I thought my boyfriend was odd.
Every movie we watched in a theater was the same: Shared popcorn, hands held, laughing at the same scenes. He was the perfect date, until the movies ended. My guy was under the strange impression when the movie was over, it wasn’t really over. As everyone around us stood up and made their way past us, down the stairs, to the exits, he stayed.
He watched the credits.
This made me strangely nervous. Everyone leaves when the credits start to roll, right? Maybe a few will stay to see who played that one dude with the accent and the eyepatch, but then they’ll pack up their trash and exit. He’d sit back in his seat, munch the popcorn stragglers in the bottom of the bucket, and seemed to read—and care—who the assistant to the first best key boy caterer’s driver was. It made me feel self-conscious as we were climbed over or as the cleaning crew arrived to prepare the theater for the next show.
Despite his bizarre credit-watching habit, I married my boyfriend. He is now my ex-boyfriend. Some things never change, however.
We watch the credits. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ve used movie credits to hunt for baby names. We talk about what we just saw. We anxiously await for the list of songs to see what we could download. We let the world rush up, out, and around us while remaining still. Sometimes, we’ve been treated to bonus scenes after the credits roll and feel a bit smug our patience paid off.
Why is everyone in a rush to bottleneck themselves in the narrow hallway to the exit? Why the stampede to the bathrooms (okay, that I can understand), the parking lot, the locations where crowds and cars clog and tempers flare? When everyone leaves at once, everyone leaves at once. Yuck.
Last night, we had a rare date out of the house. My dear mother-in-law hung out with the kids so we could attend a preview screening of a movie that will be released in a few weeks. Sadly, we arrived a bit late so we didn’t get in to the theater. Not wanting to waste our opportunity, we decided to see The Descendants with George Clooney. I won’t wreck it for you if you haven’t seen it, but it’s not exactly a romantic comedy. There’s death, betrayal, rebellion, confusion, complexity, and a few laughs. The subject matter is rich, depressing, redemptive. It acknowledges our spouses are our love, our joy, and very often our pain.
There was no question about riding the movie to it’s end. We did.
Later, as I prepared for bed, a truth about my husband popped into my head. That still happens after 16+ years of togetherness, which is a testimony to the complexity of marriage. Or maybe I’m just a slow learner.
I was thinking about the first months of our relationship and all the movies we saw. I thought about the credits and how it made me deeply uncomfortable to not join the crowds, the flow of people. I didn’t see my boyfriend’s dedication to the credits as a sign he was a man up for the long haul. I didn’t see it as a sign of patience. I didn’t see it as a sign he had respect for art and the people who do it well.
But now I do. He stayed through the credits. That simple practice reveals who he is in more ways than I ever imagined.
actual colorado sunset
When the music swells, when the sun sets on the horizon, when the actors are in silhouette and the screen goes black, he won’t quit. He’ll sit and wait and hold my hand. He’ll appreciate what it took to piece the story together.
