The Laemmle in Spring

The credits crawled up the screen at a constant pace.

Like bugs, scuttering across the lens of the camera that had been focused on the rushing river in the background.

We didn’t say anything. It was too soon.

There was something profound about the arial view of the rushing water between trees.

There was something profound about the trees that would create lace shadows on the shoulders of the family that had been picnicking during the final scene.

There was something profound about the unseen hat floating down the river.

We didn’t really move either. This was different than deliberate, though. Accidentally deliberate, maybe.

There’s the kind of being still that is associated with freezetag, where you actually utilize your muscles to keep still, and then there is simply not moving. There was tension in the arm that was underneath yours, but it took no effort to sit still there.

We didn’t even move our heads, or our eyes from the screen.

There was something profound about the silence that hung between us.

I couldn’t tell if it was the kind of comfortable silence you always hear about, because people forget that there are two sides to every interaction.

What may seem like comfortable silence to me could be awkward and tense and excruciatingly quiet to the person sitting beside me, especially because we were not communicating, even through body language.

Or were we? Since even stillness is communication? Since every twitch and movement, and every stillness in want of movement says something.

To me the silence was profound, though. I didn’t label it as comfortable or uncomfortable, but it stirred an unfamiliar feeling deep within me, and that, I think, is profound.

The mountains, obscured by running white words, and I were esoteric. I liked to believe the heartbeat in your fingers was in a way esoteric as well, but I could be idealizing again.

I could hear people shuffling out behind us when the words on the screen had transitioned from the names of the main actors to “Waiter Number One” and “Man on Bridge” to the titles of the songs that had played in the background of each scene.

The people behind us that had muttered a rude remark when I kissed you scuttled out, exchanging grumpy comments. I don’t think you heard them before, so I let it go. I think they provided another inappropriate remark as they were leaving, but this time I did not hear it.

The couple sitting to our left stood and left.

The man sitting alone a few rows in front of us put his headphones in his ears and walked out.

The credits ran on.

It got to the point where I thought they’d never end, but for some abstruse reason, I didn’t really mind.

And in my mind, they don’t end.

We just stay there, sitting with nothing but an armrest between our interlocked arms and fingers, as the credits roll up against the blue sky until all the blues turn to blacks and the words fade away.


2012