The Evening Special

I’ve entered the theater the same as I would step out of it 2 hours later– all is everything I imagined it would be. And that is sentimental. But it’s not in the way I think about me and him all of a sudden, but for once I can revel now in another’s happy ending.

Tonight is a double feature down at the Castro Theatre: Breakfast at Tiffany’s at 5, followed by Sabrina around 7:10. M very first show at The Castro. $11 gets you past original, intricately-panned doors and gold gilded walls overseen by soft Grecian murals. No cash for popcorn or a soda, but I play it off like I’m something extraordinary; the only girl in the vast room not noshing on snacks– something mystical and commanding of the audience’s attention like Audrey Hepburn herself. I sink into the perfect seat towards the center of the screen in a middle row. And as the organ player draws “Moon River” to a close he’s lowered down and the lights dim and the magic begins.


I walk into the street as Holly Golightly does before the sun hits 5th Avenue on the grand doors of Tiffany & Co. Mean Reds. A shit show of fear and confusion and searching for some assurance that we belong somewhere– with someone. In the end Holly didn’t need Tiffany’s anymore. She found herself in the arms of a man who never was, beneath the torrents of Hollywood rain beside a dirty cat. Me, I am walking, still searching. I’m not wearing lipstick– in the state I’d been in before the film had started, it was a mood no girl should be in without her lipstick on.

Still I walk the dark streets of that proud, loving district in San Francisco alone and never think again of these pale lips. Maybe I don’t need him anymore. I don’t feel like I do right now, but it is only a short-lived lie– suffering a case of my own Reds. Tiffany’s is still somewhere to be found and waiting for me.

But the peace of mind now tells me I just left it.


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