Movie Couple...

A friend of mine always tells me that he has stories that play out in his head. He says that he imagines backgrounds of people on the train, what their home lives are like, who their families here, where they are going and where they are coming from. I think his imagination is better than mine.
But the other day I went to the movies and sat next to this couple. The only thing that caught my attention about them is how utterly impersonal they were toward each other, although they seemingly were together. Anyway, I decided to figure out who they were. So I started writing. Let me know what you think.


Movie Couple....


Her name is Susan. His name is Bill. They sit next to each other in the movie theater and never look at each other. Susan brings a coffee mug, the microwavable kind with sturdy handle, and reads files from work. Bill reads the sports pages. She wears glasses. They bring blankets and show up 30 minutes early.
They laugh at the movie separately. Susan never engages Bill. And Bill looks over periodically only to remember that he didn’t show up alone.
They used to hold hands in the movies. Bill would take Susan to the park for picnics. Susan would start cooking on Saturday night so that Bill would love Sunday dinner. She used to lay on his shoulder at the movies and clench his thighs when the drama built. They used to stay until everyone else left. Bill used to kiss her like no one was looking.
They met in high school. She would have never given him a chance. He was sweet she thought. Just not her type. But he lived two houses down. He’d carry her bookbag home from school. He helped with her Biology homework. She taught him not to be so uncomfortable around girls. He stayed up all night on her bedroom floor listening to her cry the night that Tyler Cunningham told that he just didn’t think it was going to work out. She ditched field hockey team dinner the night Bill’s parent had the big fight and he needed somewhere to run away to. He always chased her and she hid the fact that she enjoyed being chased until that summer when Bill spend two months in Florida with his uncle and came back suddenly came back four inches taller and with muscles. That’s when the roles reversed.
They went to the prom together. Susan followed Bill to college. He did landscaping in the summers. She started tutoring. They were married by the end of junior year. Bill went into construction with his friend Kevin’s dad. Susan became a teacher. They had three kids – two girls and a boy. They lived in a suburb just like the one they grew up in. They never had money problems. But they never lived beyond their means. He drove a pick up. Susan still drives the white caravan they purchased together when Amy, their youngest, was born. Sam played lacrosse. Amy loved ballet and Caitlin wrote poetry.
Bill and Susan would go to the grocery store together. They’d go to the mall. She’d buy his pants. Every Sunday they go over to Kathy and John’s and the men would do men things while they women did women things. They would fight about the kids or about money or about feeling unappreciated. She hated that he never talked about his feelings. Bill hated that Susan always talked about hers.
They are married. They loved each other.
They would get gitty on the days when the kids would all be out the house. They love Saturday afternoons when three kids could stretch freely and find their place in the world while husband and wife could pretend to be 23 years old again and sneaking into a dingy bathroom in a smoky bar and jumping each other like animals. Bill and Susan warned the kids about the day they’d all be gone, when they could be alone finally.
Then Caitlin got married and Sam could a job in Tennessee. And Amy went to study dance at UCLA. And Bill and Susan were alone. Then they woke up at 6:45am each day. Sam would take the shower. Susan made the coffee. She would come into brush her teeth while Bill shaved. Bill would put on his robe and head outside, wipe his face and then stoop down to pick up the Sunday paper. He brought it inside and dropped it on the coffee table. She started breakfast. Only the sound of their footsteps filled the house. After they ate, Susan started the laundry and he swept the front yard. It was his turn to pick today. When he came inside they walked by each other.
“What time?” she asked.
Tonight at 6:40, he said.
They fill the day with chorus and Sunday football on television. They sit at the table in the den. Bill paid the bills and she balanced the checkbook. He started to ask her something. She became alert, mouth open in anticipation until he remembered that he already asked the question. She went back the checkbook. They went on like this, completing daily tasks together and independently without words. She knew what he liked just as he knew what she liked. He went to work and came home, as she did. They went to Kathy and John’s, disappeared with their friends and reappeared when they were both sure it was time to go.
They got to movies 30 minutes early. He would read the sports pages. She would read files from work and bring her coffee mug, the microwavable kind with the sturdy handle. They would laugh separately and never engage each other. They would leave together but Bill would never look back to see if Susan was on his shoulder. She walked at her own pace.
They went to bed at the same time. They knew their routine. They didn’t have to ask about tomorrow. They both wore cotton pajamas. Bill only wore the pants and wore a white T-shirt on top. Susan wore the oversized top and some old sweatpants. They’d both stare at the ceiling. Someone had to break first. They both dreaded it. She holds her breathe. Here it comes.
He starts, “Do you remember that time when Amy was in the yard … “
Yeah, I remember, Susan says.
And remember when Sam ….
Yup.
And then Caitlin.
Sure, it was so funny.

That’s it. Wasn’t so bad tonight, Bill thinks to himself. Susan lets go a slow breath. Glad that’s over. They couldn’t wait for the kids to leave they used to think. Now the only sound in the house is their footsteps.
Alright, Susan says. They both grip a corner of the comforter and turn away.
They both say goodnight.