Hello Goodbye

Hello Goodbye

“Henry!”

I turn my head and there she is, Alice in the flesh. Her hair’s much longer now, not iconically short and red, instead long wavy blonde. But it’s those black boots that she always wore that I recognize and I know it’s definitely her.

It feels like a dream.

I leave my spot in the concession line and quickly make my way towards her.

“Oh my god,” she says and we hug. I’ve forgotten how tight her hugs are and I reflexively know that she’s on her tippy toes. What has it been, three or six years now?

I let go and ask, “How’s it going?”

“Good good. You?”

It’s true, Alice does look good. But something’s different than how I remembered he. I can’t tell what. Her long hair is throwing me off.

“I’m doing good too.”

I saw this scene once in a movie where two lost friends find each other at the movie theatre. I forget the name of the movie, as well as how it ended.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks.

“Here to see a movie,” I say with a smile.

The movie playing tonight is some romance movie that is going to start in a few minutes.

“Not that! In the city.”

I reply saying the words slowly, “Long story.”

A flash of a memory when Alice and I spent an entire night sharing long bullshit stories to each other until the sun rose. I blink and the memory disappears.

“Well how long you staying here in town?” she asks.

“Just the week. Leaving tomorrow actually.”

“And where’s that.”

“Far away,” I laugh.

“I’ve missed your bullshit no-answers.”

“Yeah.”

There’s so many things I want to ask and say. So many stories that she would like to hear and I’m certain she’s got her own adventures that I can’t fathom. But nothing comes out. Nothing meaningful could be said right now and here, nothing that is real or matters.

“You here just by yourself?” she asks.

“Nah I’m actually with a girl.”

“Ouuu.”

“Fiancée actually.”

She laughs, “Wow congrats. Mr. Committed.”

“Yeah I guess so.”

I always did want to keep in touch when I left. There’d be days where I remembered her and wondered where she was. I figured she was still here in the city, and I imagine she’s living in the tiniest apartment above the bookstore. But it was more than that. I used to wonder where she exactly was, what room, what chair, was the rays of sunlight shining on her hand. What music was playing in the background.

“I’m on a date too,” she says causally.

“I had no doubt.”

Memories flash of the past. They feel more like dreams than facts. Does she remember them too?

Sometimes when I’m home I wonder if she existed at all. Everything outside, never seems to exist. I would sit on my balcony and think that there’s no way she was out there, breathing the same air and standing on the same Earth, having the same moon illuminate our nights. She’d be miles away but she’d be there, having real thoughts and conversations. Were we ever thinking the same things at the same time?

Sounds of movie trailers begin in the other room.

“I guess we shouldn’t keep our dates waiting.”

“I suppose not.”

“Enjoy the movie.”

“You too.”

She leaves and I return to the concession line.

I exhale for the first time.

By the time I have the snacks the final ad is playing. I find my seat in the dark and pass the drink and popcorn to my partner. She leans to my ear and whispers that I missed one of worst trailers she’s ever seen. I try to spot Alice in the theatre but the room is too dark to see anything.

The movie starts and plays and time skips by. The movie’s setting is now a very sunny ski resort. It’s enough light to illuminate the theatre to see the silhouette of a woman with wavy blonde hair several rows in front. She’s sitting next to someone tall, her head resting on his shoulder. The scene changes to night time and I lose her in the darkness. But every now and then I get a glimpse, a flash of an outline.

When it ends, I contemplate waiting at my seat to bump into Alice and her friend.

“Shall we,” says my partner.

“Yep,” I reply and we exit the theatre.