Nightmare at the matinee

John and I settled into our seats in the middle of the some fifty patrons scattered about the traditional theatre seating. It was the 2:40 Saturday afternoon showing of Young Victoria. After the advertisements finished, the lights were dimmed and we watched the previews. Then lights were doused, we put our cell phones on quiet, and the main feature filled the screen before us. Just minutes into the story, late arrivals shuffled across the back of the theatre, popcorn in hand, talking over the film voices.

"Well, where are you going to sit?"
"I don't know, let's look down here."
"I don't want to sit that far forward."
"Let's look over there, then."

Who are these people? Kids mouthing off? In unison with others around us, we turned in our seats to see, to our amazement, five puffy, gray haired women in thick parkas with assorted scarves dangling around their necks.

"Be quiet!" someone said from the seats.
"Shhhhhhhhh" said others.
But one intruder refused. "We have a right to get to our seats!" she demanded. Someone ducked and went for an usher.

Gripping the arms of my seat with white knuckle strength, I seethed. I was about to jump up, raise my hands in the air, turn my back to the screen and yell straight into their faces, "Shut the (*&^% up!" But, before I could act, my anger turned to fright. Those ladies weren't even ten years older than me. Was I trapped in a time traveler nightmare? Was I in the future --surrounded by retirement home escapees? --surrounded by rude, demanding people? John saw the look on my face. He turned to me, squeezed my hand and whispered in my ear, "It's OK, Honey. That won't be us."

I calmed myself as the theatre finally settled into a hushed quiet, but all the things my mother did like that -- so unaware of the impact on others -- flashed through my mind. The pointing with her cane from her wheel chair with demands to "take me over there" without a "Please" or "Thank you" bubbled up only to be quickly replaced with her the loud complaints about the food service during dinner and her callous remarks after a third double vodka. Will I become my mother? I shuttered. I whispered to John, "Just shoot me if I get like that, please?" "Guaranteed. Now watch the show," he said sweetly.