Want to come with me?

Let's go to the movies

I’ve always loved going to the movies.

I love the hush that falls over the theater right before the lights go down. I love the smell of buttered popcorn. I love the crisp Coke from the machine that somehow tastes better in a movie theater than in a can. I love the candy aisle where you’re encouraged, for once, to pick something completely unnecessary and enjoy it anyway.

I love the collective experience of it all.

The way an entire room laughs at the same joke.

The way everyone jumps at the same scare.

The way hundreds of strangers can sit quietly together and somehow experience the same story.

For two hours, nobody’s scrolling. Nobody’s multitasking. Nobody’s checking their email.

We’re just there.

Present.

I’ve always loved that.

But more than anything, I’ve always loved going with someone.

People always say movies are terrible dates because you can’t actually talk. I’ve never understood that argument. Sitting beside someone while you experience the same story feels strangely intimate to me. And if he's able to sneak a hand resting on your knee or one wrapped around your shoulders...bonus! Plus, afterwards you get to compare notes.

Did you love it?

Did you hate it?

Did you see that ending coming?

What did you think that scene meant?

The movie is only half the experience. The conversation afterward is the other half.

Going to the movies was something my ex-husband and I did often. Especially if Marvel was involved. We spent years sharing popcorn buckets and debating plot twists on the drive home.

We even chose our son’s name in a movie theater.

There was a scene during a film where he kicked so hard I remember looking down and laughing. Somewhere between the previews and the credits, our son’s name appeared.

Life is funny like that.

For a long time, I didn’t realize how much I loved going to the movies with someone because I always had someone to go with.

Then I didn’t.

Want to come with me?

After my marriage ended, I started dating again.

Book Boyfriend. Looking back, I remember being strangely nervous the first time I asked if he wanted to go to a movie with me. He said yes. Then we got back to his apartment and he looked at me and said,

“You don’t actually want to go to the movies, do you?”

We didn’t go. I asked again another time. And another. One night I was having a terrible day. The kind where you’ve cried so much your face hurts.

He asked what would cheer me up.

“We could go to the movies,” I said.

“No.”

"Oh."

Eventually, I stopped asking.

Months later, when we were no longer in each other's orbit, he would tell me he regretted that. He told me he kicked himself for all the times he didn’t just take me to a movie.

I'm not sure if we were really talking about the movies that night.

Want to come with me?

Then I met someone new.

On our first date, he took me to a movie. I remember thinking it was such a small thing, but it didn't feel small. Not to me.

Halfway through the film, he kept whispering comments about the movie and then immediately apologizing for talking. A cute grin plastered on his face. The kind of smile where you can't hide anything because it reaches into his eyes. The best kind. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve told him to be quiet at the movies.

Instead, I found it adorable. Someone to talk to me at the movies.

Months later, I told him I loved those fancy theaters where you can order dinner right to your seat.

“Oh, I know a great one,” he said.

“Where?”

“I’m not telling you. I’ll surprise you.”

“Next time you want to see a movie, tell me. I’ll take you.”

I smiled.

Because what I heard wasn’t:

“I know a movie theater.”

What I heard was:

"He wants to take me to the movies."

"He wants to make me happy."

"He cares about me."

"He wants to go with me."

“There will be a next time.”

There wasn’t. We never went.

One Ticket Please

The last time I saw him, I asked him for the theater’s name.

“Since we never got to go,” I joked, “I’d still like to go by myself.”

And that’s when I realized what movies had become for me. A metaphor. Not for romance. Not for heartbreak. For life.

Because somewhere along the way, I learned something important. I learned I actually like going to the movies alone. I’ve seen movies by myself after breakups. I’ve gone when friends canceled. I’ve gone when nobody was available. I’ve sat in the dark with a giant Coke and too much popcorn and had a genuinely wonderful time.

The movie always gets seen. Life always gets lived.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe the question was never really about movies. Maybe all along I’ve been asking something much simpler.

Want to come with me?

To the movie.

To dinner.

To the next chapter.

To this life I’m building.

And every time someone says no, life keeps moving and I go anyway.

The movie starts. The lights dim. The story unfolds.

But if I’m being honest, I haven’t stopped asking. I still want someone sitting in the seat next to me. I still want someone to discuss the ending with on the drive home. I still want someone to share the popcorn. So for now, I’ll keep going by myself when I have to. I’ll keep buying the ticket. I’ll keep showing up.

And every now and then, I’ll keep turning to someone and asking:

“Want to come with me?”

And someday, someone will say,

"Yes."