Monday, November 24, 2003

This event never happened.

So after work last Friday, I was supposed to meet Will and Buck at The Angelika Cafe/Movie Theater. We were gonna catch Lost in Translation, which Holly had told us was "outstanding, in an indie-film way". I'm not really sure what she meant. But it had Bill Murray (who is a genius) and was directed by Sophia Coppola (who was unjustly maligned for Godfather III), so we decided we were going to go.

So I got to the Angelika Cafe at about six and sat down with a Russia House "adult" coffee (read: vodka), and waited for about twenty minutes until the guys became officially late. Finally, Buck arrived and walked over to the table. I turned to face the bar, and waited for his excuse. "Traffic" was the best he came up with, but since I'm not, you know, a girl, I let it go. "Well, to atone for your sins, you must buy me some bruschetta."

He laughed. "Whatever dude."

I turned back to him. "No seriously, buy me something."

"The last time I checked, you weren't my girlfriend. Buy it yourself, you cheapskate."

"See if I ever do anything nice for you again," I replied acidly as I got up and went to the bathroom. I heard him grunt as I walked away. It's so easy to throw him off like that.

Anyway, I get back from washing my hands, and Will still hadn't shown up. Buck had ordered some chicken quesadillas and was already greasy-fingered. I sat across from him and reached out to snag one. "Hey, hey, hey," Buck mumbled through the chicken and cheese, as he pulled the plate away.

"You are such a punk, dude."

"Buy your own, Dave. Geez, we're all working men here."

"Oh I'm sorry, what do you do again? Doctor?"

"I'm in my first year of residency, Dave. I drive a Honda for crying out loud."

"A snazzy Honda. Very hip."

"And I have about sixty thousand in very snazzy student loans. So I can't afford to buy anything else."

"You could afford that." I indicated the plate with my coffee cup, before taking another sip.

Shoving the last two quesadillas in his mouth at the same time, Buck tried to make the "pensive" face. As best as he could, with chipmunk cheeks full of tortilla and pollo. "Yes. Yes, I could." Grease started to drip from the corner of his mouth. "Nice" I replied, handing him a napkin.

We waited for a few more minutes, and then gave up on Will and went to the movie. At the box office, we hit the rock hard hand of fate. The show was sold out.

"What? It's been out for months. This is the only theatre in town that's showing the movie. Gimme a break" Buck said. The box office "attendant" (I'm not sure how much mental "attending" the ticket pusher was doing that evening) just shrugged.

"Is there anything else good?" I asked.

Buck scanned the board that listed the showtimes for the four screens. "Matrix?"

"Seen it."

"The Station Agent?"

"What's that?"

"Something with a midget."


"Nothing else. Oh, Monty Python is showing tomorrow night."

"Good for tomorrow night. Worthless now."

Buck shrugged. "Well, what do you suggest?"

I looked at my watch. It was already sevenish. And suddenly I wanted to be very far away from there. I can't explain it. Sometimes, I get these sudden violent urges to find a quiet place and sit silently, allowing myself to just be. This type of behavior can make maintaining a social life a bit difficult, but normally my friends understand. I'm "the quiet one" according to Will. I'm okay with that, I think.

"I'm gonna bug out, man."

"No, Dave, come on, we'll find something else to do."

"I'm thinking I'll go home and get some stuff done."

"Dude. It's Friday. Quit being an old man."

"I'm tired, Buck. Gimme a break."

"Fine. Tomorrow--Monty Python."

"Okay, okay. Gimme a call."

"All right. Later."

I went home and sat on my couch for two hours. The funny thing about these times of "being alone" is that I'm never satisfied after I follow the impulse to be alone. I just end up being lonely.

I didn't get a call Saturday from Buck. Or from Will, who was gradually inching up my Crap List.

Sunday afternoon, I get home from church and lunch, and there's a message from Will on my machine. He decided to go to Dallas for the weekend, out of the blue. A friend from college was about to get married, and Will didn't want to miss the bachelor party. He asked if we were still planning on catching the movie next Friday, and told me to give him a call. I didn't.

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