the shut down of the brain, about death?

I forgot to look for them coming out. I wonder if they were brimming with as much desire for each other as when they came in.