I entered the theater, a room of mumbling whispers within cold air, alone.
Using the horizontal back corridor, I walked all the way to the right wall and took a seat on the outer seat of the third to last row. They hadn't shut the lights off yet, and the crowd was mumbling and flipping through the program brochures.
I look around but don't find Jim anywhere. I'm surprised with how small the venue is. There's only one entrance and one floor. I don't why I expected anything different. It's probably because I've only been to one show here at the Auditoriu, and that had been a huge show. All American Rejects.
After a moment, I look down at my program. It rubs against my finger with just enough friction that it feels like my finger is just about to sweat. And then I notice that my hands are actually sweating. I rub my palms against the fabric in the seat in front of me.
I notice a presence looming over me. Jim's making a sarcastic face that asks what the hell I'm doing. But he makes it in a way that shows that he's weirdly attracted to me.
"Where'd you go?"
"I thought you left me."
He smiles and I scooch over to the seat away from the edge so that Jim can sit down without having to squeeze in between me and the row in front of us.
"So did you find Moriah in the program yet?" he says. He seems to be grinning. The lights turn off.