The Two of Us

Ghost Grandma

Sunday.

It was finally Sunday after what felt like an endless loop of a boring-ass Saturday.

And that meant it was finally the day that I was going to see that shit-looking movie with Blair.

I would have been lying to myself if I said that I didn't get a tiny bit more excited to hang out with her than with any of my other friends.

Was it because I liked her?

No, no. Definitely not.

I spent longer than I typically did getting ready, feeling more compelled than usual to try not to look like I got stuffed into a half-full trashcan and shoved down a hill.

The movie was at six, so I decided to head out like, thirty minutes before then.

It was warmer than I thought it would be when I stepped outside.

I only managed to make it out of the driveway when my phone started to vibrate in my back pocket.

I pulled it out and checked the caller ID.

"Ballora"

I answered it, "Who is this? I thought I told you to stop calling this number."

There was laughter from the other end.

"Very cute, Tenner. But we both know that you wouldn't tell me to do that because you like me too much."

"Yeah...I guess you've got me there," I said. "Anyway, what's with the call?"

"I'm stopping by the convenience store on the way to the theatre. Cinema food is expensive, so we're gonna need contraband snacks."

"That sounds very rebellious, Danz. Wanna go murder someone too?"

"Sure. I haven't murdered someone for...what? Three hours? Sounds like a good time. But you're hiding the body."

I laughed, "Alright, will do."

"Any requests, by the way?"

"Nah, you pick. I'll pay you back."

"Not so fast, ma'am. I do not accept cash."

"Then what do you accept? Credit? Debit? Demonic sacrifices? Should we barter? I don't have like, chickens or goats or whatever the fuck people used to barter with before cash existed."

"Hmm...how about you let me loiter around your house sometime during next week, and we call it even?"

"Would you like me to be there while you loiter, or should I leave?"

"No, I'd like you to not be there because I hate your guts," she responded sarcastically. "Of course I want you to be there."

"Alright then. I think we have a deal."

"Good. I'll meet you outside the theatre."

With that, she ended the call.

It appeared that I now had plans to hang out with Blair again sometime during the upcoming week.

Which, of course, I was absolutely fine with.

'God, I've got it bad, don't I?'

Deciding not to think about that any further, I started to drown my thoughts out by humming.

I had a song stuck in my head for the past four days, so it wasn't particularly hard to let that loop and overpower all of my thoughts.

When I finally arrived at the theatre I still had a good fifteen minutes to spare.

The place looked like it had been built in either the 80s or 90s, just like everything else in Charlotteville.

Shocker.

I had arrived before Blair, so I took a seat on the ledge connected to the building's small set of concrete steps.

Didn't look like there were all that many people inside because there were only like five or six cars in the parking lot.

Not surprising, I guess. All of the movies that were currently out looked fucking horrible.

I pulled my phone back out to entertain myself, still humming that dumb song to myself.

I spammed Leslie with a bunch of cursed images I had saved the day prior. I knew she was at work and figured it'd be a nice surprise for her later because she sent me like, twelve pictures a day.

Eventually, my humming turned into quiet singing.

"Maybe I should let her go

But only when she loves me, she loves me

How can I just let her go?

Not until she loves me, she loves me..."

"You have a really nice singing voice."

I nearly fell onto the damn concrete.

Looking to my left, I found Blair standing there, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket.

"Holy fuck, Blair. You really need to stop sneaking up on me." Once I had recollected myself, my brain finally processed what she said to me. "And thanks, but my voice isn't really that great."

"Yes, it is," she argued.

Before I could respond, she added, "You better agree with me, because if you don't I'll kick your butt for selling yourself short."

"Well, the prospect of receiving an ass-kicking from somebody as athletic as you is terrifying, so fine. I agree, and I accept the compliment."

"Good." She smiled.

'She really does have a nice smile.'

'And a nice face in general.'

'Honestly, it should be illegal to be as devastatingly attractive as Blair is.'

'Like, what the fuck? Unfair.'

"What song was that anyway?"

"Uh...Killpop by Slipknot."

She gave me a look. "I really shouldn't be all that surprised. You did tell me once that you only play metal songs on your harmonica. Plus, most of your graphic t-shirts have metal bands on them. Or at least, I think they do."

"Yeah, most of my shirts do have metal bands on them. And I'm pretty sure I told you the harmonica thing the first week I met you. How the hell did you remember?"

"I don't know. I suppose I just really take in everything you say to me," she said. "That reminds me, though. I'm still interested in hearing one of those covers."

"I taught myself an Alice In Chains song not too long ago. If you want, I could give you some sort of performance the next time you come over."

"Yes, please."

"Alright, then. I'll...ready my harmonica, I guess."

"You better. I'm holding you to that now." Blair pulled out her phone to check the time. "Now c'mon. You don't want to miss all of the ads and bad music they play before the previews, do you?"

"Oh heavens no. If I don't get to watch the same car ad six times and listen to Oklahoma Revisited, I'm gonna fucking cry."

"Then we really oughta hurry it along." She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.

We paid for our tickets and all that jazz.

Turned out we were the only people who bought tickets to see the six o'clock showtime of Ghost Grandma IV: The Cookies Are Getting Cold.

Can you fucking believe that?

It was probably a good thing, though. Because our loud ass laughter definitely would have ruined the experience for other people.