Monday May 23, 1955

Kevin cradled the tub of popcorn and cups of soda as he slowly stepped toward the main theater doors. A faint gray light flickered in the dark circle windows of the double-hinged red doors. The movie was already starting and his two sons were impatiently circling him and tugging at his jacket when they stood in line at the concession stand. It was difficult for him to explain that their “need” for popcorn and drinks was in direct competition with their desire to get to their seats. He sighed. The boys were rambunctious, but they were still good boys. Nonetheless, Anna would have been better able to get control over the situation.

He tried to remember the last movie they all went to see as a family at The Phoenix. It was the first time they brought six-year-old Jeffrey, who asked if The Phoenix was like a castle in one of the stories his mother had read to him. He was so awed by how tall it was compared to the rest of the buildings in the main strip of the downtown area. They had gone for a weekend matinee, so the adobe-like walls gleamed in warm sunlight. The stylized raised ridges running vertically along the building’s corners gave the illusion of columns cut out of solid clay. Kevin remembered how they were the picture of a perfect family, the two boys in the middle, holding the hands of their parents, surrounded by their protective love. Now Kevin couldn’t even get them to sit still long enough to hand them their drinks. Maybe it was for the best, otherwise they would have probably tripped or otherwise spilled the soda all over the well-vacuumed red carpet. Though it was clean, it was obviously worn from all the foot traffic through it.

In all truth, Kevin was surprised that The Phoenix was still open, especially considering that the drive-in at the edge of town had been open for the good part of a year. Most of the families on his block went there and watched the new movies. Granted, there were common complaints from families about the teenagers going there with intentions outside of the normal, expected behavior of sitting quietly and enjoying the movie. Yet the novelty of being able to see stars large as life from the comfort of one’s own car seemed to override people’s fears of indecent acts occurring in the cars around them. Kevin would have liked to take the boys to the drive-in, but something about The Phoenix always drew him back. His father Sidney used to take him to see movies back when they were in black and white. Kevin figured that if his family didn’t keep many traditions from when his grandfather Filip first came to the country from Poland, he could at least try to begin some semblance with one by taking his sons to the movies at the same theater his father had brought him.

The funny thing was that he could never remember any particular movie he had gone to see there. All he could remember was the wonder he felt at the larger-than-life images of people doing normal things like talking or extraordinary things like flying around on carpets. His father shared in this sense of awe, not only at the marvels on screen, but The Phoenix itself. Sidney once explained to Kevin that since there was no royalty or aristocracy in America, they built these palace-like theaters for the masses so everyone could feel rich for at least a little while every now and again in their regular lives. No matter what time the movie was scheduled to start, Sidney always took Kevin to the theater at least fifteen minutes earlier. He used to run his hands along the gilded panels of the walls in the lobby and exclaim his pride at how beautiful the craftsmanship was in the carpentry. Then again, he had been part of the construction crew, so it was only natural to take pride in his work. He once exclaimed that The Phoenix would stand forever in all its gilded glory. Kevin would stare with wide eyes at every piece of work his father would point out, believing everything he heard. Unfortunately, now it seemed like The Phoenix would be lucky if it could stand through the next decade, let alone for the ages.

Despite the wear and tear all over the place, there were few people in the audience. Kevin realized that the decay of the theater had been one which had occurred over time and not from heavy traffic. Eight-year-old Lester ran up to the front, while his shyer brother hid behind their father.

“Lester, get back here!” Kevin hissed, trying to catch up to his son.

“Daddy, I wanna sit in the balcony.” Jeffrey whispered his plea so softly, Kevin could barely hear it over Lester’s hurried steps.

“Jeffrey, not now. I have to get your brother.” Kevin

Jeffrey stood with his head facing the ceiling. “How do you think they can get the balcony to stay up so it doesn’t fall down over everyone else?”

As much as it was disconcerting to be in such a large, empty space, Kevin was glad that there were fewer people in the audience who could have been irritated at noisy children. If only Anna were still here, she could have answered Jeffrey’s precocious questions and calmed down Lester’s hyperactive tendencies. She would have known better than to get them candy and soda and would have managed to talk them down from being disappointed at the loss of such treats.

Somehow, Kevin managed to wrangle both boys into a center aisle so they would not strain their eyes and necks. There was no time to make it up the stairs to the balcony, since the opening credits were already rolling. It was an animated movie, one obviously made for families and not the sensational trash they showed at the drive-in as a mere precursor to teenage delinquent behavior. The boys quickly calmed down, appeased by the bright images of cute animals talking to each other and having adventures. Kevin occasionally looked at the boys to see if they had the same sense of wonder he once had at watching movies. He smiled at Lester’s question about getting a puppy like Scamp, the scruffy, but lovable mutt hero of the piece. Maybe that would be good for the boys. Having a dog would teach them responsibility. Maybe it would get their minds off the fact their mother was gone. No, that was a stupid idea. A dog cannot replace a mother.

Hell, Kevin was having a hard time getting his mind off the fact that Anna was gone. How was he going to tell the boys the truth? Then again, they seemed to be accepting of his current explanation, but he knew that they would ask more questions as they got older. It wasn’t fair to them that he couldn’t find the courage to explain what had happened.