A Night at the Movies

It is the year 1994. I'm sixteen years old. I spend a lot of my time with my best friend. The two of us share all our joys and sorrows. And we meet our first loves together. These two boys, about five years older than us, seem interesting to us. They are also best mates and hang out together all the time. From then on, it's quite often the four of us together.

Probably the very first official date is arranged to take place at a movie theatre, the classic setting for a date. Before we agree to go to the movies, we have a little discussion on which movie we will go to see. The boys are definitely against any romantic stories. For us girls it doesn't really matter what we will be watching, but on principle we object to The Naked Gun. As a compromise we agree on Schindler's List, it's long enough, too.

The boys are old enough to have their drivers' licences, and one of them even has a car. It is therefore only natural that they come to pick us up, since it's six miles to the theatre. We arrive on time. As me and my friend walk to the theatre from the car park, a few yards behind the boys, I can't help noticing how wrinkled my boy's collar shirt is. My friend and me giggle about the shirt, but don't mention it to the boys. At least he had changed his shirt for the occasion.

As can be assumed, we don't exactly fall into the target audience of Schindler's List, and there are some older people in the audience as well. I try to act grown up and watch the film with interest, but for some reason I have trouble concentrating. Under the jackets on our laps, a hand wriggles into mine, and as the film enters into its third hour, we are still holding sweaty hands.

I don't remember much of the film, but everything else about that evening is still clear in my memory. Perhaps I should see Schindler's List again some time.