Life, actually…

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WHERE DO JOHN WAYNE’S MATCHES GO?

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Hitching up pants and tucking in shirt, I am exiting the downtown movie theater of childhood in this Deep South village.

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Bright sunlight reminds me that it is only nighttime inside this film palace. Outside, atop the concrete sidewalk, real life blindingly resumes.

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Even though I am just a kid, I strut slowly and deliberately, eyes darting back and forth, down and up, searching for signs of lurking danger. My hands at my sides prepare to do imaginary quick-draws should fate decree.

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This is way more years ago than you can count. In fact, this is way more years ago than I dare to count, since I have lived way longer than the gods must have intended.

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Watching cowboy heroes on the big screen for two hours transforms me for a few minutes. For just a little while, I amble like a gunslinger. I pick popcorn bits from my teeth, using a wooden toothpick dispensed at the concession stand.

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I return to daily doin’s slowly, enjoying the fantasy of living in a world more action-packed than my own. A world without school teachers and parents and Sunday school instructors hovering about.

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I return to reality with enthusiastic reluctance.

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Living as I do, inside this fond memory, one tennis-shod foot in the past, the other in the present, I fortify myself against the encroachment of reality. But being a creature of mythology and science at the same time, I can’t help wondering about those cowboy heroes.

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For instance, when Roy Rogers dips his head to duck an incoming bullet, my curiosity is tweaked. Can Roy actually see the bullet coming, judge its trajectory, and move aside just in time to stay alive? When I am older, maybe I can study this puzzle with more experience and maturity.

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Another thing: every time John Wayne lights up a stogie during an intense dialogue, how come the wooden match is simply tossed aside out of silver screen range? Where does it go? Even in indoor settings, John Wayne continues to drop extinguished matches, rather than looking for an ashtray.

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My mom would never approve of this behavior.

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And if I dare try to discard my used toothpick at home, using John Wayne’s technique, how much trouble and fury would ensue?

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Maybe that’s why John Wayne and Roy Rogers are so special. They know how to get away with dodging bullets and littering without shame or punishment. I still haven’t learned how to do these simple but mysterious things. I guess I don’t need to.

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Later, it’s bedtime and I lay me down to lie awake.

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While I await drowsiness and slumber, I have a fading s’more memory or two. I dream of heroes and their impossible behaviors, moms and their guiding nurture, old movie theaters with their daytime nights and nighttime daylights, salty popcorn kernels, discarded stogies and toothpicks…

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I have just the right amount of fond memory to get me through till sunrise waves at me through the open screened window next to my bunk bed

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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

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