He loved to walk around the city. Each time he rounded a
corner or stumbled on a new landmark, Kafea would take it all in as if he’d
just been dropped off from La Guardia.
Five years
earlier, Kafea had abruptly swapped his surfboard for a pen. The day he told
his folks he wanted to be a writer, the waves on Haleiwa Beach were massive,
making them wonder if he’d just hit his head.
“Why do you need to go all the way to New York to
write?” they asked.
“It’s what you do,” was all he could think to say.
One of his
favorite places was a movie house called, Grover Square Cinemas on Broadway. He
took pride in seeing films where things didn’t need to blow up, or one car
needed to chase another. Of course, he didn’t particularly mind when it
happened but preferred what he considered “movies with culture.”
The theater
itself had been around since the 70s. Envisioning what the art house cinema
looked like back then required absolutely no imagination. It was as it had
always been, which was exactly why Kafea and many others found it so endearing.
One evening as he was waiting for his movie to start, he
struck up a conversation with an elderly man who claimed to be 90 years old.
“Have you seen this movie?” he asked, pointing to the
film’s poster.
“I’m going to see it today,” Kafea told him.
“I’ve seen it four times,” he beamed. “It’s beautiful.
If not for movies I’d have no reason to live.”
Despite being
nearly 70 years the man’s junior, Kafea found his proclamation less tragic than
relatable. He’d lost count of the number of times he too had sat in the back
row of that theater alone in every conceivable way.
It was stories
that had breathed life back into a spirit that was again and again on the verge
of flatlining.
There was a beautiful girl about Kafea’s age who worked
in the ticket booth. She always smiled when she saw him, which was something
Kafea knew she didn’t do to everyone.
Invariably,
they’d talk about the movies playing and maybe the weather. The exchanges were
brief and sometime abruptly cut short by an impatient patron or hovering
manager.
But regardless of
the breadth or prose of their exchange, Kafea always ended by saying, “It was
nice seeing you.”
He usually sat in
a haze during the first 10 minutes of the coming attractions. All he could
think about was the girl. From the trivial to the poetic he wanted to know all
about her.
Where was her
accent from?
How tall was she?
Did she even like
movies?
What were her
dreams?
Was she happy?
Kafea never asked
her name, if she cared to grab a coffee, or even a movie for that matter.
Strangely, it wasn’t from a lack of courage but the fear of ruining the fantasy
of two people who liked each other despite not knowing a thing about one
another.
Maybe that was
the reason, Kafea thought.
Either way, it
was a possibility Kafea was far too delicate to disprove.
As the
years went on, Kafea returned again and again to Grover Square until one day
neither the theater or the girl were there anymore. The building’s owner had
apparently decided not to renew the space.
Kafea stood in a
daze staring blankly at an empty marquee. The place looked as though it had
been deserted altogether. Several other moviegoers walked up reading a
handwritten sign placed where the film’s posters were normally housed.
It read, It
is with a very heavy heart we announce Grover Square Cinemas will no longer be
in business. We want to thank everyone for their patronage and support over the
years, and especially now as we go through this very difficult time.”
Almost on cue, Kafea saw the same old man who he’d spoken
to years before standing in a trance near the old entrance. He marveled not at
the fact the two had stumbled on the news the same day, but that the man was
still alive.
The gentlemen’s
head was down and his shoulders were slumped. Kafea watched him carefully,
knowing the theater’s demise would soon lead to his.
When the old man
slowly shuffled off, Kafea looked back up at the blank marquee envisioning the
showtimes for the movie he’d planned on seeing. He thought briefly what other
theaters might be screening the film before abandoning the idea.
Now, he stood
alone peering through the empty ticket booth window.
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