Welcome to the Drive-In

There’s something so nostalgic about a drive-in; the radio crackles like a warm fire as it settles on its channel, the glow from the giant screen—a magic portal transporting us somewhere new. Recline back in your chair like you’re dropping off your friend, parked in front of their neighbor’s driveway because, “we’ll be quick!” But then it’s, “oh, I forgot to tell you!” And the moment becomes hours, and it doesn’t matter because we’re not dependent on our sleeping schedules yet.

Just like how my friends and I would pile in my 2001 revived from death Jeep and take the hour trip to Warwick to go to a drive-in. We’d put down the back seats and set up our makeshift theater with my retired cheetah-print comforter from 3rd grade. We were all cheetah-licious at one point. The bounty of snacks are rotated among us all like a conveyor belt. Most of the time, the movie doesn’t matter. It’s the spectacle of being there. The film hums through each car with a walkie-talkie-like static, connecting us all. Each car slouches into place as the movie rolls. I admire each person’s setup and make a mental note to bring tea next time, as steam billows from my neighbor’s tumbler. Whispered giggles popcorn from each of us, even though we’ll save the full review for the ride home. By the end of the drive, we’re half-singing, half-screaming giddily as we drive home.

EXT. DRIVE-IN - NIGHT

Standing in front of the drive-in’s makeshift screen, JESS (she/her, 25, director in all of her glory) smiles widely as tears fill her vision. A crowded car lot roars in applause with honks and flashing lights.

JESS
Thank you all for coming tonight.
This would not have been possible
without you. Please wait for our attendants
to direct you from your spot. Thank you again,
and drive safe!

The projector glows over her as she swells with pride and takes in the sight. One by one, the cars file out. Jess waves a final goodbye as friends shout their affections.

JESS
Okay, how can I help load out?

CUT TO BLACK: