At the Matinee

Kenneth Lu

A man sits in a darkened movie theater, discreetly using his phone.

Another man, older, approaches from behind—several people have to stand up to make room. He positions himself right behind the Texter and sits down.

The older gentleman clears his throat loudly, several times. Finally, he taps the younger one on the shoulder.

"Excuse me."

"Yeah," barks the Texter.

"It's extremely rude to be on your phone right now. You're disrupting everyone in this movie theater."

The Texter doesn't look up from his phone. "The movie hasn't even started yet."

"Yes but it's the previews, and people like to watch the previews, they're like little movies. And the lights on your phone are very bright, not to mention if it should--."

"Dude, chill. I'll be done in a second." 

"--ring or make any noise at all it would basically ruin the picture for everyone here."

The Texter continues to text.

"Well if you don't stop, I'll have to get the manager, and we both know what he's going to say."

The man stops, turns to the woman next to him, and rolls his eyes. Then he turns back to his phone.

"Do... you want me to get the manager? Because I will." The older man stands up. 

"Down in front!" someone yells from the crowd. 

Quieter now, under his breath, the old man begins ranting. "--the nerve of these damn... always on their.... unbelievable...."

Texter stops texting, and turns around. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm extremely serious!" the old man shouts hoarsely.

"Shhhhh!" hushed a woman from a few rows over. 

"Look, I'm wrapping it up a'ight," said Texter. 

"--talks anymore, there's no decency. Can't put their little machines down for one --" 

Suddenly, the theater lights dim even more. The crowd settles. The Texter turns the dimmer down on his phone but continues to text. 

Beside himself, the older man says out loud, "Well if that's the way you're going to play it, then fine. If you're going to continue to be rude to everyone here--" 

Someone in the crowd yells, "Shhhh!" 

"--then I'm simply going to have to get the manager. I won't have my picture disrupted--"

For the second time, several patrons stand up to make room for the older man as he shuffles down the aisle. He exits the theater.

"Asshole," the Texter whispers, flipping him the bird. He rolls his eyes again and slips his phone back in his pocket to resume watching the movie screen.

--

The older man makes his towards the Snack counter, where two kids are heads down in their phones.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to make a complaint."

"A what?" Dead-eyed, one of the kids, a girl, steps up to the counter, pulling on a clear plastic glove. "Small, medium or large?"

"No, no popcorn. Is your manager here? I'd like to speak to him."

"To him? I'm the manager on duty," glared the girl, blowing a large gum bubble.

"Oh." The older man looks uncomfortable, but starts to mumble. "Well, you see, there's been a young man on his telephone, since well before the previews started, and he's just not stopping. He's just sitting there--

The girl stared at him blankly.

"--no regard for anyone trying to watch the film. And I can't--"

"So wait...Uhhh. You're saying that....someone's on their phone?"

"Yes! And it's very distracting. I need assistance right away, I'll lead you right to where he is."

The girl glances at the wall clock. "The movie just started... Don't you think he's probably off by now? In the time since you came out here?"

"Well I can't count on that, can I? If he hasn't stopped, I mean. I'd just have to come back out. And I can't go through the whole movie with him on his phone, he'll ruin it for everyone. I'll miss the whole movie."

"Right. But... You're actually already missing it, right now."

"Exactly! That's why this whole matter needs to be resolved right away!" Urgent now, the man impatiently glances at his watch.

The girl seems bewildered. "I mean, I guess I could get my flashlight, ask him to stop? I don't know what good that'd do though," She distractedly looks under the cabinets, and in the supply closet behind them. "It should be around here somewhere..."

"Yes! Really call attention to it, that's good. These folks are on their phones all the time, with no consideration, I see it time and again! He should be asked to leave--"

Skirting the commotion, a woman pulls her children closer as they walk by.

"--all the time! Unfair to everyone!"

Suddenly, a tall, brisk man interrupts, he appears to be the ticket-taker.

"How do you do. Can I help you folks?"

"Yes!" the old man bellowed. "I can't get anyone to pay me any respect around here! This is really getting ludicrous!" Agitated, the man began gesturing with his arms.

"Sir, I need you to calm down a little, ok? You're causing a bit of a scene. There's a lot of folks who paid good money, who you know, just came to enjoy the show, ok?"

"But that's what I want to do! That's why I came to the show! You can't just be on your phone any old time--" Wild-eyed, the man's face was flushed, spittle visible on one lip.

"I understand you, sir. But you see, there's been a bit of a complaint...."

##

Flirt

Photo by Hannu Makarainen

A smell of aged smoke and diesel permeated the tight office, where flickering fluorescent lights lit a large, grey-skinned man peering over heavyset glasses. He barely glanced up before droning into the intercom. 

"Jake, the lady's here for the Toyota."

He reached over to hand me a chewed clipboard dangling a pen. "Here's the estimate Hon, he'll be out shortly." 

Minutes turned to ten, and two-year old magazines, wrinkled like old sheets, offered no diversion. Annoyed, all I could do was stare at the clipboard, the estimate too high. Were all mechanics crooks? What was this about brakes? I came in to change a headlight. 

The garage door swung open and suddenly, two icy blue eyes met mine, floating around a solid build, a stained flannel shirt, and a jaw sporting a two-day shadow. 

Jake, and whatever else he was, was a stone cold fox. 

"Sorry about the wait. You're the Prius?" Rippled forearms wiped hands on a rag. I tried not to adjust my hair, my shirt, my everything. Gravel caught in my throat. 

"Th-that's me." 

Thick lips parted to show a near perfect smile, an almost imperceptible gap between the first two teeth. I stared at it as he spoke. 

"You got some pair of brakes there," he said, sizing me up. 

My eyes found their way back to his but it was a mistake. Deep pools of aqua. Warm sand, naked swimming. Private beaches. Poetry. What was it about pretty eyes on a man that made him seem sensitive? I willed my eyes to sparkle back. 

"Yeah, saw that on the estimate. So what about my brakes?" I tried to concentrate. 

"Totally shot. You need new pads, they're done. I know you came in for your headlight, but we always do a full inspection." He added, "Free of charge."

"You inspected my car?" Thoughts of hamburger wrappers and a pair of underwear sticking out of a swim bag in the front seat flushed my cheeks. "Did you find anything else? Lately I've heard this funny noise from the vents."

"Probably the air filter, it also needs changing, plus all your fluids are due for a flush—but all that can wait. And I already changed the headlight, you're out fifteen bucks. But those brakes..."

He trailed off, his eyes fixed on mine. 

Jake was telling me I was in danger, that he alone could save me. He'd need to work on it, maybe I'd need to come back and see him again. I liked how this was developing.

"How much?"

"New pads are $90. $40 for installation. That'd get you by. Eventually you'll need to replace the axels, but new pads would be the minimum." 

"So...like $130?

"Plus tax. Small price to pay for your life though, brakes are a real safety issue. I'd hate to see you get hurt. "

At the mention of me, and concerned feelings in relation to me, my heart soared. How could I figure out how to ask this man to undress me as soon as possible?

Stalling, I cleared my throat.

"Well when you put it that way..." I tried for a flirtatious, "I wouldn't want to see me get hurt, either," but it felt labored. I looked at my shoe.

"So when can you get to it? Another day?" 

He checked the clock behind me. 

"Well, actually—yeah, I could do it right now if you want, your car's already up on the lift. Say, 20 minutes?"

Wait! I thought. Tell me more about brake pads, about axels, about your slick stick shift. Strip my engine, lube me up, make my motor purr.... But I didn't know how to tell sexy lumberjack-mechanic man that I wanted the full service.

"That soon?"

"It's no trouble," he smiled warmly. Professionally. Pulled out and snapped paperwork into a new chewed clipboard.

"Just need you to sign off on this work ticket. Right here on the X," he bent over to show me where. Close now, he smelled of engine oil and onions—all man. I leaned in too, hoping he could sense the faintest of perfume, praying for a spell. When I reached for the pen I brushed his hand, not by accident, and signed, desperate for anything to keep him longer.

Jake brightened, and pulled the clipboard away.

"Alrighty, then. Back in a 'jiff." He tipped an imaginary hat, while I threw him a smile I hoped he could see, feel—all heat and lasers.

He turned to leave, and I watched him go.

Rattled, deflated, I poured lukewarm coffee into a styrofoam cup and sat on flattened cushions, my mind far from anything in the wrinkled zine occupying my hands.

I had 20 minutes to fix my hair, apply chapstick, and plot my next move. Would we go on a date? Have an affair? No subtlety this time, I thought. Today, I ask for what I want.

Twenty-three and a half minutes later the garage door swung open and I twirled, my scarf re-arranged just so. And there stood the grey-skinned man, bored, holding out my car key.

"You're all set, Hon."

I blinked. Casually, I strained to look through the garage door, still swinging shut. Where was Jake?

"That's...all?"

"All done, Dear. Unless you want to pay for it again," he said dryly over his glasses.

Reluctant, I reached for the car key. Put it back on my keychain, jangling them loudly. I made a point to double check my purse. Did I leave anything behind? Nope. No choice but to make my way out the door.

Back in my repaired Toyota, the stale car shop's scent fading fast, so too was the fantasized memory of Jake's bare naked chest. I knew he'd be forgotten, faster than I wanted, so I tried searing aqua pools into my mind.

Time to go. Adjusting the rearview, and straightening my hair, I vowed to remember, just once, for goodness sake, to change my oil on time this year.

The Experimental WaterDwellers of the Southern Atlantic

I adjusted my face helmet, pushed the hatch, and went through. The jugs of drinking water were stored in a truck-sized compartment behind the rations dome, and I had only 10 more to load before lunch. I clipped my safety rope to the tanker, grabbed and yanked two large iron ball vessels, freeing them from the hold and locking them into the auto-swimmer. With my freight intact I shoved off with long dolphin kicks down the lead rope as the hauler glided beside me. Only a few more strokes to the large, building-sized bubble of oxygen housing our waterbots and supplies. 

The Living dome was only a short swim away, but I wasn't looking forward to going back. Too much drama lately, I'd rather lay low. I preferred working the gear anyway, counting vessels, calculating efficiencies, noting what to order next and how to organize what was left. 

Working with the Above Sea forces, submitting requests and replenishing the weekly water supply was my main job—assigned or not—and I took it seriously. The others didn't get it, and that was fine, they didn't have to. And screw those lazy seahacks anyway. 

As the Experimental WaterDwellers of the Southern Atlantic, our compound had the added challenge of desalinating the drinking water—after all, not all Dwellers had to worry about that, the freshwater folks had it good. Or at least, we had to deal with it until the new desalinator was installed, which at this rate would be God knows when. By my projections it'd be summer before we even got it underwater, let alone up and running. And I had a feeling I'd have to get involved in that mess, too.

Until then, we were vulnerable. Relying on outside help, and I hated that. It was bad enough everything came from above these days. All parts prefabbed, arriving via ship, a man didn't even need to know how to power weld these days. Our meals all but catered. We ate steak last night—and have you ever seen a single cow in the sea? Pressurized domes so walking was easy, no more foot weights, you might as well be living in the Plaza hotel. Any Joe off the street who could afford their gear was applying. Whatever happened to real sea skills? Reasons to submerge? Radical self-reliance? 

Things would be better once we proved viability—six more months, seven tops. Then I could surface and ditch these basic boring sea squats and change settlements, somewhere clearer, with more colorful fish. Further north, in the Caribbean. Or, maybe all the way up, to the poles, the Greenland compound, I heard it's pretty wild up there. I missed that life, the real stuff. The gruff, hard-drinking rogues, salty as fuck, but at least they know what they're doing. They work hard for their keep. Don't make excuses, don't dodge chores. Feel just fine bending the "rules"—while still following basic decency and protocol. 

South of Bogota experiments were hardly that anymore. So little being learned. Groundbreaking progress in habitat terra-forming, my ass. These days it was more like "extended subsidized holiday." Was I really the only one who cared enough about our theoretical survival to refill the water tanker for the 100th time, even after a full day of running solar floats? 

I shut the hatch, locked it, adjusted my helmet, and vowed that next time the whole lot would just go thirsty.

Sway

Photo by Stiller Beobachter

He died in a forest, surrounded by trees. His body, now still of it's own accord, swung lightly. A rustling breeze masked leather creaking on branch, so that not even the birds back from a quick flight could guess yet what was lost.

Not hours before the choking and swelling, the boy's problems loomed large. His parents threatened public humiliation, teachers talked of expulsion. His friends, all assholes, just laughed. Like they didn't play a part.

So disappearing had been better. A long run in the woods, then a walk, hours or maybe a day gone, lost. Near the trees he could be forgotten and could try forgetting and it hadn't been too much.

But unreturned home there'd been a commotion. What felt scary now turned icy terrifying when the dogs and search party made it clear just how much trouble he was in.

No choice but to pull back, watch the searchers, hide from the seekers. To go back now wasn't an option. All eyes would be on him, so much more than before.

He was sorry it had all happened. He wished he could take it back. But no apology—to his parents, group, or school—was going to fix this, things would never be the same. He'd never seen this kind of shit storm, couldn't imagine it's girth. Instead, he felt deeply the panic it rained down: his own, his mother's, the "community's". The belt was close, emotions too big. He'd show them. Eat my shit, fuckers. In your face, world. 

And with that he let the branches and trees and breeze take him away.

The long walk

You may know of a certain kind of pilgrimage, long and stubbled with hazards

Begrudging though the journey, once acknowledged, little else matters

Your sleepy eyes droopy, internal pain a curse

You make your way to mecca, your porcelian church

Fueld by discomfort, a companion for a awhile

Prayers uttered and stars thanked when you make it to the tile



Awash in relief, salvation is essential
But it's fleeting for the young, the drunk, and the wrinkled

No trip is more arduous nor traveler more resentful
Than a sleeper roused from bed, desperate for a tinkle.

Photo credit Daniel Oines

Tonight's monsoon

It rained all night.

The leaking from your eyes kind,

the pounding kind.

The kind that makes you fight.  

Unlike a clean rain that clears the air, unlike a fog of mist that quenches thirst,

a long rains wears you down and wears you out and saturates the ground

until it’s done absorbing, done understanding, and can’t help but flood out.

When it rains this much, it's hard to concentrate.

It feels like the world might drown,

that there's no room for breath,

that you can't escape the room.

What, under normal circumstances, can be lightened,

takes its heaviest form and falls uncontrollably,

a torrent of insults,

tit for tat

pitter patter and just like that,

the storm strengthens.

The bile rises in your throat and breaches your lips before you can think,

before it makes sense to say

before it leaves a mark.

You spit like a cornered snake and all you can think

is that

it must stop raining,

it has to stop raining,

this leak needs plugging

Or, the soggy mess left behind will stagnate and mold,

you will rot from the inside out and

the damage will be done.

When it rains all night it’s best to cover up

take cover under covers

hide out in small places

find rooms with no windows

until it’s safe to come out.

Sleight of hand

A passionate child, madly in love with an idea or object, who is also observant and fully dedicated to their cause, will be steadfast in their pursuit. Lying in wait they are catlike in their watching, waiting for the slip they know will come, alert to your movements and open to improvise. Patience—a virtue that is otherwise quite unfamiliar to your busy child—is, in this moment, not only possible, but a work of mastery. Should your language lapse, your attention break, your sleight of hand fail, this whiff of opportunity is like blood on the wind, a pile of meat on a platter you’ve served up for maximum, and persistent, exploitation. Nothing, not one thing, is as desirous to a lovesick child as a current infatuation—whether a steep staircase, an expensive guitar, or an unsupervised bowl of berries.

A room with no windows

A room with no windows is a house with no halls 

A room with no windows is a room just of walls

A room with no windows feels more like a box 

A room lacking light, and smelling of socks

A room with no windows is dark, don't you fall!

A room with no windows is no place at all.