My mother took us kids to our neighborhood second-run movie theatre several times a week, back after World War Two. In that day and time, the only relief from raising kids and running a household full-time was ten-cent two-hour breaks provided by the movie house.

Mother couldn’t afford a sitter or a housekeeper or a nanny, but ten cents-per-adult at night would bring small ecstasies to her and us kids, too. We could lose ourselves in cartoons and previews and B-grade detective yarns and Technicolor musicals. As we got older, on Saturday mornings Mother could put us on a bus with three dimes each, and we would ride Downtown to watch a double-feature matinee complete with serial and cartoon and nickel popcorn, leaving her home to enjoy some peace and quiet while our father went down to the farmer’s market to visit his buddies. Five cents for the bus, ten cents for the movies, five cents each for drink and popcorn, five cents for the return trip…and we could stay and watch everything twice! A full day of babysitting for Mother, a full day of air-conditioned summer camp for us!

Since watching films was a major part of my reality, much of my idea of what life could be like Somewhere Else was formed early on. To this day, I wish life was like a movie musical, where regular people, for no reason at all, burst into song as their moods dictated.

I always wondered what it would be like to have a beautiful actress serenade me while staring me straight in the eye, wondered whether it would be difficult to stare back without flinching or blinking or giggling, like the actors on the screen did. I also marveled at how perfect the actors’ skin looked, particularly in black-and-white, marveled at how actresses could twirl their skirts high without ever embarrassing themselves with a too-revealing glimpse of underwear or flesh, wondered how actors could keep from lusting after their female co-stars after a romantic scene ended, wondered how actors could swing from vines or leap between buildings or punch each other without serious injury.

Why couldn’t life be like this? After years of comparing film life to real life, I came to suspect that they were two parallel universes, and it seemed logical that each world was unable to contact the other. Once I figured this out, I gave myself permission to lead a rich fantasy life that would never encroach upon my real life, lead a real life without its ever encroaching upon my fantasy life. I also realized that there were people in the world who could not tell the difference between what they imagined and what reality was—and that they were the ones who got in trouble more frequently than I.

When nobody was looking, I’d walk along the street in the pouring rain, umbrella folded, singing joyfully at the top of my lungs, happy all by myself, much to the chagrin of passers-by. I could act out my fantasy in real life without hurting anybody! On my best days, I still do this, here in my little world—the bookstore at the center of the Universe. Between customers, when no-one else is in the shop, I can sing badly as loudly as I please, make little graceless dance moves, pretending that I’m as good as Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. And I can pretend that I’m the most happy fella, oblivious to the lopsided world outside, secure in the knowledge that, no matter how crazy things can get, I can still nurture my harmless fantasies and take good care of my spirit.

The only down side is that I don’t know how to impart this lifelong skill to you, so that you, too, can pull yourself up by your own inner goodwill and make a frown turn upside-down

© Jim Reed 2010 A.D.

 www.jimreedbooks.com