A cold wind stirs the leaves as Pauline and I walk down the street. She’s wearing red sneakers, jeans, a purple windbreaker and a white woolen hat with a huge pom-pom on top. It’s really nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow I’m embarrassed to be walking next to someone dressed like that.

I didn’t want to go to the movies, but I gave my consent immediately when Pauline asked me to go to the matinée. I’ve been reading a book by Stanley Hauerwas, and one of his arguments has been bouncing around in my head lately. He argued that teachers should never allow students to make up their own minds. Allowing students to make up their own minds would be nothing less than indoctrinating them to believe that their own individual desires were relevant. So, I have been trying to live as if my own desires don’t matter. If someone asks me to do something, I try my best. That’s why I’m walking down the street right now.

“I couldn’t believe she was being such a bitch. She totally deserved it.” Pauline is telling me about how she poured a bottle of Pepsi into someone’s backpack. Her justification doesn’t really make sense, but I don’t argue. I don’t think she would ever back down from her position. Anyway, I’m trying to be anti-individualistic, although I’m not sure if that even applies in this situation.

“Let’s cross,” I suggest. The asphalt is gray and streaked with salt, and the gutters are filled with yellow leaves and water. This is probably the first time I’ve spoken since we got off the bus. Directly across the street is the cinema, an old-fashioned building with a tall marquee. Grudgingly, I remind myself that it doesn’t matter that I don’t want to be here with Pauline. Suddenly I’m disgusted with myself. What could be more selfish than this smug introspection? I’m not a martyr for going to the movies. All of this self-conscious scrutiny is probably just something to make myself feel superior.

“Buy me a soda or something?” Pauline’s smile seems unbelievably annoying.

“We haven’t even bought tickets yet,” I answer in a flat voice.

“Okay, okay. Are you angry?” I smile and shake my head no. We step through the double doors and into the dim lobby of the cinema. There’s a small line. Framed antique movie posters flank the small box-office. Pauline pulls off her hat and shakes down her hair. Her hair is dyed a bright, unnatural red. I think dyed hair looks terrible. This is no exception. Now Pauline is jumping up and down on the carpet to dry off her boots. It’s totally idiotic. I can’t believe we’re in front of other people right now.

We buy the tickets and sodas and walk into the theater. Pauline picks a row close to the back. We’re sitting right behind a middle-aged Asian couple and next to an older man. Old jazz classics are playing from the speakers. I catch a few fragments of the conversation that the Asian couple are having. They’re actually talking about one of my favorite authors. The husband is wearing expensive eyeglasses and a black turtleneck, which rounds out the classy, intellectual image. I imagine joining in the conversation.

Pauline’s bitching about someone else now, Tracey Malone, from class. As usual, Pauline’s complaints are completely irrational. She’s being pretty vulgar. I wonder what the old man sitting next to us is thinking.

“Do you know her?”

“Who? Tracey?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” I lie. Really, I do, but I don’t care to join in the conversation. Just in time, the house lights dim and the murmur of conversation tapers off. The movie is about to begin. Suddenly the speakers give off a big popping sound and the screen flashes weird images.

“Oh, goodness. Looks like they have some kind of technical problem,” says the man in front of us. He sighs impatiently and twists around in his seat to look back at the projection room.

“Maybe if you’d just sit down and shut the fuck up the movie would begin!” snaps Pauline. I don’t need to tell you that my face turns red immediately. The couple looks back at us like they can’t believe anyone would ever be so rude. I keep looking straight ahead. After 30 seconds the house lights turn back up and a voice over the speakers says, “We’re experiencing some difficulty with our projector. The movie will begin in five minutes.”

The man turns back around and looks Pauline in the face. “Well, it doesn’t look like sitting down and shutting up had much of an effect.” He says it way too gently. If he’d added a bit of anger, it could have worked as a comeback, but as it is, he sounds like he’s apologizing.

Pauline snorts. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she tells me. I sit alone, feeling so embarrassed that I don’t even breathe. The couple in the row ahead isn’t discussing literature anymore.

I lean forward and tap the man on the shoulder. “Sorry about my friend,” I say. I have no idea where I’m going with this. “She’s, you know…” I fill in the blank with a suggestive look. I’m not sure exactly what I’m suggesting.

He looks friendly. “Ah, I see,” he says with an understanding smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nice that you’re taking her here anyway.” I nod slightly. My smile must be looking forced and lopsided. That suggestive look was insanely successful, but I have no idea what he understood it to mean. The older man sitting to my right leans in. I guess he’s heard our conversation.

“Is it some kind of Big Brothers/Big Sisters thing?”

What? “Yes, something like that,” I hear myself say.

“Very nice. I’m proud of you.”

I’m dying. They must think she’s retarded, or mentally unstable, or a troubled child with crazy personal problems. I just saved myself some temporary embarrassment by completely betraying my friend. I guess I followed my own desires in the most selfish and dishonest way possible.

Pauline returns as the movie’s starting. This theater shows old classic films on the weekends. Tinny music blares from the speakers. I can’t even pay attention to the movie. Every scene is erased from my mind as soon as it ends. Without looking, I can sense a magnanimous smile warming the face of the older gentleman a few seats down.

Finally the credits roll. I really want to get out of there. “Why are you standing up already?” Pauline asks, tugging on my sleeve. The house lights go up again. I’m pulling on my jacket, but there are too many people in the aisles to make a clean getaway.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around, and it’s the same old man. He’s looking impossibly kindly. He winks and gives me a piece of candy. Then he leans over and gives one to Pauline. “This is for you, young lady. Hope you enjoyed the picture.”

It’s still pretty light outside. “What the fuck was that about?” Pauline’s face is a mixture of bemused and baffled. “Should we eat these? Do you have any idea who that guy was?”

The candies are Werther’s Originals. The golden plastic wrappers glint in the sunlight. “Dunno,” I say lamely. “Want it?” My brain feels heavy. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Giving away a piece of candy is a pretty pathetic try at being selfless.

“What? Oh, that. No.” Pauline gives a little laugh and puts her hand in mine. “Thanks for going to the movie with me today. Honestly, I’m glad I have a friend like you.”

I almost snort out loud. Honestly! How fucking perfect.

Pauline shades her eyes with her hand and peers down the street. “Is that the bus coming?”

I can’t say yes or no.