a work in progress

Chapter 26 - Flipped

"One for Flipped."

"Just one?"

"Yes. That's the Rob Reiner one right?"

"Yes ma'am. That'll be $1.50."

"That's it?"

"Thursday special."

"Sweet. Here you go," I say happily handing the ticket guy, Carl, one dollar and fifty cents exactly.

"Enjoy your film."

I make my way through the lifeless and lackluster theater lobby. The stained furry red carpet hosts a malodorous musk that can't help but mingle with the aromas of stale buttered popcorn, roasting mystery wieners, and nacho cheese sauce. I bypass the refreshments settling instead for the illicit red vines I have in my messenger bag.

My movie is in theater three. I walk inside just as the lights are dimming and I find a seat along the aisle near the natural center of the room. I watch the screen blithely – a coming of age love story, the preview called it.

I sit intensely engrossed in the story of young Juli as she makes her way along a tortuous path of triumph, disaster, family drama and first love. I find myself almost crying just as the credits start to roll.

"Here you are," a gentlemen I hadn't noticed before says handing me a Kleenex.

"Thank you. I don't know why I'm so emotional you know? They're children," I add babbling and wiping my face.

"Yes they were children, but they were experiencing things that even we as adults do every day, and I think their youth made it more tender and endearing."

"Oh my goodness, you're right. You're very good with words. You know you actually sound just like someone I know. It's uncanny."

"Do you think we should get going? I think the cleaning crew would really love to get to their work."

"Oh, I didn't even think about that. Let's," I say standing to my feet with the help of the thoughtful gentleman's accommodating hand.

We emerge to the theater hallway, him first. My eyelids are bound from my crying episode and the harsh fluorescent lights nearly blind me as I try to force them open. I finally maintain open eyes enough to see my movie watching companion.

He's wearing some non-descript but nice navy and white canvas sneakers, vintage wash classic fit jeans that hug him in a way that accentuates his firm posterior, and a gray SMU college shirt that, like his jeans, manages to grip his golden and robust biceps.

By the time I make it to his face I am only able to see his bright smile and cavernous dimples before I realize that nice film comrade is not a nice stranger.

"Dr. Logan?" I ask abashedly.

"Hello Ms. Cortes," he responds casually. "It really was a nice movie wasn't it."

"I can't believe...I...oh my...I might be a bit embarrassed," I stammer feeling my cheeks warm at this finding. "For the love of all things sweet, why didn't you say so before? You let me babble on and cry...oh my. I cried."

"No need for embarrassment," he says grinning with amusement.

I find it hard to make eye contact with Dr. Logan even with his absolution. I cannot believe I hadn't recognized that the all too familiar and friendly voice belonged to a person that I have been more than vulnerable with for the past two years.

"You have time for lunch?" he asks oblivious to my internal berating session.

"Lunch?"

"Yes. Food. You do eat sometimes don't you?"