At The Movies

My friends and I entered the cramped waiting lobby at the theatre and still could not believe our fortune. To get recliner seats for a movie on the weekend was just like winning the grand prize in the newspaper’s crossword contest. While swimming in the waves of people, we finally made our way to the staircase closest to the cinema hall. I impatiently tapped my heels against the stair. It had been more than an hour, and we were still waiting for the doors to open. I turned around to fetch water for my friends when a sudden spurt of cold air made our hair rise. We glanced up at the door and saw it slowly creaking open. I instantly felt as though I saw a halo on top of the guard standing beside the door.

We quickly reached our recliner seats and jumped on their cushioned surface. It was the first time my shoes did not feel sticky due to the more-than-enough soda on the floor. The movie soon started, and the ceaseless chattering of couples became muffled whispers. Everyone seemed enthralled by the movie, and so was I. It was 3D, after all. My friends were tightly gripping each other’s hands and squeezed them every now and then. The background music suddenly changed, and my instinct told me not to look at the following scenes. Curiosity, however, got the better of me, and I jumped out of my seat when a ghost suddenly popped up on the screen. The lights soon faded in, and it was time for the interval.

We skittered out of the hall and were horrified to see the endless queue of people lining up to purchase snacks. Everyone was excitedly discussing the movie’s plot, and the familiar scent of butter melting on the puffy surface of a corn kernel made my empty stomach growl. I carefully gripped my perspiring beverage and the overly filled tray of nachos. While trying to balance my tray to make sure the salsa does not spill, I scissored my way out of the swarm of people and handed everybody their snacks. I aimed my drink toward the plastic holder, but it banged against the sides–too big.

While thinking of setting it on the floor and instantaneously recalling my restless feet, I squeezed the softening cup between my knees and tore open a bag of Skittles. After settling in my seat, the theatre somehow felt too cold. A woman in the front row blew into her hands while someone sneezed. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my knees–one of a hundred frozen bonbons in a theatre-sized icebox. I borrowed my friend’s jacket and smelt a familiar fragrance, like musk. The movie resumed playing, and everybody once again seemed to be lost in its magical charm. The emotions of the characters on the silver screen seemed to be pouring through me. Such was the charisma of a theatre, an experience worth dying for.