Waiting For The Ending

Chapter Two

"Could I sit with you?" This question at the time it was posed to me five years ago, had me at a loss for words for a multitude of reasons. The first being the theatre back then too, was empty. Every seat barring mine was empty, devoid of any inklings of life whatsoever. The second was the fact that this question was chosen to be posed to me during a tense moment of absolute silence. The character on screen seemed to be minutes away from meeting his end, his gasping for air being the only sound emanating from the scene, while blood flowed out profusely from his neck. I found it impossible to believe that someone could interrupt a scene of such great tension with a question such as that. I could have sworn there was a third reason, but I can't seem to recall what it was. The girl that posed this question stared at me in anticipation, while I stared back. Still at a loss for words, might I add.

"I interrupted the scene. I apologize. I..." she said looking flustered. They say a man's voice is the truest representation of his power, an intangible symbol of his ability to win people over and convey to them his thoughts and feelings. But I was just a boy then. A thirteen-year-old boy. A thirteen-year-old boy smack dab in the middle of his pubescent awakening. It was for this reason that my vocal cords chose to betray me and produce what I can best describe as an ear-piercing din of astonishingly high levels of pitchiness that I assume must have caused a great deal of discomfort to the dogs outside the theatre. This sound was coupled with my enthusiastic saying of the word "Sure!" She then sat down in the seat next to me. This meant I had not deafened her. For this I said a prayer of thanks in my head.

The scene continued to unfold before us. The twenty something year old boy with the blood flowing out of his neck used his hand to slow down the bleeding as he stumbled around his apartment. The gun that caused this injury, laid on the floor of his apartment, still smoking from the moment he pulled the trigger aiming it at himself. The scene nearly left me nauseous with its frantic shots from his point of view intercut with SnorriCam shots of him scrambling for anything in the apartment that could help him.

Even at an age as young as thirteen, I always maintained the most diligent attention to a scene, not taking my eyes off what was happening even for a second. But that night was the first time I ever found my concentration deterred by the goings-on of my surrounding. I noticed the girl to my side's leg shaking and hands trembling. At the time, I assumed this was because she simply found the movie too difficult to understand for she did enter the theater only in its final twenty minutes.

The scene progressed further, and the main character's situation grew more helpless and morbid. There was a shot of him lying down helplessly in the middle of the open ground in front of his apartment building, with the blood refusing to stop flowing out of his neck and no help in sight. The scene struck some sort of a chord within the girl at my side and she rose from her seat and walked out of the theatre with heavy breaths and dilated pupils.

I stayed in the theatre and I watched the rest of the movie.

I thought it was a great film. It was tragic, it was moving and moreover it felt intimate.

Made on a shoestring of a budget with money he earned from working three jobs, and with unprofessional actors that were just friends from college, this was Director Richard Hexley's directorial debut. The movie received rave reviews from the critics that saw it. Unfortunately, this number was an incredibly small one due to its unfairly limited distribution.

As the credits began to roll, I took the elevator to the ground floor and walked out of the multiplex. The air of the late night was cool and crisp and the street was desolate. I was making my way home, when I caught a glimpse of someone standing by the entrance where the theatre propped up its roster of movies that it'd be screening for the week. It was the girl from earlier. I had all the intentions of carrying on homewards without acknowledging her standing there, but clearly, she did not have the same intentions as I did.

"Was it good?" She asked me which caused me to stop in my tracks. The street light above, cast its harsh light upon her but not in a way that was unflattering by any means. I thought she was pretty.

"I liked it." I replied, following which my curiosity compelled me to inquire. "Why did you leave before it ended?" She then answered reluctantly, "I normally don't mind bitter endings but now just, isn't exactly the best times for one of those. For me I mean."

"Oh. It doesn't have a bitter ending though." I say. "No?" She seemed intrigued. "How does it end?"

"Do you remember the takeout menu from his apartment? His friend worked at that restaurant. And as he was on the ground bleeding out..." "His friend showed up and took him to the hospital?" She interrupted. "Well, no." I said. "She showed up, knelt down next to him, and held his hand as he was laying there. She told him it was going be okay."

"Does he make it?" She asked, following which I slowly replied, "He doesn't. By the time the ambulance arrived he'd already passed. But she held on. At the end, before the ambulance got there, he smiled. Almost like he was at peace in that moment with her, you know, as he was dying." She did not say anything in response.

I broke the silence by saying, "I know that doesn't sound very upbeat but..." "I think it's comforting." She spoke.

"That she was with him?" I asked. She then specified, "That he found peace in that moment. I just find that very comforting."

She then introduced herself and told me her name, Sarah, after which I told her mine. I had to leave soon since I was walking home, which wasn't far away, nor was it close by either, but I stayed. If there was a place she needed to be, she didn't make it apparent because she stayed too. We talked for a while and in that time, we talked about movies. Our favorites, our likes, our dislikes. I even told her about whatever I'd read about Richard Hexley from forums online and how he got the movie made. We talked for what felt like hours, each topic of conversation more interesting than the last.

I couldn't tell you the number of times I've wished that time left us alone for that night so our talking could have had a chance to go on and on and never end.

After a good thirty minutes of conversing, Sarah and I said our goodbyes and parted ways. The walk home had never felt longer and from that day onwards I spent every spare minute I had, checking film websites and forums for news on Richard Hexley's next release.