At Midnight

4

... if only you knew how much these little moments meant to me...

On the fifth of May, a Thursday, my hands slapped on the wall of the garage until it hit the garage opener. I stumbled down the few steps and to my beaten down Prius. Yawning, I dug in my various pockets for where I placed my keys earlier in the morning. 

"Clifford!" shouted Mara, jogging up the driveway.

Frightened, I bumped into my car. It started to beep, echoing throughout the garage, successfully bringing Mara and I fully awake, and probably waking up the whole neighborhood. I rushed to find my keys and hush the screaming. 

"I'm so sorry. I just wanted to ask what time your shift was tonight," she said sheepishly. 

"Uh, eight 'til three, I think," I said. 

"I'm ten until three," she said. "Would you mind giving me a ride home?"

"I don't mind."

"Great!"

Then, in my garage, we stood together, each of us looking at our surroundings awkwardly. In our heads, we both were desperately searching for something to speak about; a way to continue the conversation so it didn't have to end. 

"Do you want to--"

"So, the bus--" Mara stopped, giggling. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"I mean, you could ride the bus. My car's open for a ride, if you wanted to. But I so understand if the bus is more your style," I offered. 

"I'd take your piece of shit car any day over the bus."

I circled the car and wiggled the passenger's side door open. It was very Steve Rogers-like of me. 

To rid the silence on our way to school, Mara flipped through my CD collection for an artist or mix to serve as the soundtrack of her day. Surprisingly, she went straight for Awesome Mixtape Vol. 1. I swerved when I saw her insert it into the radio. 

"Whoa, what was that?" she laughed. 

"H-How do you know that CD?" I stuttered. 

"It looked cool. What's on it? Anything good?"

"All of it."

"Of course," she smiled. "Oh, hey, it's almost seven, so there's... Seventeen, yeah? Seventeen hours left until midnight."

"Seventeen hours and one minute," I corrected. 

"Because midnight shows start at twelve-oh-one, right, I forgot," said Mara. "Seventeen hours and one minute until you go into cardiac arrest over this movie."

XXXX

Eleven hours later was when I clocked into the theater. Twelve hours later brought Mara into work. Normally, when she clocked in, a specific routine was followed. She ducked into the bathroom to change into the standard uniform, buy a drink from the concession stand, annoy Cameron the Manager, then take her spot at the ticket booth 

On the fifth of May was the first time I had ever witnessed Mara change ritual. She was already dressed, already supplied with a Sprite bottle, and she skipped seeing Cameron. She went straight to the booth. The pencil in her hand scribbled precisely on the sketchbook settled on top of the counter. 

I watched her carefully. I tried to seem casual, but I was eager for her attention, to ask if she was all right, or if she wanted a refill. I despised not serving her. I lived for the interaction at the counter. It made my day feel regular.