# The Drive-In



## Arcopitcairn (Aug 21, 2012)

[FONT=&Verdana]When I was young, my family lived in Brown County, Indiana. We had a mobile home towed to a remote stretch of wooded land, in hopes to one day build a proper house. My father was a firefighter, and he worked for 48 hours straight and was off for 24. When he was away, my mother, little brother, and I were alone in the woods. There wasn’t much to do. My mother would sometimes take us to a nearby drive-in. One particular evening she took us to see a movie that would have quite an effect on my youthful mind.
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  [FONT=&Verdana]Preparation for a night at the drive-in was always important. Pillows and blankets would be gathered, for maximum comfort. The old cooler would be filled with ice, for sodas and bologna sandwiches. Other assorted snacks, like chips and cookies, would be bagged. Then, with our supplies, we would pile into the car like a stampede and be on our way. We didn’t have a lot of money, and we couldn’t go to the movies very often, so we were very excited when the opportunity presented itself. 
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  [FONT=&Verdana]On the ride to the drive-in, whenever I saw other people in their cars or on the street, I remember feeling so horribly sorry for them that they weren’t going where I was going. I guess I just couldn’t understand that, if the drive-in was most surely in operation that evening, why anyone in their right mind wouldn’t be going. There must have been something wrong with them. I shook my nine-year-old head in honest and empathic pity for their obviously dark and meaningless lives.
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  [FONT=&Verdana]All sympathetic feeling for those poor souls promptly vanished, however, when the large, vine covered back of the massive Showtime Drive-In screen became visible in the failing light of the early evening. From the car window, through the speeding trees, the monolith stood, its base covered in overgrown brush, and its square frame bordered in buzzing red neon slashes. Bluest blue neon accentuated the bright chunky letters on the back of the screen that spelled out the name of the desolate cinematic shrine. The darkening woods swayed and rustled in the crisp, autumn breeze as we eased the car into the line for the drive-up ticket booth. 
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  [FONT=&Verdana]The two minute wait was unacceptably disgusting, but I could find no fault with those intrepid explorers who preceded us, for they, too, were in the merciless thrall of the oasis of wonder that was the Showtime. After ten-thousand years of impatient suffering, we finally made it to the ticket booth, and my mother forked over whatever meager pittance was requested for our entrance. However much it cost, it was a bargain.
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  [FONT=&Verdana]We drove slowly over the crunching gravel, past all the other lucky families, and if you caught any of their eyes, a secret look of satisfaction passed from soul to soul, a nodding and smug acknowledgement that those among the privileged often exchange. My mother pulled the car up onto the small hill, in between the metal posts from which the speakers hung like a sweet promise, their smiling grills and plastic knobs waiting patiently. The car was angled upwards at the huge white screen, a colorless void set to burn with smears of bright wonder. She plucked the speaker from its rusty perch, and she hung it on the inside of her window. When she cranked the plastic knob, we added our speaker’s sound to the chorus of instrumental movie themes that drifted in the air throughout the drive-in. My little brother and I were then freed to wander in the expectant gloaming.
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  [FONT=&Verdana]We walked the gravel hills, full of happy families swarming, all eating, all drinking, all joyful, and after a quick circuit of the scene, we headed for the playground. The playground of a drive-in was a special sort of place, because you could play there only a few times a year. It was a metal and plastic Stonehenge, and the squeaking merry-go-round altar stood for time immemorial as mute witness to thousands of burnt, celluloid offerings to the pagan gods of film. Strange and interesting children, fellow pilgrims whom we would never see again in our lifetimes, shared flashes of stories and snippets of friendship in the long shadows of coming night. 
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  When it was dark enough, our brief playtime was interrupted by the wailing of horns and the strobing flashes of headlights. The patrons of the drive-in, in unison, had agreed that it was time for the movie to begin. 
  [FONT=&Verdana]As if on cue, the dark movie screen roared to life in a splash of dazzling color, exposing the children on the playground, and warning us in its cyclopean glare to disperse. The monkey bars, the slide, the swings, and the merry-go-round were abandoned, and my brother and I, along with all the other children, scattered into the night to find our parents’ cars.
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  [FONT=&Verdana]Various messages flashed on the screen as we settled into our positions. I was in the front seat with my mother, and my little brother was in the back seat. We arranged our pillows and blankets just right, and we dug in to our sandwiches and soda. Through our windshield, the screen touted local businesses, reminded everyone of the safety rules, and showed little animated bumpers that informed us how many minutes we had left until the movie began, illustrating the passing of time with dancing girls, or with trained hot dogs that performed tricks. 
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  [FONT=&Verdana]The tantalizing advertisements for the refreshment stand were always of particular interest, as we could never afford any of the candy, popcorn, hot dogs, or other treats that were sold there. The tinny sound of the blaring speaker filled the car and spoke to us with friendly familiarity, reminding us in song that the moment was finally upon us. The movie was about to start. It was a film called _Friday The 13[SUP]th[/SUP]_.
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  In the first few moments, a young couple was killed by an unseen murderer, through whose eyes we were witnessing the event. The killing itself was not much more gruesome than anything I’d seen before, but the thrill and intensity increased steadily. Luckily, my little brother was asleep about fifteen minutes into the show. One by one, throughout the film, the cast of attractive young people were slaughtered. There was a slit throat, an axe to the head, corpses pinned to doors with arrows; an unbelievable series of violent acts that exploded in a creepy and unsettling atmosphere. 

  The final girl, the heroine, possessed the grit and resourcefulness to finally stop the maniacal killer. She chopped the killer’s head off right in front of us, not a big deal now, but back then it was nothing less than cinematic sorcery. 

  [FONT=&Verdana]I had never seen anything like Friday The 13[SUP]th[/SUP] before in my young life, and aside from the fear I felt at the end of the movie, I also felt exhilaration. I lived vicariously through a horrible event, with everyone else at the drive-in, a communal vision of terror and murder, and we were all still safe as the credits rolled. It was like riding a roller coaster, brushing up against danger, flirting with death, and coming out the other side with a feeling of victory. I was stunned, my mind spinning as I sat in our car on that cool night, and I was never the same after that experience.
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  [FONT=&Verdana] I wanted that feeling again, and I got it many times, on film, video cassette, or on DVD, as I devoured every ghastly movie I could get my hands on. That night at the drive-in turned me into a massive fan of the creepy world of horror films. 
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  [FONT=&Verdana]I can tell you now that the producers of the first Friday the 13[SUP]th[/SUP] created the film to cash in on the success of John Carpenter’s _Halloween_, and that both films were influenced by the Italian _Giallo_ films of the late sixties and early seventies, as well as a Canadian film called _Black Christmas_ from 1974. 
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  [FONT=&Verdana]But on that night at the Showtime Drive-In, I had no expertise on the history and execution of horror films. I could not have told you how the special effects were done, and I could not rattle off significant directors or actors. All I had at that time was the dark ride home through the woods to our lonely and remote home, surrounded on all sides by trees and the killers that certainly hid within their branches. My family all slept in the same room that night, and the hall light was most definitely left on.
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  It’s a small and silly story, really, but that night at the drive-in was significant for me. Everyone has bad things happen in their life, horrible things that shape them, and I have been shaped by hard times too. And if my life _has_ been a series of difficulties and trials, those times can go hang, because I prefer to think of myself as someone who has been affected more by the small and happy times of my life, like that night at the Showtime.


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## Divus (Aug 21, 2012)

Arco, you can write.  Your grammar needs a little tightening but I read the piece through to the end.

The tale started off all folksy and I started to wonder what the punch line would be but then  to read that in later life you turned into a freak horror story lover did not quite fit in with the mental image created in my head by the  kids running around.   And where were all the courting (that's a lovely word from that era) couples?

How about another tale from the '50s?   But I want a happy ending this time!,


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## garza (Aug 21, 2012)

Great piece of writing. I forgot I was reading something and lived it right along with you on the drive over, at the playground, all the way through to the hall light left on. Love it.


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## Arcopitcairn (Aug 21, 2012)

Divus said:


> Arco, you can write.  Your grammar needs a little tightening but I read the piece through to the end.
> 
> The tale started off all folksy and I started to wonder what the punch line would be but then  to read that in later life you turned into a freak horror story lover did not quite fit in with the mental image created in my head by the  kids running around.   And where were all the courting (that's a lovely word from that era) couples?
> 
> How about another tale from the '50s?   But I want a happy ending this time!,



Well, it's a true life event, and I don't honestly remember any couples steaming the place up. I'm sure they were there

This night actually happened in 1980, unfortunately towards the end of the drive-in in America. There are still many drive-ins to be found, but somehow it's not the same. I wish I could have gone to a drive-in in the 1950's. I often watch intermission films from the period on youtube. I don't understand how I can be so nostalgic for a time in which I was not alive.

I suppose that the happy ending, like much in my life, is the simple memory of the time and place.


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## Arcopitcairn (Aug 21, 2012)

garza said:


> Great piece of writing. I forgot I was reading something and lived it right along with you on the drive over, at the playground, all the way through to the hall light left on. Love it.



Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it.


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## Divus (Aug 22, 2012)

"I suppose that the happy ending, like much in my life, is the simple memory of the time and place".

Agh, yes.  Well said.   Memories are what life is all about.     So if you can raise in a reader's mind their own memories of a somewhat similar event, they will enjoy your writing.   Life doesn't all have to be crash, bang, wallop, it is usually the simple things that raise a smile - or equally a tear- as part of the memory of some sad event.

Whenever I write a story about the death of an animal - some readers cry and when they reply to me, telling me of their grief, I know that along with that inevitable grief came some  linked memory of pleasure in happy times.  

Comphrende?
Dv


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## Gumby (Aug 22, 2012)

This brought back a lot of my own childhood memories of those magical nights at the drive-in. For us, it was homemade popcorn and soda for snacks. Oh, and we sometimes took lawn chairs to sit out around the car in. 
Thanks for bringing those memories back.


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## Trilby (Aug 22, 2012)

First off, this isn't "a silly little story" - It is a very good nostalgic piece of writing.

Here in the UK we didn't have drive-ins, yet I was with you all the way. You have a great memory for detail, "a secret look of satisfaction passed from soul to soul" great!

What's more I read it right through to the end - with long pieces I usually lose interest and give up.

Well done. I shall keep an eye out for your writing in the future.


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## Isis (Sep 1, 2012)

I always wanted to go to a drive-in as a kid after seeing them in movies and in old TV shows, but alas, I was born too late. I love how the details about your life and family at the beginning of the piece (your place off in the woods, how the three of you would be alone there) really set up the ending, as well as little insights into a child's mind: the short wait feeling unacceptably long, feeling bad for people who didn't get to go where you were going. I enjoyed this as a glimpse into an experience that felt somewhat familiar through other forms of media, but which was made a lot more real and personable and relatable through the way you wrote it. I could imagine the drive through, the playground, and the car really well (was it one of those with the bench front seats? My grandparents had cars like that when I was a kid). I look forward to reading more of your work. Let me know if you'd like a closer look at this or anything else - while nonfiction writing isn't my forte, I'm trying to improve. Doing a line by line critique or looking for something specific would help both of us.


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## Cran (Sep 16, 2012)

It was well-written. 

I know such things happened, but I am reticent these days to support a tale of a mother 
taking a nine year old to see a movie made for a 15+ or 17+ (as I believe it was in the USA) audience.


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## Arcopitcairn (Sep 16, 2012)

Thanks, Cran. I agree that it was an interesting parenting choice, but I don't seem much the worse for wear


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## Ddesmond (Sep 28, 2012)

Thank you for the pleasant trip down memory lane.
For the first half of the piece I thought it was written by one of my siblings.  But you left out the part about these trips being the only time we were allowed onto the roof of the station wagon.  Then you mentioned Friday the 13th.  The only movie we ever saw at the Drive in was The Apple Dumpling Gang.


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## Desertrose (Oct 7, 2012)

I enjoyed the read and it also took me back down memory lane, although if I recall it was movies like "The pink panther" that we saw


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## qwertyportne (Oct 10, 2012)

Friday 13th was one scary movie! I was a teen in the 50s and got my first kiss in a drive in. Still took my family to the drive ins as late as the 70s. I truly miss them. 

Your story got better as it proceeded. That is, neither the title nor the first several sentences ignited my curiosity enough to leverage me into reading farther. If it had been in a collection of stories, not this forum, I would have turned the page. You're probably not "competing" with other stories on an editor's desk, of course, but you might consider starting your story with one of the later, more attention-grabbing paragraphs.

But I'm glad I kept opn reading because it was a good read. My focus right now is short  memoirs and I think your story was exactly that. Thanks for posting it.

--Bill


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## virginia (Oct 24, 2012)

'Arcopitcairn', I agree with everyone above who liked this piece: it's great descriptive writing with wonderful use of metaphor and I really felt I was there with you. As, like 'Trilby', I am also in the UK and have never known anything resembling a drive-in, that's quite amazing. 

Well done, 'Arcopitcairn', and thank you. It was a pleasure to read.

Virginia


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