Theatre Nine

by Joel Goldsmith

I’ve always loved the movies. Every day after my wife Carol passed, I passed my days at the theater. One movie a day, that was my agreement. And every day, I would arrive three or four hours early. Just to watch the people from outside the theater, and, because I loved the taste of the air. I know that sounds silly, but nothing tastes better than cold air that you can inhale down to the depths of your lungs, then expel, like smoke from a cigarette, that white steam. It’s brilliant, in its own way. So every day, I would go to the same theater, the Landmarks, up on Shattuck. And every day, I would go to the same theater within the Landmarks. I loved theater number nine.

A few weeks before my Carol passed, they had taken all the seats out of theater nine and replaced them with sofas and bean bag chairs. The sofas were in the back of the theater, while up in front were several large orange beanbag chairs. I was never adventurous enough for those. We would always cuddle in the back left corner of the theater. That was our seat, and when she passed it became my seat. So every day, I would go and sit in the back left corner to watch my movie, even if I had already seen it, since movies don’t change theaters until more than a week has passed. And every day, I would wait outside the theater, and watch the people as they bought their tickets. Every single day, just watching, I guess hoping I would see her again, although I knew that was a silly thought. She’s dead, and she’s never coming back.

Last week they were showing Grand Torino in theater nine. I had already seen it four or five times, and in all honesty I didn’t even like it. So I was waiting outside, choking down on some very delicious air, and watching people buy tickets. No one interesting. No one pretty buying tickets. I guess I just missed her is all. So I walked into the theater and went to my regular seat. I always sat in the back left corner. My wife and I used to share it, together. So there I was, sitting in the back left corner by myself at a movie I didn’t in all honestly like, and I saw some one. I have no idea how I missed her in the crowd. She was beautiful, but I couldn’t see her face, just the back of her dark brown hair and her ear. He ear was incredible. I don’t even know what it was about it. Maybe it reminded me of my Carol, although that would be silly. Maybe it was a bit too long, or too stubby, or maybe it was pressed just a little too close to her head, but whatever it was it was amazing.

So all I could see in theater nine was this woman’s ear, and her date. Her date was sickening, and I’m not sure what it was about him. Maybe he was too close to her, or maybe he was just hideous. I couldn’t really put my finger on what it was. She should not belong to this disfigured man. He was disgusting. And whenever I tried to look at her, the back of his hideous head would pan into my view. So all I could do was watch the movie, until I couldn’t take it any more. For the first time in my life I walked out of theater nine in the middle of a movie. So there I was, sitting outside of theater nine on a bench. Sitting and waiting for the movie to end. I had to see her, talk to her, have her, as soon as she walked out of that theater.

So I was waiting, for hours maybe, and when people started to trickle out, I began to watch for her face. One by one all the faces I saw buying tickets appeared from of the theater, and none of them were hers. People stopped leaving the theater, her date being the last one. Still she did not leave. So there I was, peering back into the theater nine, and it was empty. No one was there. I bolted outside, my arms flailing as I rushed for the door. I saw her date. His hair was a little ruffled and there was a little red mark on his neck. He was trying to cover it up with the collar of his shirt, but wasn’t doing a good job. He began to walk down the street. So there I was walking after him. I knew I had to follow this deformed man, and find the fate of those ears, those ears. I trailed him, to his apartment a few blocks away. A blue building on the corner of Allston way and Grant.

He wasn’t acting normal. Maybe he was looking too far in both directions when he crossed the street. Like some one was following him. Or maybe it was the way he walked so fast, and turned at the slightest sound. So there I was outside his blue apartment building, staring up at all the rooms. The garage was open, so I decided to set up camp in there. I sat there waiting, and waiting, for hours and hours. There was a crowbar in the garage, so I took it. I don’t sleep. Or rather, I can’t sleep. Not since my wife passed, although I know that’s silly. In the morning, he climbed out of his apartment, looking both ways before descending the stairs. The mark on his neck hadn’t started to fade yet. I wasn’t going to follow him today. No, today I was going to search his apartment. I had to figure out what happened.

So there I was, taking out my credit card. I had seen this trick before in the movies. When his door opened, I looked both ways and entered. The room was empty. That is, except for a mattress with a stained down comforter. There were no windows. I looked around the room for what could have been hours. I moved to his bathroom. There was a small toilet, no sink, and a shower. There wasn’t even a tub. I slowly lifted the lid of the toilet’s tank and looked down at the mechanism. It was old and rusted. I flushed it. The red from the rust showed in the toilet’s water, then settled down to the bottom. It looked like rust. It was deep and dark. I turned the knobs on the shower and more red water started to flow. I decided to sit and contemplate on the mattress. Maybe even lie down. I don’t sleep, not since my wife Carol died, although I know that’s just silly.

So there I was, lying on my mattress. So there I was, just lying and thinking. Where is she? And then something I didn’t expect happened. A man came home. It startled me, I didn’t even think to grab the crowbar that lay next to me. As soon as I heard the door open, I don’t know, but something snapped. He was so hideous. And I knew he was the reason those ears had left my sight. And I jumped on him, wailing on him with both of my fists, drooling and sweating. His face and my fists were bloody. I kept beating him. He said nothing and seemed passive. Maybe he knew he deserved it, although that would be silly. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my Swiss Army knife and took it to his ear. I cut it from the lobe until the very top, until it came loose and landed in my red hands. It was short and stubby. Disgusting.

“I know where you hid her body. I know it’s in the movie theater. You’re a pig. You know you deserve this. My wife, she’s dead, and you. You have the stomach to take those ears from me. Those were not yours, they were mine, my ears. And now they’re gone forever. ” I looked at his face, it reminded me of everything, the ears, that damned red mark on his neck, and I felt the anger, and I felt it slip. I slipped the knife into his neck and waited for him to stop breathing. Forever. Then I put his ear in my back left pocket. It made my pants wet and warm.

So there I was, running down the street at night with my crowbar. It must have been five in the morning, because there were very few people on the street. Even the college kids were done for the night. There were two people on the corner of Allston Way and Shattuck. They had a dog and it barked. They were probably homeless. Their stares caught my eyes. Maybe they were watching me because of the blood, although that would just be silly. So there I was, smashing the glass doors of the darkened theater. I ran into theater nine, all the way back to my favorite theater. The only theater.

So there I was at last. Back in theater nine. I didn’t sit in my normal seat. I went five rows up, to where she sat the night before. I was all alone in the theater and started my work. I took the crowbar to the floor like a miner and his pick to the mountain. Smashing and smashing and smashing. And there I was, tearing apart my favorite movie theater until the floorboards started to come up. Then I couldn’t control myself. I reached for the floorboards with my hands, pulling them up with all my might until they broke free. I peered down into the gap I had created in the floor. There wasn’t anything there, not a thing. I knew she was in there. She had to be. I took my crowbar to the rest of the theater, destroying everything I could see. I ripped open the sofas. I tore apart the bean bag chairs until the room was filled with beads and white fluff. The floor was littered with debris and the entrails of the furniture. I knew she was there. I just never found out where.

There’s no need to tell the story of what happened when the police arrived, and there’s no reason to describe how a jury of my peers decided to censor my truth. Twenty to life in county, that’s what they gave me. So there I was, sitting in the back left corner of the jail, cell number nine. Some might call that ironic, although that would just be silly.