Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

9 0 ~ A a r o n

                 

Flashback ~ December 1, 2010

Dad slams the door shut on his way out. It comes with a yell back to clean up and a gust of anger in the wind.

The grand closing last night was terrible. Everyone came. All of my friends, all of our neighbors, the whole town. The turnout was huge, and the tickets sold within the hour. Everyone loved my mother... everyone was at the funeral. She was one of those people who made everyone laugh and smile, even on stormy days.

Other people came too, those who had heard about it from the surrounding towns. They all came to see the last showing of my mother's favorite film, hear my dad's closing words for the theater, and give their condolences.

It was terrible.

Everywhere I turn I see mom. I start to clean up the place and I remember how she would dance with the broom. I start to lock everything away for storage, start putting decorations in boxes, and I remember how she made us do a spring cleaning of the house every year. I pull down that little chandelier and push it in the corner... then I sit down and cry.

I put my head between my knees and try to curb the dizziness in my head. I feel like throwing up... No more Saturday night showings of the town favorites. No more after-time cleaning with my mom while we play music through the speakers. I'm the only one cleaning now, and it's completely silent.

The door opens and I know it's dad, so I don't bother getting up. I just sit back, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I keep my eyes on the chandelier.

"You work here?"

I look up for a moment at the man who walked in. Dad is nowhere to be seen, and the man in the hoodie watches me carefully as he enters. His hands are hidden in his pockets and his expression is hard and dangerous.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," I mumble. I pull myself up from the ground and head back behind the counter where we used to sell concessions.

"Yes, I know," the man muses, gazing around at the sheets already covering furniture and the footprints on the deep red carpet. "I had a question about this grand closing I missed."

"Umm," I look back at the door, wondering when dad will get back. "Okay."

"Have you seen this man?" The Hoodie reaches across the counter to hold up a polaroid photo of a man. I squint at it for a minute.

"That's you," I say.

He just shakes his head, like I failed a test.

"How about this man?" The Hoodie tries again, this time with a photo of an older man.

I shake my head.

The man's face gets darker as he pushes the photos back into his pocket. "Do you know them from town? Have they been here?"

"I just said that I don't--"

"Answer the question." He takes a step forward, leaning over the counter on one arm. The other hand is still concealed in his pocket. His eyes narrow.

"No," I mumble. "I don't know them..."

I don't. What does this guy want from me?

He stands back a little, something boiling in his eyes. I don't move.

"Let's hope we don't have this talk again, okay?" he asks with an unfriendly smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes.

The door slams on his way out.