Theater-Going-Gone

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The floor is slick with what seems like sweat. The theater is filled - men and women, bright eyes, hungry mouths, gunslinger fingers, a carpet of speech, a hundred different speakers playing at once. Some lean back in chairs, chatting amiably, others are silent. There are old ladies with purses and grandma hair, young ladies with cell phones and dark eyeliner. Some young men stand by the door, looking out into the theater hallway, while talking amongst themselves. The older men are seated comfortably in their chairs, staring at the flashing screen.

An insurance ad. A beautiful woman, her hair like fresh gold, with perfect pearl teeth, giving a thumbs up.

A black screen with a purple movie reel and a question in bright yellow: “What was the special racing coupe used in the movie The Italian Job?”

A drink commercial, complete with splashing black soda and a bright red cup, with an arabesque design in white lettering. Coca-Cola.

The lights dim. The chatting overtones become mute. Eyes are fixed. Breath is drawn. Beneath the silence, the crunching of popcorn and the rustling of paper bags. The theater is hynotized, a dance of light lit upon faces, reflected by the slick floor and the movement of eyes. Statements are made, empires rise and fall, the heaven shatters, and people shrivel up and are reborn again.

The lights rise. The members of the army are pronounced, and the chatting resumes. People are confused, elated, sad, thoughtful - and the doors open, and the breath of life escapes into the world.

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