"Don't move your head back and forth like that, I can't see the movie."
I turned to look behind me. It was a jock, or trying to be with his voice and such, his haircut, but he had stuff wrong with him, his eyes, for instance, they sat funny in his head, like little ball bearings rolling and hopping around in a puddle of eggs scrambling in a pan.
I didn't apologize. I just turned back to the movie and held my head real still, as if it was locked up in a neck brace.
Biplanes rushed at us from the screen. Then they flew overhead and you could hear their departure through the rear speakers.
Suddenly I turned to the guy behind me and spit on him.
The biplanes were doing playful loop-de-loops on the screen now but the sound was wrong. It was sad, stupid music. You couldn't hear the planes any more.
I turned back to the guy again. He looked straight at me with no expression. He wiped off his face with his little arm.
A couple days later I saw him at school, and he hid out from me. He tried to be somewhere else.
"Dirty guy," I heard him say.
And I heard it said of me by others in later years: that I was just a dirty guy in the dark.
But they don't know what I am.