Jordan Krall - Blow Up the Outside World

“Peanuts,” he said. The guy bore more than a little resemblance to a young Klaus Kinski, that is, if Klaus Kinski was black and sporting a huge, glistening afro.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man,” I said.

Black Kinski got up from his seat and jumped over the seat in front of him so that he was in the aisle directly in back of mine. He said, “You thick, man? You have a bag there. I’m asking you got peanuts in it. Can I have some?”

I looked down and realized that yeah, I had a bag on my lap I had bought at the concession stand but it wasn’t peanuts.

“It’s popcorn,” I said. It was weird. I didn’t even remember buying any popcorn.

“Now, was that so hard? All you had to do is say that in the first place. Man, you had to make things so difficult.” He leaned back in the seat and watched the movie.

I watched, too, but also kept my eyes on both the masturbator and Black Kinski. For all I knew they were some sort of gay rapist tag-team ready to strike. Mr. Jerk-off never stopped moving his hand up and down like he was churning butter or something. I was starting to wish I’d gone to the Lyric to see The Ghastly Ones. Not only would I probably not have to worry about these two guys but the seats were more comfortable in that theatre, too.

Five minutes went by.

Again, the voice from behind said, “Hey, can I have some popcorn, man?”

“Jesus Christ.” I handed him the bag. “Keep it.”

“Nah, I just want a handful. This shit gives me gas.” He dug his hand into the bag, grabbed some popcorn, and then leaned back again. “Much obliged, man, much obliged.”

Then I thought I knew what was happening. I was getting fully prepared to be offered some crack or junk at reasonable “deuce” prices but the guy just sat there watching the movie.

There was a grunt from the masturbator and then he doubled over, his forehead resting on the seat in front of him. He stood, adjusted his pants, and then squeezed past me. I held my breath and moved my head away.

Black Kinski jumped over the seat and into my aisle.

He said, “Fuck, that dude left his load right there on the motherfuckin seat.”

I looked over and saw semen glistening in the dull movie-light. Honestly that wasn’t the first time I had seen that in a theater. Anyone knows if you take a trip to the Deuce, you wipe the seat before you sit down or you take your chances.

“Yeah, I see it,” I said.

“Hey, man, you got any candy or something?” Black Kinski asked.

I wanted to be left alone. I was trying to figure out this fucking guy’s angle. My muscles tensed because this was the part where a knife would be pulled on me. I’ve heard stories like that, too. A friend of mine knew a guy who went to the New Amsterdam to see Rolling Thunder at 3:00 in the afternoon and ended up losing a wallet and gaining a stab wound in the gut. He almost bled to death in the lobby. He finally got rescued by a Good Samaritan but not before being pissed on by a gang of twelve year-old junkies who just got out of school.

I knew shit like that happened so I reached into my coat in preparation.

I said, “No, I don’t.” I almost added the word “sorry” but decided it wouldn’t have been sincere and I’m nothing if not sincere.

“Man, I gotta sweet tooth won’t quit, you know? In the lobby, man, they ran out all the good shit.” Black Kinski was getting comfortable sitting there and talking to me. He didn’t even keep his voice down. That was a telltale sign he was a regular. A new comer would whisper, thinking the other patrons would give a shit. Most of the crowd consisted of hustlers or loners, not movie fans.

I was the exception, really. I was and still am a total film nut. No matter what it is, I go to see it. Sometimes it feels like a compulsion as if the very flickers of the screen fill my lungs with air and my veins with blood. I guess it sounds stupid but that’s how I feel sometimes and at that moment, I felt Black Kinski encroaching on my lifeblood.

He said, “Hey man, I’m botherin you, just tell me.”

I sighed. “No, that’s okay.” I’ve always been way too nice.

“Thanks for the popcorn, man, but listen. I wanna show you somethin.”

Here it comes, I thought.

“You gotta come with me, though, I can’t show it to you here, know what I’m sayin?”

What the fuck, did the guy think I was stupid? Did he think I was going to follow him? Well, let me tell you. I was that stupid. I can’t explain why. There is no plausible explanation for my behavior. It was as if my body wasn’t my own.

Black Kinski got up and started walking toward the other end of the aisle. I wasn’t normally that passive but I closed my eyes for a second and found myself following him anyway.

I put my hand in my coat, though, and prepared for the worst. I may have been stupid but I wasn’t entirely so.

He led me past the hallway where the bathrooms were and took me to a door in the corner of the theatre I had never noticed. “In here, man,” Black Kinski said. He pushed open the door and walked right into darkness.

And like a dumb ass, I followed him.

For a few seconds I couldn’t see a thing so I took my gun out of my coat and held it at my side, prepared for anything.

There was a click and then the lights went on. Black Kinski was standing against a cement wall to my right, grinning like a maniac. He pointed to the other side of the room.

In the corner there was someone facing the wall. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. All I could see was they were wearing a bright silver raincoat. That wasn’t all that strange for 42nd Street but then I noticed the coat itself was moving, the silver color swirling like some sort of optical illusion.

Black Kinski said, “Man, what did I tell you? I wanted to show you somethin and there it is. You believe it?”

“Believe what?” I said, still entranced by the bright silver coat. The person in the corner moved a little bit, adjusting him or herself but not letting me see their face or any features at all.

“What do you mean, what? And what’s with the motherfuckin piece, man? You gonna rob me? And after you offered me your popcorn and shit. Man, that’s fucked up.”

I tore my eyes away from the coat and looked at him. “I didn’t offer. You asked,” I said, continuing what was probably the stupidest conversation of my life.

“Well, whatever, man, whatever.”

I said, “I’m not going to shoot you. But what the fuck am I supposed to be looking at? Who is that?”

Black Kinski gave me a face like I was both blind and stupid. “Man, when I saw you, I thought you were a smart guy, a guy I could trust, someone to bring into it all. Now I see you’re just a dumb motherfucker. A dumb, lily-white motherfucker with a gun.”

I looked back at the coat, my eyes burning from the bright silver. Relaxing my gun-arm but keeping it prepped, I walked closer to the figure in the corner. As I did so, the silver coat turned to black.

Then I realized the coat had not turned black. Black Kinski had turned the lights off.

I quickly turned and held the gun in front of me but close to my body, not wanting him to make a grab for it. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and I could see Black Kinski standing there twitching and waiting to make a move. I pointed the gun and shot him in the face.

I turned towards the person in the silver coat and fired a shot. The silver coat started to glow in the darkness, shades of silver and red that pierced my eyeballs like direct sunlight. The person in the raincoat shook like an epileptic but in the darkness I still couldn’t make out any features.

Then the lights came on.