Audience of None

           I’m not supposed to be here. There are so many things pointing to this fact. The fact that I hid under chairs through four screenings of a noisy action flick and played just as many games of cat and mouse with the underpaid custodians and an additional game with a security guard made that very clear. Why hide if you’re supposed to be somewhere? But as I sit in the dark in a chair that’s sticky with a sizable stain that’s a mixture of dried butter and spilled soda, I’m met with the clearest sign of all. The quiet. There’s not a sound here. Even my breathing and heartbeat are lost to the emptiness. Part of me keeps thinking that the room will come to life with the slowly rising glow of the lights or the sound of music and a lady welcoming me and introducing me to a series of advertisements. My ears are ready for any sound. A cough, the buzzing of a phone from an inconsiderate or absentminded guest, the marching of footsteps up the stairs, the ruffling of popcorn, the shifting of ice in a cup. Even a cricket’s chirp would do. Instead, I’m left with nothing.

           It’s funny to expect sound in a movie theater. I guess that just goes to show how noisy society is. Sound and people go hand in hand. A movie can play for an audience of one, but not if there’s no one to turn it on. Since I don’t have access to the projector and don’t even know how to work one, there’s essentially no one in the theater. For a moment, I think I may as well be considered a ghost here, but a person can only be considered a ghost if there’s someone there to consider them. Since no one knows I’m here, I’m basically nothing. This place is empty. No one is here to fulfil its purpose. There’s no one to give and take tickets, no one to man the snack bar, no one to start the movies, no one.

           A moment of life comes to the dead room when I start to get up from my seat. The sound of the substances soaked into the chair trying to cling to my shorts as I pull away is just barely audible under the sound of my shifting body and the squeaks of the chair. When I stand, the seat makes a bit more noise as it nods before settling, leaving the room in silence again. The theater screen stares back at me. Its bright white color makes it visible even in the dark. No matter the way I move, it remains still, its stare always on me. I take a moment to look away to the darkness, and it is there that I find true emptiness. Looking at the screen reminds me that there is a purpose to this place. It reminds me that I am somewhere. But when I look at the darkness, I feel like I’m truly nowhere. Nothing to see and nothing to hear. My body feels numb, there’s no taste on my tongue, and the scent of theater food has been in my nose for so long that I don’t even notice it anymore. There’s no I, and there’s no theater. There’s nothing.

           Walking down the steps with the light of my phone to guide me, I pass by row after row of seats. They’re not entirely empty as some have pieces of popcorn, popcorn kernels, candy, and long strands of hair. When I reach the bottom, I look back into the nothing, though for how long, I can’t say. When I’m done, I walk down the slope, gliding my freehand across the lukewarm railing. The slope takes me to the flat ground leading back to the hallway. Two doors stand as silent guards that fill the building with sound when I push them open. A long hall with the occasional frame of old famous actors and classic movie scenes disappears into the darkness past the reach of my light. My eyes track the stretching red carpeting. Every step I take just leads me to more carpet. I wouldn’t be surprised if this hallway went on forever.

           I come up to a branch in the hallway where I find someone. A man with a short beard and brown hair in a lifejacket holding a paddle stands front and center on an inflatable tube going nowhere down a raging static river. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open in as lively a smile that a cardboard cutout can make. I’m surprised they haven’t changed this out yet considering that the movie it advertises released nearly a month ago. There are indents on the sides from where people placed their hands on it. I follow the man’s gaze down the other hall and figure I may as well go down it. As I walk, I can feel his gaze on me, but he’s not looking at me.

Vibrant and moody ads of movies yet to come hang on the wall. Some of the movies have already been released while others forecast movies months away. They stop before the door of another screening room. The usually glowing sign above it that shows a movie and its showtime is turned off, leaving me to wonder what it will show when the theater opens. It points to the neighboring screening room on the other side of the hall whose sign is also off. Walking past this door leads me to another branching pathway. Looking to my side shows me a hall with a few pictures of actors and a faded sign reminding people to follow theater etiquette. Staring at the neighboring wall are the restrooms. Silhouettes of a man and a woman stand over separate doors, each with their own water fountain next to them.

           I step into the men’s restroom, the door shutting with a sound that’s usually inaudible over the hum of a hand dryer or the gushing of water. I’m greeted by the smell of a strong cleaning agent that wakes my sleeping nose. The walls, floor and ceiling are covered in a black and white checker pattern. Stone tiles make up the floor while smooth ceramic walls reflect the glow of my phone’s light and show my darkened silhouette. Urinals line the wall and stare back at a lesser number of open black stall doors. Janitorial efforts have left the room lacking any signs that people were once here as though this place had always been this way. I try to find my reflection in the mirrors but can only parse glimpses through the shine of my light. What I manage to see well are the black and white squares of the wall that almost seem to shift as I move my phone. When I look back, everything is still. Turning back to the mirror, my eyes gravitate towards the sink and I decide to give myself a little wake up. Setting my phone in my pocket, I place myself in almost total darkness, the light glowing from my pants the only thing I can see. I sweep my hands under the motion senser and hear the shrill running of water. Wetting my hands, I bring them to my face, feeling a slight chill. As I rub my eyes, the water cuts off. The room quiets as the remains of the water slide down the drain.

           There’s an almost heavy shift in atmosphere as my aimless wandering takes me back out into the hall. This feeling grows when I walk into the entrance of the building. The predictable confinement of the restroom is replaced by the broad expanse of an open area. Stanchions hold belts between each other to control a line that doesn’t exist. Popcorn machines lay dormant and empty. The floor has been swept clean, not so much as a piece of popcorn to be seen. I can still see wet spots from where the floor was mopped, but no one bothered to put out a wet floor sign. It’s only fitting. There’s no reason to leave a warning sign out for someone they didn’t even know would be here. The wet spots guide me towards the exit, giving me my choice between three sets of windowed doors, not that I have any interest in picking any of them. The doors only show darkness outside. Any attempt to leave would trigger the alarm. I’d much rather be here alone than alone in jail.

            As I walk to the center of the room, I imagine people going about their business. Customers wait in the concessions line, passing the time by talking to each other or checking the displays to see what they should buy. People come in through the doors and walk over to the movie select screen to pick out what to watch while those who bought their tickets online skip ahead to the security guard who welcomes them in and directs them to their theater. Kids that just finished watching their movie rush over to the arcade room, their parents slowly trailing behind them, telling them to slow down. They’ll come and give this place the purpose I can’t. At least a place can be given a purpose.

           My walk through the building comes to an end back in a screening room. There’s only so much to see in a place so empty. I take a seat, turn my flashlight off and stare into the darkness until there’s nothing.