06.16.2002 - 9:50 a.m.

Saturday night at t 9:42pm, Kelly, Jimmy and I have finished dinner, and the Mothman Prophecies is rolling end credits. We have missed the first half hour of Star Wars, which the other two still haven�t seen, but The Bourne Identity starts at 9:50.

Three minutes for waffling and putting on shoes.

The theater is four minutes away if you hit the green light, which we didn�t. We get there in six. It is hard to drive; I am still feeling jumpy from the other movie, keep starting at the red taillights and other reflections in my peripheral vision.

It is 9:51 as we walk up to the building, but there are always previews. And in our town, there is never a line.

So there is a line. A black woman riding herd on three kids is at the window, and a guy with a dark buzzcut is standing behind them.

We are still okay, I think to myself.

But the lady is in the process of �helping� the kids decide which movie to watch.

�What�s the next show?�

There are two. The Bourne Identity is just starting (just starting!), and Bad Company is in fifteen minutes.

She needs a plot synopsis of each. Then she needs to know how much tickets are. �Get out your money,� she tells the kids, and they begin rooting through their pockets, coming up with an assortment of change and crumpled bills to pile in front of the window.

I am thinking, oh, God, he�ll have to count it.

The questions aren�t even done. She needs to know what Bad Company was about again, and who the actors are.

�Is it a comedy?� she asks.

I am thinking, lady, he just told you it was Chris Rock.

�What�s it rated?�

�PG 13,� the guy answers. He still hasn�t reached for the crumpled pile in front of him.

I am thinking, pick up the goddamn money.

�What�s that mean? There ain�t no nudity, is there?�

�No ma�am. Just some swear words.�

�That�s it? Hell, they hear that at home.�

I can�t help it, I laugh. The guy in line ahead of me throws a grin over his shoulder.

I like his smile. Maybe he�s here for the same movie.

We smile again as the woman hands each kid a ticket, snack money and fifty cents for emergency phone calls. �When that movie get out, you doan� come out here, you hear? You wait right in there by the snacks. Right in there,� she says, tapping the window by ticket guy�s nose.

One more before my turn. Maybe the previews will be long enough that we�ll still make it.

Cute guy who smiles steps up to the window now, standing very straight and square, legs slightly apart. Good. There will be no time-consuming questions from this one.

�Do you have a military discount?� Is the first thing he wants to know.

Ah, military. This explains the military hair, the military shoulders. The military ass.

I raise an eyebrow. There is just something about a military ass.

But it is not to be, as he asks for tickets to the next day�s Scooby Doo. Five tickets. Four adults and a kid. Right. Because nobody goes to the movies by themselves, they bring their girlfriend, another couple, and somebody�s kid.

Things in this town are hopeless.

But the movies were good.

-stonebridge

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