Picturesque

Chapter 22: Van Buren

I hadn't seen or been to a movie since Greg. When Jo mentioned that her friends wanted to go to a drive-in movie theatre the next weekend, I was slightly hesitant. It felt like movies were something more special to me now, a reminder of one of the sweetest aspects of my friendship with Greg, as well as the sweetest times of my life. If I opened that part of myself up to Jo, would it taint the memories I had with Greg?

Jo was persuasive. She said that she hated going to movies, and that it would be a lot better if I was there, and that I loved movies more than anyone she knew so I should go with them.

I was wearing pants more often now. Jo lent me another pair of her jeans which I rolled up at the ankles and paired with a blue striped shirt and some sandals. My bangs had grown out much more now—I could pin them back as I pulled my hair into a ponytail. Jo wore jeans and a white button-up, which seemed to be her staple outfit. Of course, her hair was down, and she pulled yet another pair of sunglasses over her eyes as she drove me in the Fury to go pick up her friends.

It was fun going to different neighborhoods in the city. Her friends lived in houses that were much smaller than hers, on streets that were packed with houses. They reminded me of my own street back at home, if I could call it home anymore. We picked up Delores first, who looked a little bristled at the fact that I was in the front passenger seat which meant she had to sit in the back. Next was Tony, whose mother waved excitedly at Jo when she saw us, and then was Bobby, scrambling over himself as he jumped into the backseat so hard that the entire car shook and squeaked.

"I've been dying to see this movie," Tony said from the back as we drove down a highway. "It's based on an Ernest Hemingway short story, y'know."

"What's it called?" I asked him from the front.

"The Killers," Delores answered for him. "A real heart warmer, apparently."

"Who's Ernest Hemingway?" Bobby asked dumbly, and Tony started to give an entire thesis on why Hemingway was the best author of the Los Generation, while Delores smoked a cigarette.

I turned to Jo who was just silently driving, a content smile on her face as she listened to her friends. "How's Johnny gonna fit in the back?" I asked her.

She looked at me, her sunglasses pushed up on her head now since the sun had set. "He's not comin'," was all she said, in a flat tone, before turning back to the road, one hand steering the wheel loosely.

"Oh," was all I said after that. I wondered if Jo was angry at Johnny for his advances in the club, and it made me feel icky and guilty. I didn't mean to draw a wedge between their friendship—Jo had been friends with him for her entire life. He was her best friend though they seemed to butt heads due to his stubborn need to flaunt his masculinity.

We pulled into the drive-in theatre, and I was a little in awe. A large, lit sign read Van Buren Drive-in Theatre, and there were animated cartoons already playing on the large screen before the film. Cars had already filled up the first row, but we managed to get a center spot in the second row. This screen was much bigger than the Prytania screen, and I was in shock at the technology of it all.

"It's a crime film," Tony said from the back, taking out a bag he had brought that was full of candy and snacks. "Ronald Reagan is in it, too."

"Ooh," Delores and Bobby both awed at the same time, and I chuckled as I remembered Jo telling me about Bobby.

Jo turned the car off and sighed, leaning her head back in the seat. She looked sleepy around the eyes, her lips set in a frown.

"What's the matter?" I asked her quietly while the others were talking about the actors in the movie.