The Lux

A man is talking about something. He’s wrong about at least half of what he’s saying. But I don’t bother to correct him, because what difference will that make? If I stopped him now and said, “Actually, I don’t...,” He would get angry and continue to explain to me how wrong I am. Then he’ll talk at the other girls who have the unfortunate luck to be sitting near him at a bar, and tell them the same thing. In a few years a man will come along and tell him the thing I told him. Only this time he’ll not only accept it, but embrace it. Live by his words. He’ll no longer linger at beaches or bars, instead at cafes or a library. And this is where he’ll meet that ‘special gal’, who doesn’t need to correct him. Because a man changed his life.

I stand up from my stool. He’s still talking as I walk away, not yet noticing that I’ve left him. Or maybe he does, but continues anyway. Because the conversation is only for him either way. I push open the bar door and a cold gust of air greets me. As I step out onto the uneven footpath I only have one thing on my mind. The Lux. A medium-sized movie theater, about 3 blocks away from the hotel bar I found myself in. Although it’s towards the east end of New York, it almost feels like the center, the way road leads to it. I had promised Mary earlier today that I would meet her at 9. It’s now at least 11:30. I figured it’d be closed by now, but the lights are still on, so I go in.

The smell of stale buttered popcorn, soda, and smoke. Sirius must be working tonight. And he is, looking quite bored out of his mind. He leans back, the leather of his coats rubbing against the fake leather of his worn chair, making a unpleasant noise. “Hey, Lils,” He nods. At this time there’s only two films showing, ‘Casablanca’ and ‘Sinigin’ in the Rain’. I turn away from the timetable to Sirius, “How long is left?” I ask. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke into my face while he exhales and raises an eyebrow, “Which one?” I cough and give him a dirty look “Either or. Does your boss know you smoke pot on the job?” He laughs and looks up at the clock opposite the desk, “Twenty minutes left of Singin’ in the Rain’ and ‘bout thirty-five of ‘Casablanca’,” “Casablanca, then,” I murmur, about walk away before I remember to ask him, “Have you seen Mary?” He sucks his teeth and sighs, “She was hanging around earlier, she was pretty bummed out ‘bout you leaving her for Marty or sumthin’,” Shoot. “She’s gonna bite my head off.” He laughs again and reaches back to grab a bag of popcorn, “You and Marty goin’ steady again?” I roll my eyes and grab a tall paper cup, “He hates it when you call him Marty,” “No. I can’t see why she’d think I was with him.” The Coke fizzes in my cup as I push the lid on. “How long left now?” "Almost thirty minutes,”.

I haven’t spoken to Martin since last month. Mary wasn’t fond of him, she’d call him a square and a waste of my time. I guess he is, but he was sweet sometimes. He’d bring me flowers when we went out and hold the door for me when we walked into the diner. But Mary had high standards for everyone, and Martin was no exception. If I were honest with Mary I’d tell her that I really just forgot, that my mind was floating away from me. Thinking of what to do with my life. But that would only worry her, so I’ll say I had to work late. Or something else that’ll hurt her instead. I sit down in the very middle of the theater. D5. The seat I was sitting in when I first met Sirius and Mary. Feels like decades ago. Not ten minutes in, I find myself drifting off to the sound of of Ingrid Bergman’s voice.

“Time to go,” I can feel Sirius kicking me awake. I open my eyes slowly, the dark theater is no longer lit by the screen. “Stop,” I groan. I climb out of my chair, before shoving into him as I trot down the steps. “You need a ride?” He asks. “No, thanks. It’s only a block away,” He hummed in response, locking the front door behind us. “See ya,”.

I walk back slowly, not eager to deal Mary. There isn’t many people out and about, just a couple of blitzed looking boys and a young girl walking quickly behind them, too awkward to try and overtake them. I reach the apartments sooner than I wanted to and the dread I had tried to ignore on the walk home was quickly replaced by the very real fear of actually having to go in and talk to her. I had already stood Mary up twice in the past two weeks, and she wasn’t going to be happy about the third. I force my tired legs up the stairs, taking my shoes off before I reach the door.

I almost drop my keys, cursing at the rubbish lock. I jiggle it around for a minute before the door decides to let me in. When I walk in I immediately notice someone on the sofa. The blanket is covering their face, but a sliver of blonde hair peeks out. “Marlene?” I whisper, unsure whether a deranged, drunk blonde has broken into my house or if it's just a robber. “She’s crashing for a few days,” Mary's voice calls out from the kitchen. “Jesus, Mary. Are you trying to kill me?” I yelp. I’m about to at laugh her when I look up, meeting her cold eyes. Oh. Yeah.

She sighs and rolls her eyes after seeing the look on my face,“Where were you, Lily? And stop staring at me like that, I’m not about to go ape.” I kick my shoes to the side and sit down on the windowsill. The white paint is peeling off, it's been at least two years since we painted it together. Marlene had helped us, or at least pretended to. All she did was eat our food and sprawl across our newspaper covered couch. I pick at it, flicking small pieces of paint out the window. “I’m sorry Mary, I had work.” The sound of Marlene’s snores travel into the kitchen, filling the brief silence. “I’m not angry, but you’ve gotta stop being such a flake,” She closes the kitchen door, which doesn’t drown out Marlene at all. I stare out the window, not wanting to meet her eyes. I knew she wasn’t angry, but I hear the disappointment in her voice. I knew she’d be upset, and yet I still did it. It wasn’t the end of the world, I guess. By tomorrow, maybe the day after, she’ll have gotten over it or at least be acting like everything is okay. Like we hadn’t been barely speaking to each other for the past two months. Sure, we spoke to each other in the mornings and when I got home, but it wasn’t real. I don’t think I’ve had a real conversation with most of my friends in awhile. I’m not sure why.

“I saved you some dinner,” Mary's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, “Pasta,” I look at the covered plate she’s pointing at, “Cool,” Mary stares at me for a second, like she’s trying to figure something out, then turns to the door, “Goodnight,” She walks back to her room. I hear the sound of her light switch off.

Goodnight, Mary.