Innocence Lost

There is a time in every child's life that innocence is lost forever amid the ever-deafening music ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-duming in the ear; sitting in a seat, pushed back as far as possible into its back and hoping beyond hope that by pushing hard enough, maybe just a little bit harder, the chair would move back a row or two. Eyes, round and unblinking, riveted on the screen, too frightened to look away because the knowledge that as soon as the eyes closed or wavered it was going to jump straight out into the audience and eat its way up to you. Squeezing of hands; cringing faces; feet pulled up on the edge of the seat; eyes peaking out from behind vulcan-split fingers; ears attuned to every single nuance of the ever-maddening musical score. Get out of the water! your child's mind screams to the diver.

Suddenly, the music hits a crescendo, the females in the audience start screaming, and a head falls out of the bottom of the boat right into the face of the diver you just tried to send telepathic warnings to.

Jaws. What more can be said? I lost my innocence with that movie; never again would I be a virgin of the horror flick. I was tainted goods, forever more doomed to be scared of anything that went bump in the night, dark hallways, sleeping with the door closed, and squeaky, creaking door hinges. I could no longer go in past a knee deep level in the Gulf of Mexico. Without a doubt I knew Jaws was waiting out there for me, ready to relieve me of my limbs. Swimming in fresh water was the same, until many years later when I realized that sharks didn't like fresh water.

We had gone to the movies, Mom and Dad, my brother Paule and Sister Joi. It was one of those rare family nights out; Daddy had just gotten a promotion along with a raise, and we were being treated with a family night on the town. After a quick dinner of burgers and fries, we went to the Cinco Bayou movie theatre to see "The Apple Dumpling Gang," a harmless, fun-filled Disney flick rated G for the whole family.

With that movie was surprisingly sold out, my parents made the bad mistake of letting my brother pick the movie and, being a boy constantly out to terrorize his sisters, he chose Jaws.

My Mom was sitting between my Dad and my sister, both of them having gotten a really good grip on Mom's hands. Jaws had already visited the midnight swimmer and given her a really good thrashing about; the da-dum, da-dum of the music was already permanently imbedded in the mind of every single person in the movie theatre; and my brother was sitting next to me on the end of the isle, grinning like a crazed loon.

Moving along, it was when the head came out of the bottom of the boat that my Dad squeezed my Mom's hand so tight she thought he'd broke it, until the pain in her other hand overtook that when my sister screamed then promptly stuck the thumb of Mom's other hand in her mouth and bit it.

After the movie, after getting home, my sister and I went to our shared bedroom and sat on the bed all night with the light on. Our feet never hit the floor and our eyes never faltered more than a minute, until the light of day came upon us and we were free from a night's terror.

We have cursed my brother ever since.