The camera takes its time parsing my studio apartment. Old newspaper clippings and photos tacked to the wall, my backpack and unmade bed, stacks of boxes I haven't finished unpacking, piles of laundry. (Cut me some slack. I just moved.) But I am already on the fire escape and impatient. "Come on, Mac, you have to see this," I call, and the camera follows my voice. Lonnie climbs through the window to the fire escape as I light my cigarette, turning to shield the flame from the wind. He's holding my camera, and pointing at me.
"Wow," he says, turning the camera to capture the panoramic view-sunset in Gotham. With orange light reflecting off the skyscrapers, long blue shadows behind the bikers and pedestrians, and a sky slowly fading from gold, to pink, to cerulean. "So this is what sold you on living in a shoebox."
"Pretty awesome, huh?" I gesture at the camera and take a drag. "What are you doing with that?"
"I'm just messing around with it. Do something cool."
"Like?" Lonnie and I have different definitions of the word.
"Maybe... Tell me a bit about your thesis, to practice for when you present it."
See what I mean? Though, usually I'm the nerd in the relationship. Too loud, too obviously excited about everything. I'm the type to tear through a playground on a late-night drunken stupor because what the hell is wrong with a college kid playing tag? Lonnie is the type who thinks tag is too mainstream. And now he wants to talk about my thesis? I take these victories where I can.
"I wouldn't call that cool. Besides, I'm not presenting it. It's going to be one of those sophisticated, artsy documentaries where I'm behind the camera the whole time. So I never have to hear my voice on tape." I describe it with the airy, flat affect of how I would expect a film major to sound, eliciting a smile from Lonnie.
"Maybe you'll need to present it, though. You never know."
"Ok, fine. What do you want to know about my thesis, before I delete this video later?"
"Hmm." He leans his elbow against the concrete windowsill, steadying his hand as he trains the camera on me. The wind tousles his hair and creates ripples up his shirt, so I catch a glimpse of his abs as his forearm flexes under the camera. It's easy to remember why I date him. "What do you know about the Batman?"
"By day, he lives among us in secret," I begin, my tone dramatic. Lonnie is skeptical of all things Batman, and I want to give him a show. "He could be anyone: your friend, your neighbor, me... OK, not me." (He laughs.) "But he could be anyone... else. All we know is when night falls and we need him most, there is only one man this city can rely on... Batman. Everything else about him-his identity, his past, his motivations-is a mystery. We, the people of Gotham, are completely in the dark."
I earn laughter from Lonnie, as I shrug and roll my eyes. (I've learned to impress him by pretending I don't try.) And I think tonight will be perfect. It's one of the last nights before my senior year at Gotham University. No homework, no plans, no deadlines. Lonnie in his exceptional mood, bolstered by weed, cheap wine and food from the Burrito place on the corner. But of course, I ruin everything by peacefully staring off into the sunset, where dark blue is spreading across the sky like spilled ink.
"Fuck," I say.
"What?"
I point, and Lonnie follows my gaze to the darkening sky, where the Bat Signal is illuminating a patch of sky over downtown. It's my first Bat Signal of the semester. My thesis project has officially begun.
"Are you getting that?" I ask Lonnie, who jerks the camera toward the light once I ask.
"The beacon?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." So much for wine and burritos. "I have to go." So much for date night.
Lonnie flips the camera toward his own face. "For the record, I've never seen Dick and Batman in the same place at the same time."
"Ha, ha." I block the camera with my palm as I kiss him. His lips are warm, and taste like red wine. "I'm sorry, babe, I know we had plans. But I really should film this."
Lonnie's lip twitches, then twists into a smile. His eyes are pleasant, but blank. I can never tell what he really feels. "Don't worry, just-when the thesis is done, put me in the credits?"
"You know it." It's a relief, his patience. I hold my hands out toward the camera. "May I?"
Lonnie hands me the camera and ducks inside. I take one last shot of the Bat Signal, sharp and imposing above the cityscape, before I snap the camera shut. The screen goes black.