out of town, in the County.
Driven past so many times, you point to it every one.
"There's the drive-in!"
I haven't been to one in years. Since I was eighteen. Don't even remember the film.
"My family used to come all the time. We'd all pile in the van. Four kids and mom and dad."
Everytime, but this night was different.
We went to the drive-in.
The sunlight was dying slowly. We got there right before the rush and got a pretty good spot until the pickup parked in front of us. Oh well. It was still a pretty good spot.
The wizened hippy owner was puttering around on his ancient motorcycle. From screen to screen and back to the snack shack.
Waiting in line for treats, plus a small cache in the car. Diet coke and two straws.
The old guy's announcer voice on full, well-practiced and sure. Horns blaring to welcome the show.
Thinking ahead, you brought a blanket and pillows. I love that you always bring a blanket and pillows.
Small touches under the blanket, each of us trying to edge closer but wary of the brake and shift.
The movie didn't matter. It could have been much worse than it was and still it would have been the best movie I have ever seen.
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