I did the totally middle-schooly thing wherein I put my hand on the couch about halfway between us
to let him know that it was okay to hold it, but he didn’t try.
An hour into the movie, Augustus’s parents came in and served us the enchiladas, which we ate on the couch, and they were pretty delicious.
The movie was about this heroic guy in a mask who died heroically for Natalie Portman,
who’s pretty badass and very hot and does not have anything approaching my puffy steroid face.
As the credits rolled, he said, “Pretty great, huh?” “Pretty great,” I agreed, although it wasn’t, really.
It was kind of a boy movie. I don’t know why boys expect us to like boy movies. We don’t expect them to like girl movies.
“I should get home. Class in the morning,” I said.
I sat on the couch for a while as Augustus searched for his keys.
His mom sat down next to me and said, “I just love this one, don’t you?”
I guess I had been looking toward the Encouragement above the TV, a drawing of an angel with the caption Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?
(This is an old argument in the field of Thinking About Suffering,
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