The Cinema

The rush of cold air hit her face and the door swung slowly shut behind.  It was opened twice more in the few short moments it took her to reach the man with the striped, collared shirt. He gave a quick smile as he tore the paper she had gotten for free, handing her a small stub. 

The small children in line behind her were giddy and loud, but it wasn’t a bother.  The parents handed the man their tickets and they rushed off, children in tow, no doubt late for their show.  She, on the other hand, took her time.  She chose the longest of the concessions lines and stood, drinking in her surroundings.  The couple before her stood closely to each other.  Her eyes on him; his eyes on the menu.

“I heard this one is so much better than the first,” the girl said excitedly.

The young man, holding her hand, smiled with his eyes, “Well I hope so, ‘cause the first one sucked.”

The couple grew quiet and her attention was caught by the gentlemen standing to her left in another line.  His phone was in his ear and his voice was loud.  “I know!  It’s amazing!  Have you seen it yet?  The critics have no idea what they’re talking about.  I smell Oscars. . . . I’m in line for more popcorn.  My kids are like ravenous beasts, you have no idea. . . . This is the third time I’ve filled it, too. . . . . Oh, I know, if I hadn’t already seen this movie twice. . . .”  The man stepped forward in line.

She looked down at her feet, seeing the kernel covered floor.  No doubt it had been cleaned that morning but with the flood of people bustling about, one could hardly tell.

The line was getting shorter and she finally made her way to the front counter.  A Coke and small popcorn was all she required. She collected another smile from the lady in stripes and then made her way towards the butter.  A little girl was standing where she needed to be.  Her Dora the Explorer jacket was shining with the substance meant only for popcorn.  Her mother rushed to her side, grabbing frantically at the napkins container and begging her daughter to stop rubbing her fingers on the greasy counter.

A moment later the mother scooped her little one up and hurried away, the little girl’s smile glistening with butter stained cheeks.

The boy beside her drenched his hot dog in ketchup and stalked away satisfied, showing no interest in the napkins he would most likely be missing.  She globbed just the right amount of butter on the popcorn then began on her way, traveling much slower than the general flow of traffic.  A breeze flew past, hauling four preteen boys.  They crossed her path and raced through the double doors to her left, raucous laughter accompanying them.  This was not her stop.

Two little girls were skipping towards her with an arm around the other’s shoulder, singing softly.  They were captured by a set of doors and their giggling faded away.   This wasn’t her stop either.

An older man pushed a grey haired woman in a wheelchair.  Atop the blanket in her lap, she held an icee.  The man leaned over and kissed her whispy hair and the woman smiled and promptly took a sip of her drink.  They disappeared through a pair of large doors to the right, their gate slow and smooth.

She paused, but for just a moment.  She had not yet reached her stop.

The halls had grown quiet but the thunder from behind closed doors betrayed their secret.  A bench caught her eye and she sat down.  The soda took a seat beside her, the popcorn resting in her lap.  She rested her head on the wall behind her and closed her eyes.  Rumbles from the neighboring theater massaged her mind and she felt herself drifting. . .

“She’s back today.”

He smiled, “I know. She came in same time as before.”

“I don’t see the point.  Why does she bother?”

“You really don’t know?”

His coworker shook her head.

He led her over to a quiet corner, away from the bustle of movie goers, but still in sight of the concessions.  “Every week she and her husband would come in and see a movie.  You’d think they would only see quiet dramas, but no.  If it was out, they saw it.  At first I thought this was strange.  Why would a seventy year old couple be interested in a horror movie or kid’s cartoon?  But then, over time, as I watched them, I knew.”

The girl widened her eyes, waiting for the answer.

“It wasn’t the movie that drew them here each week.  It was their love of going to the theater together.  I never heard them complain about a movie, not once.  I only saw smiles.  They loved being with each other, no matter where they were.”

He saw the girl’s eyes glisten for a moment before she sniffed and said, “Then what happened?”  The tone in her voice said she already knew.

“Then one week it was just her.”

She looked down.  “And she still comes every week?”

“Every week, but she doesn’t see the movies now.  She just comes.”

“Because she misses him…”

He nodded.

            The doors opened and a mob of people spilled out, each talking animatedly about the story they had seen on screen.  On their way towards the exits, most didn’t notice the elderly woman asleep on the bench, untouched popcorn in her lap.  The pounding of feet on carpet awakened her and she looked around, a small smile on her lips.  The food in her lap, now cold, she clutched as she stood.  The drink she gathered, untouched and waited for the mass to disperse.  Two theater employees stood across the hall, watching as she hobbled out the exit doors and into the night.  After a moment, they returned to work, knowing they would see her again soon.

the end