The End Is Nigh

“Don’t park there,” Dad said as he set boxes of fresh popcorn beside the machine. “You don’t want anything obscuring the customers’ view of the snack bar. I read that on the internet.”

“I’ll move it when the movie starts.”

Dad put his hands on his hips. “People buy half of their snacks

before

the movie starts.”

Joh

“You watching the news?” Joh

“Is that the swine flu? Or the bird one?”

Maybe Dad wasn’t having such a good evening after all. “No, Pop. The new one, the nodding virus.”

Dad took it in like it was the first time he’d heard about it. “How many dead?”

“Hard to say. It doesn’t kill you, it paralyzes you. You can’t move.”

Joh

“You remember seeing

Spaceballs

here?” Dad asked.

“I remember, Pop.” Here we go, off on a ride down memory lane.

Joh

Dad looked at the big white screen. On the day he’d brought Joh

“The day after this place closed, the marquee out front said, ‘The End. Thanks for thirty years.’” Dad shook his head. “It broke my heart, to think your kids would never get to go to the drive-in.”

“Tiffany moved the kids to Baltimore before they were old enough to go to the drive-in,” Joh

A truckload of teen-agers pulled through the gate. Joh

• • • •

In the car on the way home, the radio played some Springsteen then gave way to the news. Joh

The sound of their success only reminded him of his own faded rock star dreams. He turned the radio off.

Dad stared out the side window, watching the street lights pass like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

It was past time to put him in a home, but Joh

And the place was bleeding money.

“How much did we gross tonight? Forty-something dollars?” Joh

“Something like that.”

Joh

“If this virus thing gets any worse, people will stop going to the indoor theaters, cause they’ll be afraid of the germs. They’ll start coming to the drive-in instead.”

“The virus is in

Wilkes-Barre

. If it gets any worse, people will

have

it, and they won’t be able to go anywhere.” The thought sent an electric dread through Joh

Even if he could convince his dad to sell the drive-in, who would buy it? Especially now. Maybe after the virus scare blew over he could at least get three thousand an acre for the land and pay off part of the loan. He’d have to use his savings to pay off the rest, which meant his new, post-rock star dream—opening up his own bar and grill—was never going to happen.

Joh

“First movie I ever saw there was a monster flick.

Them

, it was called. Giant ants. I don’t remember the second feature. They put real butter in the popcorn then.”

Joh

This time Dad caught the sarcasm. He looked at Joh

“I’ll give you that, Dad. Back then, they gave you a pension. Health insurance. You got paid a decent salary. How much were you pulling down, your last year at the Goodyear plant? Fifty-five? That’s seventeen grand more than I make

now

.” Joh

Joh

Around the curve, in front of the old brick schoolhouse—which was now a plumbing supply warehouse—red lights were flashing. Two police cars and an ambulance were parked beside a Taurus wrapped around a telephone pole.

Joh

Paramedics were easing him out from behind the wheel. His nose was bloody, and it looked like he was resisting them, trying to stay in the car.

Joh

“Poor bastard,” Joh

The poor guy. He’d been jerking like a puppet on strings, almost like—

Joh

Arnie Marino’s head, especially, had been jerking up and down. Nodding.

Joh