My older brother and I decided to go to the movies. To the new theatre thirteen blocks to the east because it had many theatres instead of only one, plush seats, and sound that seemed to vibrate the building. It was glorious.
As we came out of the matinee, our senses overloaded, I saw that there was a Sylvester Stallone movie playing in another theatre. “I love Stallone,” I said.
“Come with me,” my brother said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the bathroom.
“Give me your jacket,” he said, once we were in.
I did. He put it on, handing me his.
“Wrap it around your waist, like it’s too hot and you don’t want to carry it anymore.”
I did that.
He turned us toward the mirror and looked us over. After a second, he nodded. “Perfect. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just follow me. Act natural, but don’t say anything.”
I followed him into the theatre that was about to show the Stallone movie. I acted natural. I said nothing.
It was glorious.