roll credits

"I'm never so lonely as when the movie ends... And I leave the theater alone."

That's a text message I received an hour ago.

I don't remember the last movie I've seen in the theater. It's not that I'm afraid to see movies by myself. I've seen plenty. And, hell, I go to a diner for Sunday brunch by myself every Sunday. Flying solo is something I'm used to doing.

And, as with most things, I remember my first time. "Galaxy Quest." Granted, picking a sci-fi, comic book geeky comedy might not have been the best choice of movie to see by myself for the first time, but then again, I was pretty safely guaranteed not to be the only person there alone. It's target audience was safely not at the top of the social ladder, shall we say.

It was released in '99, so that puts me in a time when I lived in Waco, worked at Baylor, and fought an uphill battle against myself. A butterfly struggling to keep the cocoon closed. I was confused, alone and exhausted.

I remember feeling like a real grown up going to see a movie by myself. It truly was a coming of age moment. Like getting your drivers license or growing pubic hair, it was a rite of passage. I arrived just as the lights were being lowered, and I found my seat. As the previews began, I was proud, and not in the least bit worried. It was dark... and people weren't there to see who else was there or who was with whom... we all had paid to see the movie. No one else in the theater mattered.

There were moments during the film when I laughed out loud and then quickly realized I needed to control the volume of my outbursts. There was no need to pull unneeded focus towards me. I wanted to blend in, so if anything else struck me as funny, I merely chuckled and turned my normally loud cackle inward. Like fighting a bear, it was best just to practically play dead and go unnoticed.

The story unfolded, evolved, climaxed, and, as most stories do, ended. Then came the moment I was unprepared for... the end credits. The lights turned brighter, and I realized I was exposed. What was the proper action to take? Did I stay, acting as though I was reading the credits and perhaps a critic who has to see movies all the time by himself to get his job done? Do I scurry like a roach in the kitchen when the lights are turned on, looking for cover and shelter? Or do I walk out with everyone else, head held high, as I listen to their comments and thoughts on the film or what to do next?

Being my first time and in a panic, I chose the second approach and darted for the door like the theater was on fire. If I could just make it into the hallway, people seeing me wouldn't know if I was coming or going, sneaking out of a movie for a bathroom run, or walking to meet my large group of friends who have missed me and thought of me every second in my absence. A moving target is hard to hit, so that was the goal... dart about and dodge any judgemental thoughts about the guy seeing a movie by himself.

That moment, when the movie is over, that's the fear we all have, I think... at least, at one time in our lives or another. That when the story has been told, when "the end" arrives and the lights come up, there will be no one beside you. Because there's something to be said about having someone there, so when the story is over you can talk about how great it was... or wasn't. Either way, the story always seems to have more meaning when you experience it with someone else.

When I read that text, I was immediately in the moment my friend was experiencing. The description was so clear, I knew what my friend was feeling. At the same time, I realized that when I shifted to identify with my friend's moment, it wasn't very different from the moment I was having before the text arrived. It seems lately, I feel as though I'm sitting in the dark theatre, alone, watching the credits roll.