She wrapped her arms around her son.
At first Ethan stayed stiff.
Then he leaned against her.
His father stood nearby looking at the floor.
Eventually the mother
said,
“Brad, let’s go home.”
Brad walked toward his son.
He looked uncertain.
Then he gently rested a hand on Ethan’s head.
“Come on, bud.”
They walked toward the doors.
Just before leaving, Ethan turned around.
He waved at Owen.
Owen waved back.
When they disappeared through the glass doors, the lobby slowly returned to normal.
Owen remained standing in the middle of it.
I walked over and took his hand.
It was shaking.
Hard.
“Can we leave?” he whispered. “I don’t think I can finish the movie.”
“Of course.”
We walked to the car.
Owen sat behind the steering wheel but didn’t start the engine.
For a long time, he stared at the theater.
Then he lowered his forehead onto the steering wheel and cried.
I had seen Owen cry only a few times during our marriage.
This was different.
It felt like something that had been locked inside
him for decades finally had somewhere to go.
I put a hand on his back.
Eventually he sat upright.
“The parking lot,” he said.
“What about it?”
“This is the same theater.”
I stared at him.
He pointed toward the far edge of the parking lot.
“They renovated it. Changed the sign. Changed almost everything.”
He swallowed.
“But that spot over there… that’s where Dad took me when I was nine.”
The memory he had just described.
It had happened here.
“Owen, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted to come back.”
He looked toward the building.
“I wanted one good memory here.”
He wiped his face.
