We went to see a movie only to discover
it was about us.

We had not seen a movie
for so long that we had forgotten where
to sit to see the screen. 
The theater was dark and we
followed the lights on the
floor like meandering airplanes
on a runway waiting to escape
to motel vacations in towns
without ice cream parlours.
We found the front row
appealing because it
was the only one where we would
not have to split up or sit next
to strangers and we couldn't see
any of there eyes so we 
didn't trust them. They were too quiet
to be real and they were
the kind of people who ate
one chocolate covered raisin at
a time like rations-- like
war time-- like survivors of air 
raids who packaged themselves
in plastic as spiral mints or promises or fear.
We could feel their eyes
and we had come in late
so the previews had already started.
We were startled to see that we
had already seen the movies that
the previews were for-- one was
about that Christmas when I got a
tea set and cried in the attic
about all the things that don't
fit under trees like hip bones
and sunflowers.
The next was about the boy
I had pretended to have forgotten--
like a ghost lilting on
the shoulder of a pier and I didn't know
if it was a horror film or a romance
or if those are the same thing--
they usually are for me--
I don't sleep after but I miss
those jump scares-- those dark corridors.
The blood, the violins, and the bracelets
still on my dresser.  
Only when the movie started did we begin
to eat the popcorn. We discovered it was stale
and tasted vaguely like packing peanuts--
we made ourselves into care packages
to ship to our future mail boxes
outside of apartments we would rent in cities
and sometimes still feel like
tourists. Buy souvenirs on the way
home from work and sit them on the 
end table as if we had traveled. 
And yes the movie was about us.
After the previews we had only
anticipated the worst. We hoped at least
the other movie goers didn't notice
but the leaned forward in the rows
behind us. We wanted to leave
because they knew how we looked
at ourselves in bathroom mirrors
and how many times we had
eaten while crying and we felt
guilty. We wondered why it had to 
be us up there and why there
wasn't someone else to watch. 
We left before the credits
were over and ate the chocolate
covered raisins and skittles
by the hand full from the curb in 
the parking lot.
You said you wanted to see the movie
that was either a romance or a horror film
and I said it would come around
again. That we could get tickets.