Jeanne was getting the concession stand below the projection office ready for the next and final show for the night. The cardboard boxes of Milk Duds and red Swedish Fish were neatly organized behind glass, the gallon of butter was ready by the popcorn machine, and a half-dozen hot dogs rolled in their oven like pebbles beneath ocean waves. This was the final night for the showing of Destroy All Monsters, which Jeanne knew was not the last cheap Japanese monster movie her husband Neil had acquired for the summer. The stuff out of Hollywood, the Kubrick and Polanski pictures, were bought by the big city theaters, the kind with a roof over the head, the kind run by more than two people, the kind that could afford them.
With the sunset beyond the horizon, the kids in their Cadillacs and Ford pickups drove in one-by-one, Neil taking their dollars and handing back a yellow paper ticket by the fence gate. Once they parked their vehicles on the ramps facing the titanic screen, the line at the concession stand started to form. Jeanne took note of the groups, distinct but similar between each and every night.
A football jock with a red and white jacket, his arm around his mousey girlfriend who looked like she may collapse from his aggressive groping. A group of farm boys still in their muddy, denim overalls, the stench of lentils overpowering their mountain of greasy popcorn. Jeanne didn't think lentils would smell like that, but she came to realize that anything that grows in the ground and gets plucked by sweaty men tends to find a way to own a distinctive musk. There was a gaggle of university girls, their ankle length skirts not modest enough to cover their foul mouths. Then there was a family; a mother and father, with three boys and a girl. The boys wanted everything the concession stand had to offer, demanding their hot dog be garnished with M&Ms. Jeanne looked to the mother, a woman who was tired and hoping for a quiet night, who just said "We'll just share a popcorn."
Jeanne already had two very young boys of her own, Rob and Eric. She expected her life by now to be very different, especially since her husband was working with the federal government in construction. A government job seemed like such a guarantee for an easy life, but Neil and Jeanne both came to realize that contracts can expire, even ones that seem so important to you. With two boys to care for as well as themselves, they couldn't do anything to provide, but even Jeanne was starting to think there could have been better jobs than this. Of course, those would only be found somewhere not here; somewhere where abandoned farm houses are less common than trees, somewhere where not every dog is a farm dog named Bingo or Buck, somewhere where the main export isn't tiny legumes and gravel. She saw that mother's eyes and wondered if that's who she was to become, stripped of the love of life and the sparks of joy. Jeanne passed the woman the tub of popped corn in exchange for two dimes. Jeanne felt the mother's cold fingers as she handed over the coins, the only warmth the woman had to offer seeming to emanate from the violet-colored nails she wore.
The film reel began and everyone returned to their vehicles. Since the speakers were on poles directly beside the cars, it was rather quiet for Jeanne way in the back. The raised cars also made the screen impossible to see from Jeanne's stall, but given the current show, she was almost thankful to neither hear nor see it. The perishable items, of which there were very few, were put on ice to be used for tomorrow. The candies were restocked, in the event that anyone came by for a second helping, which someone almost always did. Then it was time to clean. Jeanne came to learn that the best time to clean the restrooms was right as the film was starting, when everyone was getting comfortable in their leather car seats or in the lap of their questionably-loved one.
Mop and bucket in tow, Jeanne was always amazed at how messy highschoolers could make such a small space. Aside from the usual mud and stains on the floor, the walls were spattered with ketchup and relish, which somehow seeped into the cinderblock. The name 'Danni' was poorly scribbled in grease, or at least that's what Jeanne hoped it was. Jeanne did her best to scrub it all out all the best she could. While cleaning, the couple she saw before entered, their hands only on each other, a constant giggle from them both. Upon seeing Jeanne, they quickly yet bashfully leave, apparently searching for somewhere more private than their own car. Jeanne sighed and got back to work. She couldn't tell if she was jealous or thankful that Neil didn't act like that when they were at that stage. It's one of those experiences that so many girls have that Jeanne never will, but whether that's a blessing or a curse will haunt her for the rest of the night. Not her life, of course. She doesn't care about it that much anymore.
Having cleaned to the best of her ability and leaving the rest to Neil, Jeanne climbed the steel stairs up to the projection office where the rest of her family was. All the lights were off, Jeanne struggling to not trip over the scattered junk that never seems to go away as she approaches the door. The office is just as dark, but the wide window looking out to the screen fills the room with a subtle Technicolor hue. The projector was unattended, as Jeanne looked to see her husband had fallen asleep in his large cushioned chair, a nightmare to lug up here that Neil assured her would be worth the trouble. On Neil's chest was their eldest son Rob, just as asleep as his father. Neil still held Rob upright by the seat of his small pants, Rob's head resting beneath his father's chin. Her maternal instincts kicking in, Jeanne gently took Rob into her arms and brought him over to the two cribs near the window. With the kids too young to be looked after by a sitter, and a sitter certainly out of budget regardless, the cribs Neil found at a second-hand shop became indispensable to the family.
Jeanne set Rob down to let him slumber on his own, but Eric was quite the opposite. Eric was standing straight up, leaning against the rail of his wooden crib, looking out the smudged window at the rubber monsters having a tussle in miniature Tokyo. The two-year old probably had no idea what he was looking at, but the moving colors and faint noises of a resin-coated leather glove along the strings of a double bass had him captivated. He didn't even notice his mother until she picked him up, his cinematic gaze broken as his eyes met hers. He smiled. She smiled.
In the dusty dark, as the silhouette of Godzilla was destroying all those monsters, Jeanne rocked her youngest son in her arms, a soft lullaby leaving her lips and burrowing directly into his ear. Neil snored with passive dedication, but the mother and son ignored that. They were together as they were meant to be. Jeanne had no regrets.