Movieland

Prologue

The movie theater was alive with the sounds of joy. Buttered popcorn and iced soda planted seeds of nostalgia. Rows of seats bounced with children and adults alike. It was finally happening. As Willy Wonka said eleven years prior, "The anticipation is killing me."

The lights dimmed. The blue chalk letters of E.T. appeared on the movie screen. The audience erupted.

"What's an Extra-Terrestrial?" a little boy asked a little girl through a mouthful of popcorn. His hair was blonde and cut in a perfect bowl except for one long strand slicked to his sweaty forehead.

"It's an alien, dummy. Don't you watch Star Trek?" The little girl had the look of a fighter. She wore a shirt with Princess Leia holding a lightsaber.

The movie unfolded like a pleasant memory you'd forgotten about; one you'd chalked off to impossible magic. A dream. It felt at once too real and too foreign. The children laughed and cried. The adults cried and laughed. Emotions sometimes are one and the same.

E.T. said goodbye to Elliott and flew off in his ship. It left a rainbow trail through the rising blue morning light. Trumpets sounded, covering up sniffles and one man who couldn't contain his honking wails. The father of the girl and mother of the boy saw each other wipe their eyes and laughed and didn't know what to do so they hugged. They breathed through the sadness and began to clap. Others joined until the audience stood in ovation.

The parents stepped into the aisle and a wave of people shoved them towards the glowing exit sign. The boy and girl touched fingertips and giggled.

"They'll be okay," the father said.

"Stay right there!" the mother called.

The wave carried them into the lobby. It showed no signs of stopping so they took the opportunity to rush to the bathroom. When they came back out, the lobby was packed with smiles. Three boys reenacted the bike riding scene. Someone said, "What about the wig?!" All over people attempted comically poor alien impressions of, "E.T., phone home."

The parents laughed at their own poor reenactments as they reentered the theater. The movie had curiously restarted. Maybe to fix the blip from the first scene.

Two theater staff members in maroon and yellow suits cleaned the rows and aisles, collecting trash and vacuuming popcorn. Apart from them, the theater was empty.

"Excuse me, excuse me," the mother said. "Have you seen a boy and a girl? They were sitting back here."

The kid had a Gumby frame and the neck to match. He removed headphones and draped them around his neck. "Yeah?"

"Little boy and girl," the father said, "About this height. Princess Leia shirt."

"Did you check the lobby?" the kid asked. He replaced his headphones and continued cleaning for the next showing.

The parents checked the lobby again. The people acting out the movie scenes had been replaced by excited families in the ticket line. The parents searched the lobby and the bathrooms and outside under the bright marquee. The boy and girl were gone.

They ran back into the theater. The cleaners were gone. The family in the movie sat at a table, talking about Halloween costumes. The mother and father frantically searched each row, under each seat, shouting for their children. They searched every nook and cranny of the theater, except for the screen. Elliott sat at the dining room table. Behind him, in the living room, stood the boy and the girl.

The parents ran away into the lobby, screaming for someone to help. Their children were missing.

Elliott and his brother argued. The boy and girl held hands and ducked behind the couch. The movie played on, as if nothing had happened.