In the Dark of the Theater

He was not sick. 

But the idea entered his head during his first hour plan, and by the end of it, he decided to e-requisition a substitute for the afternoon. He taught Frost to freshman. The day rolled by, each hour he said the same thing until he didn’t know if he had said it or not. Then it was eleven, and the sub, a hapless fellow with some weight on him, was at the door. 

He was zipping away from the high school parking lot before he knew what to do with himself. He decided on lunch and a movie. The burger was overcooked and the fries were so salty they burned his mouth with that unmistakable sting. He realized he’d left his phone in his desk at school so he drank a beer. Then another. Why not?

The movie was a superhero flick. A man is down on his luck. Then magic happens, and he gains everything. He gains the whole world, becomes a god, remakes everything in his image. Power, responsibility—big concepts handled like kittens playing with yarn. He smiled drunkenly through it.

When he got out of the theater it was still daylight, and the world felt strange—different. He decided that he’d skip the gym but figured his wife wouldn’t. He’d make dinner— something he never did. He’d be romantic.

He made spaghetti. Set the table, lit candles. He took off the apron and looked at the clock. She was late. Quite late.

He sat down. The cat rubbed his leg and made its croak of a meow. He stared into the flame of the candle. It became large in his vision. He sat and stared. Everything folded away. It was just him and the candle.

It wouldn’t be until the morning that he’d learn what happened. Everyone would be surprised he hadn’t heard the news, seen the headlines. Hell, didn’t he at least hear the blare of sirens?

The boy had gone in through a side door after lunch. Walked casually to his classroom during sixth period and brought out the gun. Several students had died. The substitute had been killed first.

His wife would say she did not hear anything as well. But weren’t you at the gym, he’d say, with all those TVs everywhere. Hey, where were you? She’d ask. Why did you take off?

They all would ask this.

He sat in the dark of the theater watching a man fly, a man stronger than any other man, here to save us all. He ate a box of Junior Mints until he felt sick, and he kept eating. The light flickered. The walls rumbled with the sound of buildings coming down, of the alien apocalypse that must be stopped. He watched a man become something else, something great.