Memory #9

I was seven or barely eight. I have no memory in my mind of the movie itself, just the clearest portrait of the view from my seat. The theatre was almost empty; the lights had just gone out. We were settled in the second- or third-highest row, to avoid the straining of the neck and bursting of the ear. I in the second seat left from the center aisle. My mother to my left, quite a head taller. A slight dip down again to the face of my grandmother, who was probably lamenting the effects of the cold on eight-year-old children. My mom was probably waiting for things to really begin before she revealed snacks in plastic bags from the smuggling depths of her purse. They were talking about something and, peering at them through the dark, I would never figure out what it was. They continued to generate wonderful effortless warmth, as always. It was perfect.