And you and I, we will end the way a movie ends: lights will flood the theater, suddenly spotlighting the audience, who are blinking their glossy eyes back into reality. They will come to their feet, stretching muscles and sorting through the things they have brought, choosing quickly what to dispose and what to keep.
They have expected this, of course, the film reaching the end of its crackling length.
For weeks afterward they will bring it up in conversation, discuss the lines and themes which struck them like fists and stay with them like bruises blooming beneath the skin. The negative image of light once darkness descends. The radio will broadcast the songs that played in the background, lilted and lifted the scenes, and the people will remember, may sing along quietly. The story may visit them in dreams, veiled and vague, and they will wake up at home the same way they left the lobby, shaking loose the colors and characters.
They will lie in the morning light, eyes closed and then open, and think about what, if anything, it meant to them at all.
-l.j. markel
