Thom and I arrived downtown around noon and parked in the closest Green P we could find. We had time to sit down for a quick lunch at the Pig and Pint, a small pub we frequently visit when we're in the city. We enjoyed the dark walnut walls, the leather seats, cracked from years of patronage, the smell of beer and wings, and the staff that have been there for years, not because they have to but because they love it. We sat in a booth near the front of the pub, looking out through the bay window at the passing hordes. There were so many people. Then, anyway.
We sat and ate, and discussed the usual birthday woes, reflecting on the aging process, and how outside of our 10-year-old brains and hearts there were 40-year-old bodies that frequently farted, ached, and betrayed our sense of how far we could run or how much we could lift. The real fact of the matter is that I felt better than I ever had in all my years, not necessarily physically, but in general. I was happy. Without the bullshit expectations and perceptions that accompanied youth, I was actually happy. It felt good.
Thom and I finished our unhealthy but damn tasty lunch, and walked over to the theatre. Bloor St was bustling with people, rushing in and out of stores, laughing, kids skateboarding by us in a blur. The usual street kids were sitting against buildings asking for change, yet they wore nicers shoes than I do and had what appeared to be fully groomed and well-fed dogs, and at least $1000 worth of tattoos and piercings each. I could never understand that.
We arrived at the Bloor Cinema shortly before the festivities began, so I took the spare moment to call Diane and check in. She told me that Jordan went to daycare with none of the usual fuss of crying, kicking, and general mayhem that typically accompanied the drop off. Of course, she was always fine once inside, nonchalantly waving us away as she targeted a certain toy and bee lined for it. Then Diane mentioned that Jordan had a bit of a cough as she went in, but that it didn't seem to be anything to be concerned about.
About three quarters of the way through Phantom, around the part where Winslow is bricked into the studio by Swan, the film jerked and the theatre went black. Of course. It was my birthday; things couldn't possibly go smoothly. Murphy's Law was written specifically for me, I was sure of it. With the important things in life I was as lucky as they come. I had my health, love, family, and friends. But when it came to the smaller things in life, I was notoriously unlucky. Give me fifty-fifty odds, I'll lose nine times out of ten. Regardless, we waited for word from the theatre, as would usually happen in a situation like this. A few patrons walked out, presumably to get some answers, but still no help came. We waited about twenty minutes before realizing the film wasn't coming back on. People had been sporadically leaving the theatre for a while now, and we decided it was time for us to leave as well.
We filed out of the theatre with a small group of people, up the musty inclined aisles and into the lobby. A few people were mulling about, but none of them seemed to work at the theatre. We couldn't figure out what was going on. Thom walked up to a group of three or four people.
"Do you have any idea what happened to the movie?"
A tall man in a corduroy jacket turned to answer.
"We're not really sure. We came out here just as some guy came down from the office, said something to the two girls at the snack bar, and they all took off out the main doors."
Thom relayed this information to me, and we stood staring at each other dumbfounded. We considered the options and agreed to leave.
Once we were on the street outside the Bloor, the strangeness continued. Something about the mood had changed since we entered the theatre a couple of hours earlier. Sure, there were still crowds, people with shopping bags, kids running around. The difference was that everyone seemed to be moving fast. No one seemed to be casually strolling. Everyone was rushing to get somewhere, and no one looked happy. Traffic had multiplied since we went into the theatre, and Bloor St was like rush hour, packed bumper to bumper. After a minute or two of watching and trying to make sense of what we were witnessing, Thom and I both jumped when a piercing scream came from somewhere down the street. We couldn't see who it came from, but it was loud.
