Читать книгу Dancing at Lake Montebello - Lynne Viti - Страница 13

Matinee at the Shore

At the candy store near the whitewashed movie house

we spent our nickels on cream caramels and fireballs,

stuffed the small bags of sticky sweets into our pockets.

We pulled our t-shirts down to hide the evidence.

Don’t go on the Ferris wheel or the Tilt-a-Whirl,

sit downstairs at that movie house, the mothers warned,

as my older friend and I set out for Division Street.

DewAnn was a tough girl from Dundalk, sassy, full of questions.

I was three years younger, only half-listened to the mothers’ rules:

Separate sections, balcony, different customs down here —

Ensconced in her booth, the ticket lady asked our ages.

DewAnn hesitated. She was tall, looked twelve —

that meant an adult ticket, fifty cents.

All but our last quarter each was gone.

We were lucky that day — the woman didn’t fuss.

She tore two gray tickets off the roll, never smiled.

I followed DewAnn’s long legs up the wooden staircase,

dragged my hand on rough painted wallboards as we went.

The candy bag bulged in my pocket.

Laughter met us as at the landing.

Empty seats surrounded us.

I didn’t like to sit far from others

in a dark theater, even for comedies.

DewAnn said, We can’t mix.

We’d already broken one law, no candy inside the movies.

I felt we might as well break another — but I didn’t say a word.

After the newsreel, the screen turned to color.

Every soul in the balcony cheered.

But I slid down low in my seat,

stuffed another caramel into my mouth.