The cool of my mattress caressed my toes. Outside the wind began to stir, whispering hushed melodies at my window. I gazed at the sloped ceiling and silently took notice of the sour, though familiar, smell of mold that hung in the air of my bedroom.
I forced myself to flip over and peer at the clock. 2:27AM. A weary noise like a groan escaped my throat.
It's exactly what I needed: sleeplessness to go with my breakup. The two complemented each other well. I thrust the covers off and, shaking the fatigue from my eyes, sat up. I tiptoed to the small window on the other side of the room. It was stout and eight-paned, just large enough for a body to fit through, and its grilles were painted the soft yellow of a Missouri primrose. I peeled back the sheer beige curtain and moonlight poured in, dousing me in a silver glow.
Below me sat an uncannily still neighborhood, blanketed heavily with an early winter snow. Naked trees trembled in the wind, tossing back and forth like ragdolls. Few hills reigned in my town, making one able to see ahead for miles. The sky was masked with a subdued blue of clouds and stars were scarce. I felt myself draw a sharp intake of breath as my eyes took it in.
Wyatt Russell, my dearly beloved of almost two years. Loves Black Forest cake, long walks to the baseball park, and Rocky IV.
Excuse me, loved.
It wasn't as if I was about to decline a date with a gorgeous, brunette, 6-foot giant. We went to an old theatre in the downtown. It was crammed between a BevMo! and a cigar shop, its flickering, almost ancient marquee letters muted by the bright fluorescent lamp posts and tireless graffiti surrounding it.
As we neared the decrepit establishment an uneasy feeling settled in my chest, making it feel full of lead. He intertwined his left hand in mine and suddenly the feeling vanished. Heat radiated from his baseball-mitt-sized palm, sending chills up my spine.
"Man, your hands are cold."
"I get that a lot." I shrugged, and a soft laugh escaped my lips.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Not from any boys, I hope." he gave a meek smile.
"Not from any boys," I repeated assuringly.
We pulled up to the ticket booth where a stout, black-haired girl sat flipping through a People magazine.
"Hey Jeanie, would you mind hitting me and this beautiful lady up a couple of tickets to CLSASS?" he asked, turning her over a $20 bill.
"I can pay. It's no trouble," I chimed in, rummaging through my nearly endless bag for my wallet.
He put a hand up and shook his head.
"I insist. Jeanie, my dear, do you have our tickets?" he turned forward and asked in a voice smooth as silk.
The girl, presumably Jeanie, chortled and slid us two crisp white tickets in return.
"Have fun, you rapscallions." she grinned and picked absentmindedly at her lip piercing.
We stepped into the theatre where I was greeted by dim, flat lighting. The subtle smell of rust and sweat hung in the air and the carpet was a deep burgundy, frayed and dirtied by past visitors. The gold damask wallpaper was peeling at the corners, revealing a hideous cement behind it. I looked to Wyatt. His eyes shined with a childlike excitement.
"Do you like it? Man, was this place popular back in the old days. Janis Joplin once came here, you know. Yeah. Sat right up front in theatre 2. This place used to play like any other movie theatre, but now it just runs old flicks and indie films. People stopped coming. You know. The whole sha-bang."
I stared in fascination at his hooded eyes and his rounded, soft facial features. The ever-so-light stubble on his chin. The shadow the dim lights cast on his face. His thin, pink lips. His quirky Dumbo ears. He glanced back at me, and we stood like that, eyes locked, until I averted my eyes, trying furiously to ward off the light blush burning my cheeks.
"Pray tell, what does CLSASS stand for?" I asked, changing the subject.
He cleared his throat, took my hand in his once again, and lead me into the theatre.
"If I tell you, it might ruin the movie."
"I doubt it."
"It's true."
"I'm going to learn it in the main credits, anyway. Telling me now would save me the anticipation."
"You really want to know?"
"I really want to."
"It means Codependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same."
I stopped in my tracks and my eyes began to widen.
He laughed anxiously, shaking his arms back and forth hurriedly. "No, no, I didn't take you to anything like, well, that, I promise. It's an actual movie. A cult classic. I swear. You'll like it."
Wary but curious, I sat in the seat next to him, folding my legs beneath me in a criss-cross fashion.
The lights faded and the subtly torn screen projected a 40's-style movie countdown. 5, ping, 4, ping, 3, ping, 2, ping, 1, ping. The low crackle of old film echoed from all directions. I settled deeper into my chair, peeking briefly at him every few seconds. The film began to play.
Afterwards I found myself speechless.
"How'd you like it?" his arm had snaked its way around my waist, and I felt the keys in his front pocket dig into my thigh, we were so close.
"It was somehow even worse than Harold and Maude. And that movie was really, really horrible."
For some reason, his face didn't fall. Not in the slightest. Instead, he grinned wider, his thin lips stretching over his moon-shaped face.
"As much as I disagree with you, and I really, really do, let's agree to disagree. Harold and Maude, by the way, was just an underrated When Harry Met Sally."
"Underrated? It's the love story of a seventeen-year-old boy and an eighty-five-year woman. You're in desperate need of a better taste in movies."
"Does that mean no second date?" he joked, his mouth brimming with a jaw full of white teeth.
"I didn't say that."
He paused to stroke his chin in thought. "Touché. How's Friday work for you, madam?"
I steadied the nervous waver in my voice. "It works fine."
He drove me home that night in his lurid orange '68 Impala. The seats were covered in tears and mysterious stains and the entire vehicle smelled nauseatingly of lighter fluid, but I grew to love it. Every part of it. And I grew to love every part of him.
Or so I thought.
Two years.
I fell asleep after that.
*****
CLSASS is, in fact, an actual movie. It premiered at Seattle International Film Festival in 2011.
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Hope it was enjoyed.
-Sequoia
YOU ARE READING
Tourmaline
Teen Fiction"Some people are just simply and utterly unlovable." He fell silent. His breathing was rhythmic and manual, as if he had accidentally fallen asleep. I took a moment to listen to the soft whistle of his exhales, the sound of his fingers tapping a fas...
