As the theater darkened and the movie began, my anxiety slightly increased. Not to the point of distraction, simply a disquieted elevated alert for any unusual activity. I watched the exit door, and people – including staff, who occasionally stood vigil checking the theater – leaving and re-entering the main one. After every action sequence, I found myself scanning the room. Why did I do this? Did I have a plan if, god forbid, a copycat murderous psychopath tried something similar to the events in Aurora, Colorado? I inventoried what we had on us for defense: full sodas that could be thrown as distractions (probably futilely, and less usable as the movie progressed), belts that could be used as whips (granting being within range, and as long as our shorts did not fall down) and sets of keys that could slightly impale (if flesh wounds counted for anything). Handling these items with precision as we immediately sprang into action – coupled by decades of knowledge on each other’s judgments and reactions, mostly from adolescent nocturnal activities involving toilet paper and bottle rockets – we would not be victims.
At least, that is what I told myself as we sat and watched the movie.
That is why it was important to be at the theater, so that a murderous psychopath did not win in disrupting our daily lives. More so that the innocent lives taken and forever scarred in tragedy are remembered.
©2012 Steve Sagarra