Hellboy II: The Golden Army 10:25

I'm tired tonight, but I've been itching to get out. Itching to sit in a half-empty dark theater and just breath it all in. I'm not even sure I want to see the movie, but the call of the theater is enough to get me out on an uncommonly cool night.

Normally, I don't feel self-conscious about going to movies alone in the middle of the week. The theater is normally pretty dead and the employees don't care. In fact, there are others like me, they come into the theater and sit down. Their faces obscured with hats or hooded sweatshirts. They don't look around, afraid to be caught by themselves in a place usually reserved for families, couples, and pairs of teenagers looking for a dark room and some semi-privacy. They don't make eye-contact, as if they can hide as long as no one recognizes them or notices their lonely state.

I don't fear the solitude or the social stigma of the man going to the movies alone when I go in the middle of the week late at night, but tonight there is a group of male college students standing around the parking lot as I drive up and get out of my car. They throw furtive glances my way, their eyes questioning the anomaly of the single movie patron.

Their glances tug at my jacket and make me question my decision to come. But the seductive pull of the theater overcomes my fears.

In the lobby, the concession stand has been taken apart. Two bored teenagers lean on the bare counter, but there is no popcorn, no soda machines, and the candy has been taken out of its display cases.

As I approach the usher I ask what happened. He recites a line, it seems, he has had to repeat several times. He doesn’t look at me. “We’re not going out of business. We’re just remodeling. You can still visit the concession stand.” He hands my torn ticket back to me, and I smile.

Surprisingly, the theater is packed. Well, packed for 10:25 on a Thursday night, which is to say there are probably 15 people in the theater already when I sit down. A hand full more amble in for the next few minutes until the lights darken and the movie starts, and I start to feel the stare of the college kids in the parking lot again. The lone movie-goer at 10:25 on a Thursday night.