Drive-In Movie, July of ‘83
by Colleen McManus Hein

I’m calling my mom from a payphone next to the
concession stand. I have to let her know we’ve all
decided to go to the drive-in after work instead of
coming home. While our kitchen wall phone rings, I
try and see Anne and Jane in line for nachos, but the
metal phone cord is short and ropes me in. Right as
my mom answers, two boys start a fight not fifteen
feet from me. They’re circling each other, knees bent
ready to lunge, hands raised and ready to punch. “Just
wanted to let you know I’m at the drive-in,” I say
when she answers. “I should be home by midnight.”
One of the boys has an empty Coke bottle in one
hand; he smashes it against the edge of the
drinking fountain. The top breaks off and transforms
into a multitude of spikes which he brandishes like a
spear. “Okay,” mom says, “what’s playing?” A
flock of teenagers has circled the fighters and people
start yelling taunts. “I forget,” I say, trying to shrink
my body away from the commotion. “Something
scary.” Whose shouting?” My mom asks. “No one,”
I say, “just some kids goofing around. I’ll be home
later.” I hang up and walk backwards towards the
concession stand. I’m not used to violence in real-life
and I don’t want to see anything ugly. I turn and start
fast-walking, trying not to look like I’m running.
And then I am running.
 

Previously published in Come December: A Collection of Poems, by Colleen McManus Hein
 

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