The Late Arrival

The lights go down.

I’m here for a popular film, but my late notice and the intimidating horror title have me friendless for the evening. I’m comfortable alone, but the theater’s getting crowded and I realize - the only empty seat is the one next to mine. 

I’m about to lift the armrest when I see him: a blur in my peripheral scooting down the aisle. 

He tumbles into the chair, spilling popcorn and soda. I brush off a few loose kernels and forget the whole thing. 

The film plays, and immediately it’s so bizarre that I kick myself for having no one to talk to. 

I start cataloging the imagery in my head, crafting a story for later to tell the people I wish were here. 

But something snaps me out of it. 

The man next to me screams at a jump scare, and accidentally bumps my shoulder. 

Minutes later we’re gasping, sighing, and hiding behind our hands together. We creak in synchronicity toward the edge of our seats - I’m back in the moment.

A demon flashes onto the screen. We look away in fear and see each other for the first time. It’s embarrassing. We laugh. 

I catch my reflection in his glasses and realize - this is the fastest anyone I’ve ever met has seen me this off-guard.

When the lights come up, the seat is empty again. 

Roll credits. 

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