Silly in love, that’s what they was. They was always kissing and touching each other and laughing at their own good luck in finding one another.
‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walked into mine,’ he said to her one day. It was a line from an old movie his da was fond of.
‘I don’t even know what a gin joint is,’ Samantha said.
And they laughed and kissed again and Jimmy tried to explain about the movie and the line he’d borrowed from ‘the most romantic film ever’. And he told her about the last scene from the film and how Ingrid Bergman just flies off into the foggy night.
‘And she left love behind,’ said Jimmy
‘That aint romantic. That’s just dumb.’
He shrugged and said how his da always teared up at the end.
‘I’d never leave you behind,’ she said and she leaned in and kissed him some more.
‘Play it again, Sam,’ Jimmy said and his voice was all funny and he didn’t move his top lip and ‘Sam’ came out as ‘sham’ and they laughed again without either of them really knowing why.
‘I’d have stayed,’ she said. ‘If it was me and you, there’s nothing woulda got me on that plane.’
‘She was married,’ Jimmy said. He hadn’t explained that before. ‘She got on the plane with her husband. If they’d stayed then the husband woulda been arrested and shot.’
Samantha sucked in air, held it in her cheeks for a moment, thinking; then she blew it out again and it was like she was doing a hard calculation of some sort and not really coming up with the answer. ‘Why do grown ups make things so difficult for themselves?’ she said.
Jimmy shrugged.
‘Love is just so black and white and simple and obvious; grown ups just muss it up.’
Jimmy said it was just a movie and he said movies weren’t real and he took Samantha’s hand in his and that was real.
They walked a way in silence and they walked in step and they was both thinking their own thoughts for a while. Jimmy was wondering when the word ‘film’ was replaced by the American word ‘movie’. When he was younger it was always ‘film’ and now it was mostly ‘movie’ and he didn’t know when that had happened. Samantha was still thinking about Ingrid Bergman – even though she had no idea what Ingrid Bergman looked like.
‘What if she’d let the husband get on the plane and she’d stayed to be in love?’
Jimmy shrugged again. ‘I don’t think the director had thought of that.’
They continued again in silence before something else occurred to Samantha.
‘This Ingrid woman, was she pretty?’
‘It’s shot in black and white – everyone’s pretty in black and white.’
Jimmy was pleased with his answer. It made sense to him. There was pictures of his mam and his da from way back, black and white pictures of them as kids and, apart from the hair and the clothes, he thought they looked pretty. His da always made a joke about the pictures – he said they was taken before colour had been invented.
‘Was she as pretty as me?’ Samantha said.
‘I love you,’ said Jimmy, which wasn’t really an answer to the question.
Patricia Ann McNair 
Silly in love, that’s what they was. They was always kissing and touching each other and laughing at their own good luck in finding one another.
‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walked into mine,’ he said to her one day. It was a line from an old movie his da was fond of.
‘I don’t even know what a gin joint is,’ Samantha said.
And they laughed and kissed again and Jimmy tried to explain about the movie and the line he’d borrowed from ‘the most romantic film ever’. And he told her about the last scene from the film and how Ingrid Bergman just flies off into the foggy night.
‘And she left love behind,’ said Jimmy
‘That aint romantic. That’s just dumb.’
He shrugged and said how his da always teared up at the end.
‘I’d never leave you behind,’ she said and she leaned in and kissed him some more.
‘Play it again, Sam,’ Jimmy said and his voice was all funny and he didn’t move his top lip and ‘Sam’ came out as ‘sham’ and they laughed again without either of them really knowing why.
‘I’d have stayed,’ she said. ‘If it was me and you, there’s nothing woulda got me on that plane.’
‘She was married,’ Jimmy said. He hadn’t explained that before. ‘She got on the plane with her husband. If they’d stayed then the husband woulda been arrested and shot.’
Samantha sucked in air, held it in her cheeks for a moment, thinking; then she blew it out again and it was like she was doing a hard calculation of some sort and not really coming up with the answer. ‘Why do grown ups make things so difficult for themselves?’ she said.
Jimmy shrugged.
‘Love is just so black and white and simple and obvious; grown ups just muss it up.’
Jimmy said it was just a movie and he said movies weren’t real and he took Samantha’s hand in his and that was real.
They walked a way in silence and they walked in step and they was both thinking their own thoughts for a while. Jimmy was wondering when the word ‘film’ was replaced by the American word ‘movie’. When he was younger it was always ‘film’ and now it was mostly ‘movie’ and he didn’t know when that had happened. Samantha was still thinking about Ingrid Bergman – even though she had no idea what Ingrid Bergman looked like.
‘What if she’d let the husband get on the plane and she’d stayed to be in love?’
Jimmy shrugged again. ‘I don’t think the director had thought of that.’
They continued again in silence before something else occurred to Samantha.
‘This Ingrid woman, was she pretty?’
‘It’s shot in black and white – everyone’s pretty in black and white.’
Jimmy was pleased with his answer. It made sense to him. There was pictures of his mam and his da from way back, black and white pictures of them as kids and, apart from the hair and the clothes, he thought they looked pretty. His da always made a joke about the pictures – he said they was taken before colour had been invented.
‘Was she as pretty as me?’ Samantha said.
‘I love you,’ said Jimmy, which wasn’t really an answer to the question.