Safe and Sound

I thoroughly enjoyed “Darkest Hour,” in part because it has a substantive plot and characters that don’t require CGI, and in greater part because it was nice to experience sound, courageous leadership for a couple of hours.

When the idea of going to a movie came up, Blaine warned that he never went to one without getting popcorn. If Eve had told me that tidbit about him, I would have agreed to meet him much sooner. He doesn’t kid around either—large popcorn and large drinks. It would have been perfect if the theater offered Coke products (or iced tea, at least). At the drink bar, I prepared Diet Pepsi the only way I can stand it—with a generous amount of lemonade mixed in.

Obviously dinner was unnecessary after eating our weight in popcorn, but we wanted to do something after the movie. With it being so cold again (single digits, this time with wind), we opted to walk to a bar located around the block from the theater.

This bar wants to resemble a private club so instead of a traditional setup, there are padded leather chairs and loveseats arranged around end and coffee tables. While they want to give the impression of cozy privacy, you end up seated with other people and can’t help but overhear conversations.

We had side-by-side chairs and shared a low table with a twentysomething couple seated opposite. They talked to one another about their friends, in particular one guy who was probably going to be fired for showing up to work hungover too many times. Blaine and I started out talking about the movie. When the couple left, we talked about how they reminded us we are no longer young enough for downtown nightlife. “Well, I’m not anyway,” Blaine said, which opened the door to some math. The year Blaine graduated from law school, I graduated from high school. “I may need another drink to take the sting out of that,” he joked. I couldn’t tell if there’s genuine concern over the difference. I’m not bothered by it.

I told him that when I was about to graduate from high school I was set to pursue an associate’s degree in paralegal studies. “If I hadn’t changed my mind at the last second, I could have worked for you,” I grinned. The remark may not have made him feel better, but it did open a new avenue of conversation, and we talked about careers—those we’d followed and those we wished we had.

A couple of times he did the thing I’m now calling the Blaine Move: Draw in a long breath, let it out slowly while steadying his eyes on me. It always results in the Me Reaction: Self-conscious eye darting and a need to check my teeth for spinach.

At the end of the evening, as we were approaching my house, I noticed there wasn’t room at the curb. I told Blaine he could drop me off at the end of the driveway. He asked if he could pull in. I share the drive with my next door neighbor but there is room for a car in front of my garage. Once parked, he turned slightly toward me. He seemed to tense. “I’d like to walk you to the door.” From the driveway, the back door is about five steps away. I have no lights in back so it is dark but not treacherous. Even as all this filled my head, I recognized his intent may not be to ensure my safety.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind the cold.” It was 2 degrees out. Inside, I cringed at myself.

“I’m tough.” He hopped out, so did I and we ventured across the patio in the darkness.

I’m safe and sound. In one sense, anyway.