Ive been waiting for this piece to run at The Rumpus ever since I saw it in the queue. Since I'm an editor there, I could have gotten a preview, but I wanted to see the finished project, and I'm glad I waited.

The piece is a memoir of sorts, using now-closed movie theaters as a way of marking out significant moments in the writer's life. Here's a sampling:

We drove down University from our town house in Davie, passing orange groves and cow pastures. In the dark we couldn’t see any cows or the creatures Mom called their mascots, the ducks who would sit on their backs.

Soon after the scene where Dustin Hoffman throws the little boy’s French toast into the garbage, Edward got up and went out of the theater. We assumed he was going to the bathroom, but when he didn’t come back, we started getting worried.

Finally Dad went out to look for Edward, but he wasn’t in the men’s room or at the candy counter or in the tacky little lobby. Eventually Dad found Edward watching Steven Spielberg’s 1941 on another screen.

Later I’d think that as young as he was, Edward knew that something was up between Mom and Dad. He didn’t want to see a movie about divorce. It was easier for him to watch something from the past.
Go read the whole thing, especially if you've been in Broward County a long time.

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