We're Having the Time of Our Lives

When Jordan and I arrived at the theater, I stopped dead in my tracks. “Where is the ticket booth, Jordan? How are we supposed to buy our tickets? Where are the people who always sold them to us?” I shouted, starting to get a little upset. “I don’t know, Grandma,” she replied looking very confused. Meanwhile, there were four teenagers who were in the process of pushing some type of screens. “Excuse me,” I said. “How do you buy your tickets?” Three of the boys totally ignored me, but one said, “You buy them on this electronic ticket machine.” Not certain I heard correctly, I repeated, “You buy them on an electronic machine?” “Yep,” he replied and told me not to use a particular screen because it wasn’t working. Aghast, I looked at the screen, then, at Jordan, while I watched the boys heading into the theater. “Jordan,” I shouted, “I can’t do this—I don’t know how. Do you?” I added. Panicked, she screamed, “Help—isn’t there anyone out here who can help us?” We must have really looked pathetic because the teenager, who had originally told us to use the screen, backed out the door and came to help us. “We need to enter the movie you want to see,” he patiently explained to us. “It’s Ant Bully,” I replied, and the screen said the next showing was 4:30 PM. This really presented a problem because it was only 2:00 PM. “It’s supposed to be on right now,” I said. “Here, why don’t you follow me? and we’ll find someone who can help you,” the boy replied. He led us in the door and, sure enough, there really was a person sitting behind the counter who could help us. Waves of relief flowed through my body, almost causing me to crumple like a wet dishcloth. Both Jordan and I were so grateful that we thanked our “teenage hero” over and over. Watching him return to this friends, I thought, somewhere, there is a set of parents in Orange County, who are doing an exceptional job of raising their teenager, and I wished I could thank them, too. After discussing our situation with our live person, it became apparent we were at the wrong theater. Disheartened, Jordan and I discussed our problem to look for possible solutions. We both decided we didn’t want to wait two and one-half hours for the next showing so we asked about other features playing now. We chose a different movie, but there was only one drawback—we would have to enter the dark theater. Remembering all of my previous experiences, immediately, my breathing quickened and my hands began to mist. “Well, should we try it, Jordan?” enthusiastically, I asked. “Alright! Let’s do it, Grandma,” she replied. Suddenly, I turned back to the attendant and squeaked, “We don’t have to go back outside and try to buy a ticket, do we?” “No, definitely not,” he said. “In fact, anytime you come to the theater, you come right through this door and we’ll personally help you.” Overcome with gratitude, Jordan and I headed to our theater. “Jordan, it’s going to be really dark in there,” I said, “and I always have a lot of trouble seeing. How about you?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never gone into the theater when it’s dark.” Now my hands started to sweat, and I whispered, “Oh boy!” We quickly entered, and I told Jordan we would stand still until our eyes adjusted to the dark. We stood and waited and waited—nothing happened! “Jordan, can you see?” I asked. “No, Grandma, I can’t see anything. How about you?” she added. “No, nothing” I replied. “Here hold my hand and use your other hand to feel along the wall. That’s it—very slowly and very carefully. Okay, we’re going up the stairs—one at a time. Now can you see?” Her reply was one word, “No!” Why? I thought, why did she have to inherit this from me? Jim can see in the dark. Why couldn’t she have gotten his genes, just this once? No, apparently, she was exactly like me, and, even together, we could see nothing. Talk about the blind leading the blind! “Grandma, I think there are two seats right here,” Jordan whispered as she started to slide into one. “No,” I shouted and pulled her back. “Jordan, there may be someone sitting in that seat.” Alright, now it was apparent—Jordan could see less in the dark than I could, and I swear I couldn’t see anything. “Here, let me feel the seats first,” I suggested. Tentatively, and very painstakingly, I started to pat the chair. Ugh-oh—something didn’t feel right. Someone was in the seat, and I was touching a body. After uttering a truly embarrassed apology, I told Jordan to hold onto the wall and my hand again, and we felt our way down the steps. Just as we got to the bottom, two young girls jumped out of their seats, and Jordan and I slid into them. We were saved—at last. Finally, we were seated. I began to pay attention to the movie, and again I felt my hands begin to perspire—then sweat profusely. What were we watching? What kind of movie had I brought Jordan to? The barnyard animals were having nightly rave parties. No! No! No! This could not be happening to me. What would her parents say? What should I do? Should we leave now? Well, at least it can’t get any worse than this, I thought. Ha! Ha! Ha! It did. Suddenly, a pack of coyotes jumped on the cow, who was the main character, and attacked him. Immediately, my hands flew over Jordan’s eyes, and I reached way, way back through the years to everything I had learned in Psych 101, 102, Abnormal Psychology (A bunch of howling coyotes killing the pathetic cow surely sounded abnormal to me.) as well as Counseling Techniques 101, 201, 301, and 401, mixed with Handling Grief and Dying. I used all those, and more, with a large dose of Reality Therapy as I talked and talked, trying to keep this from becoming the most traumatic experience of her life. I had her visualize the animals (I couldn’t remove my hands from her eyes because the coyotes were still tearing apart the cow.) and describe how they looked. Were they real? This was the question I asked again and again. Was any of this real or was it all someone’s imagination? Do real animals wear clothes? Slowly, Jordan began to calm down and relax as I pointed out point after point. At last, I could remove my hands from her eyes, and she agreed it was just like a cartoon…The animals were not real and no one was really killed. Jordan began to laugh and enjoy the animals’ antics as they danced, sang, and played their instruments. Taking a deep breath, I tried to relax my body. Now what? I thought. Good grief! Now several of the animals stole a car and went on a joy ride. Could this really be happening to me? I tried to look around, but as usual, I couldn’t see anything but the screen, so I listened carefully and heard many children’s voices.….Their parents had brought them. I tried to calm my breathing as I attempted to reassure myself it would be alright. For the most part, as the movie went on, it became apparent the kids could only relate to the slap-stick comedy of the animals. The adults and teenagers, on the other hand, could understand and appreciate a different interpretation of the story line. What a clever idea, I thought. Testing this theory, I leaned over and asked Jordan, “What do you think of the movie?” “Oh. Grandma, I love it. It’s s-o-o-o funny,” she replied. “Maybe we shouldn’t bring Peyton to see it because she probably wouldn’t understand it’s not real,” I added. “She might get upset, huh?” “Yeah, Grandma. She’s not ready for this movie yet.” So, at last, I could relax and enjoy the movie. Jordan would go home and tell her parents it was s-o-o-o funny, and I could agree with her. She wouldn’t talk about raves, stealing cars, and going on joy rides. Yes! Now if only I could forget the part about the coyotes killing the cow.…I’ve got to remember, “Do animals wear clothes? Do animals talk?” No, and, no, again! “Is it real?” No! Oh, I hope I don’t have nightmares tonight. Maybe, I’m not ready for this movie yet!