Allison stood in the lobby of the Cineplex waiting for the 1:40 pm show to finish. She couldn’t give up just yet. She wore the blue skirt that Zachary had always liked, somehow it suggested happier occasions. Two teenagers walked by and one of them said, “Well, hey there sexy.” The other, noticing her anxiety in waiting, said “Have a good day,” as if reaching for an apology he wasn’t sure how to make. She was relieved when they walked by. It hurt her to be watched.
The kid wearing a backwards hat behind the concessions counter called out to her, “Good deals on snacks during the afternoon movies.” She felt buying popcorn or Junior Mints was a prerequisite for standing in the lobby. So, she bought a large popcorn, persuaded to do so because it was “only a quarter more.” She did everything that was expected of her—so she wouldn’t draw any attention to herself.
Then the modest crowd cleared out of the theater. They moved in succession as though they had done it over and over in earlier lives. Every detail routine was the same except for her one magical moment. She handed over her ticket to the usher, and as the last family was coming out of the theater she continued in.
A young, yawning girl was sweeping up the leftover popcorn kernels and empty soda cups from the previous crowd. Allison stood there hoping she wouldn’t have to speak. She was never very good at social interaction. For several years Zachary was the one who tied her to the rest of the world. Suddenly, she thought of how depressed Zachary would be knowing she spent another day in this dark place. He would tell her, “Go home, Allison.” She turned around to leave, but then spun around again. The changing of direction made her sick.
This was her wedding anniversary.
Everyone who tried to comfort would talk about focusing on the things she had. If someone possesses many things, does that make it easier to live without the most important? She was married to Zachary for seven years and she never once had a vision for living without him. Why couldn’t these pseudo-philosophers see that?
The timing was impeccable, almost cosmic. For the film to be in movie theaters during her wedding anniversary brought a sliver of optimism, but she knew the typical box office run only lasted a few weeks. Once more, life seemed to be slipping away from her. This was a touch though, and for at least a moment it was like Zachary was there.
When she discovered that “Measured in Miles” was still showing in a movie theater over 200-hundred miles away, she told herself that she couldn’t. She heard the voice of her brother telling her it wasn’t healthy. He didn’t think she was crazy, but he feared for her stability. Allison told him she would stop, but this might be her final time with Zachary. She was revitalized the moment she decided to go. This one small thing lifted her out of the abyss. Why would anyone deprive themselves of such bliss? This was a slice of life in a world full of the lifeless.
Once again, she put on the dress he liked the most and went to meet her husband. Again, she sat in a dwindling crowd of noisy, laughing somebodies—and awaited Zachary’s arrival. She tried to detach herself from the shrill sounds and foul odors, but something stretched over the divide between her and her surroundings. A word. A terrible whisper. Someone behind her in a casual conversation said “accident.” She slunk her head down and held her breath. She placed the palms of her hands over her eyelids and pressed. She didn’t want to see. That’s why she came. She needed this image of him, this projection, so she could erase the picture of him being crushed behind a deflated airbag.
She detested every single person in the theater. They were a plague on her. She felt like they were all working on her somehow. Zachary was always well-mannered and helpful to those around him. At all times he thought about the well-being of others. From the time he took over his father’s trucking company, he had tried to invent ways of creating stability, reassurance, and comfort in his employee’s work. He wanted those who worked in the office to have a full complement of personal days and ergonomic chairs to sit in. Those in the garage were offered several breaks and catered lunches each workday. His father, although retired, would always tell him a sympathetic approach would sink the business for everyone. Zachary would chuckle and tell his father that comfort doesn’t equate to laziness, it parallels security.
The movie started. Her moment didn’t come until 52 minutes in. The movie was a poorly written comedy about the exploits of two college buddies bumbling across the country to find love—it was a ridiculous place to find Zachary. He was only in the scene by chance—he was walking along the street in the background during filming. The moment was captured coincidentally, and now it was his unlikely reflection still operating in the world. The editors of the film had seen the moment and decided to keep it as a trifling sparkle of authenticity. The story itself had little to do with reality, but fate saw it fit to keep something of Zachary’s life prolonged.
Allison tried to comprehend it, to get a sense of what it would mean. That even this one trivial gesture would cease to exist in the world. She knew she should have stopped going. She never intended to see every show over the past three weeks. Each time she told herself it would be the last. Sure, there were DVD’s and Blue-rays, and the movie would be streaming in a few weeks, but he wouldn’t be out in the open. Zachary wouldn’t be interacting with crowds or even the acned teenagers running the dump. Zachary wouldn’t be there any longer, waiting to be seen. Instead, he would be thrown out with the film or compacted with the wreckage—debris—trash.
Allison scooted up in her and took the longest breath of her life. She needed fresh air, but she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t miss Zachary. Her fingernails dug into the armrests. She would not be moved.
The two idiots in the movie have reached the sidewalk—they stop. The woman talking on her cell phone appears at the top left of the screen. And there, as the woman circles, the baby! The two lead characters begin their long, drawn out argument. People pass and pay no attention to the baby or the woman. Then, as if hailing something unseen, her hands go up towards the screen. She sees her husband. The tears in her eyes blur him to a silhouette, but his gait is unmistakable. She imagines he walks right off the screen and down the aisle. It’s the opposite scene of their wedding day, but the ending in her mind’s eye is the same… they leave together.
Then he sees the baby. He goes up to the woman holding him over her shoulder; he is speaking to him, trying to calm his disquiet. The woman never notices Zachary, she continues her conversation on unaware. Allison can almost hear the warmth and kindness of his voice as he speaks to the little baby. He looks down—finds a tiny shoe; he gently places it back on the child’s foot and secures it. Anyone else would have picked up the shoe and handed it to the mother. There is only so much most people will inject into their good deeds. Then he says something to the child—performs a peek-a-boo—then walks away.
But the baby cries at his absence. He can’t let go of this warmhearted man! Zachary turns, laughs and makes a silly face. Again, he turns to go. But just before he passes from sight, he looks back over his shoulder and smiles. Then he is gone.
She would always sit for a minute or two after the scene. She was steeped in the magic and did not want the miracle to give out. She didn’t possess it though. That’s why she attended every screening possible—to grasp for something she did not have the capacity to seize.
When the charm had passed, she got up from her seat and left. It was the most difficult exit she endured to this point. She was so drained that when her brother approached her, she wasn’t shocked or mad. She had told him in the past she had to deal with this in her own way, in her own time. She begged him to leave her alone. Now, here was, staring her in the face, armed with some speech about moving on or denying suffering no doubt. But it didn’t matter tonight. He didn’t say much. There was pity in his eyes.
“Oh, Allison. I thought you weren't going to do this anymore,” he said.
“How did you know I came out here?” she asked.
“I went to your house. When you weren’t there I Googled 'Measured in Miles' show times.”
“I don’t know why you came all the way out here.”
“Allison, C'mon," he said, “I wish Heather never told you about this!”
It was Heather who told Allison that she saw Zachary in “Measured in Miles.” She was reluctant to tell Allison at first but thought if she were in the same situation she would want to know. Her brother didn’t support it from the beginning. He thought it would only lead to more heartbreak.
Everything seemed backward to Allison tonight. She knew she wouldn’t be staying at her own now. Her brother would take her home to his family instead. She didn’t have enough fight left in her to say no. She went with him, listless, trudging forward in a senseless world.
For the next two weeks that was her existence. Her brother and sister-in-law talked to her about things like hope and hobbies. Allison offered no challenges to their assertions, she did not argue. They were right, but she didn’t have the inner strength to follow through. They didn’t understand—they had no idea how it was with her and Zachary. Now that he was gone, it was impossible for her to do what they wanted her to, to be the person she was before.
The more people that reached out to her, the more isolated she felt. She knew they couldn’t connect with her. So, in desperation, she searched the internet for movie times. Damaged by the exertion to keep herself from searching and overwhelmed by the dread she had waited too long, she set her concentration on reaching Zachary.
She came across an old theater almost 400 miles away that played out of favor and second run movies at a bargain price. If she left at once and didn’t hit much traffic, she could make the last show at 9:40 pm. She decided, and everything else was a blur. She was driven by panic. Every cell in her body was pressing forward. The animated confections were already dancing across the screen when she arrived nearly seven hours later.
She had never been this late before and could not sit where she normally would. She was livid. Just as Allison took a seat, a man with two small children sat right next to her. The father looked over at Allison and smiled as if he were pleased to be welcomed by her. Allison did nothing. She wanted to be alone, but as always, she didn’t want anyone to focus on her, so she chose not to get up and move.
Allison knew this was the last time she would see Zachary engage with the world. She tried to mentally prepare, but the only thing she wanted was to lunge at him tonight, to grab him. If she didn’t get hold of him tonight, she never would. She knew she could reach Zachary if she could only—
She didn’t know how to finish it. She just knew he could be reached.
The little girl seated next to her fidgeted in her seat and kept stealing stares at Allison. Allison did her best to ignore the child’s presence. She tried to erase the entire crowd in her mind. She needed to clear them out, push them off to the sides so he could glide down the aisle toward him. But she couldn’t shake the little girl. It was late, almost ten, and the little girl beside her was too young to be out so late. She was yawning over and over. As Zachary’s moment in the movie approached, Allison was too aware of the little girl who had fallen asleep. Her head had fallen awkwardly between the two seats. She looked very uncomfortable. Allison’s irritation was palpable. This was her last opportunity with Zachary—her last.
The moment had arrived when something went wrong. The screen flickered and pixilated. There was a terrible whirr of feedback. After the college buddies reached the sidewalk, and just as Zachary was about to appear, there was a skip—a blue screen—a mishmash of images. It was like a collision—it looked like time ceasing to be.
“No! Oh my god!” she said struggling for breath. Those around her booed and joked.
“It was awful anyway!”
“Where’s my refund?”
“Someone’s getting fired tonight!”
They laughed. They didn't care. The movie continued off-center, she could just make out Zachary hunched over fixing the baby’s shoe—but it was leaping around—and everyone was cackling. And then—it froze on Zachary. The picture steadied on Zachary’s smile before he left the scene. It was like Zachary was lingering, waiting for that beam to reach Allison. Out of the distortion and confusion—out of the wounds and the insignificant—Zachary was steady, making everything tolerable.
As the movie was restored and continued, Allison positioned her shoulder under the little’s girls unsupported head without waking her. After she did it, she felt something emerging from inside. She spent so much effort pushing others aside and lurking in the shadows waiting for Zachary. She understood that following his image was not the way to reach him. She waited each time for the moment to arrive, yet there were endless chances among those she believed to be in the way. Zachary had always done the thoughtful things—as he had done with the baby’s shoe. She repositioned herself so that the child could find comfort and that is where she found the truth. For the first time since she lost him, she had him. For all the people in the theater and all the people in the world, this was the truth! It mended and absolved as Zachary’s smile had restored the movie. The closer she moved towards others the closer she moved toward him.