To block the TV for a moment, I leaned my torso over his hips and rested my weight on my left arm. He was slumped down; his feet placed on the table behind me. The commercials blared.
“So there was this scene in the movie,” he started, becoming more animated. I shifted back onto my legs, watching him. “This guy in the movie is being chased by these guys and he breaks up with his girlfriend, but after he comes close to getting killed,” he paused, “You know what the movie is about, right?”
I nod. He continues, “So he calls her up and says, ‘Hey, look, you’re the light of my life and we’re meant to be together and I’ve made a mistake.’” He begins to laugh and I can feel something harden inside me. “So then he’s like, talking to her and telling her this and she says, ‘Let’s get married.’” His laughter bursts out louder, “And he’s like, whoa, uh, well, no and um, that’s such a mistake and tells the girl, ‘Oh there are better things out there for you and you know I’m such a dumbass anyhow.’”
I chuckle, then pull my hand into a fist and mimic stabbing myself in the heart, letting out a low grunt. I mimic twisting the knife. His laughter slows and becomes nervous and apologetic. After a moment, he says, “Yeah… I know, but it’s still funny.” He shifts his eyes back to the TV and I see the lights flash against his eyes.