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The Last Days of the Dome: Finding Solace

I've been debating if I should keep writing about the Dome closing. What happened in Boston is when words fail. You have to brace yourself for that train of blame, anger, martyrs to come down the road and pray that it doesn't stop at your station. The eternal critic says "You dumb chick. A bomb went off killing three people and dozens hurt, and you're writing about a damned movie theater? Your priorities are screwed." Fair enough. There was a day years ago when the world felt off center, and I had to find solace, fast.


The day it happened, I was going to clean my kitchen. I was between jobs, and I was going to get up early and give my kitchen a good cleaning. In bed,I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day. It had been a good summer weather wise, not too hot. I was planning on getting up at 6:30.


Then Chris Bruney the morning news announcer on KPFA came on early. He said a plane crashed into one of the towers in New York City. At first I thought well, great. This is what happens when a traffic controller doesn't do his job. I hope they get everyone out okay.


It went back to music. I stretched out in bed. Then Larry Bensky came on. He said another plane just hit the second tower. I sat up in bed. Now I was feeling scared. I got out of bed and turned on the TV. The Pentagon was in shambles. I felt sick.


Blood. They'll need blood. I had to give blood. I'll go to the blood bank and give blood.  After I called a friend of mine who had in-laws in New York, I went to the blood bank.


The line was so long, so incredibly long. Young and old, they were all there.


That's when I started to cry.


I had to go somewhere. Movie, movie, go to a movie. Go to the Dome, that's nearby. I could get a bargain matinee. I went to the Dome. I looked at the marquee. Comedy, comedy, I need a comedy. My eyes went to one film: Rat Race. Starring Whoopi Goldberg, Jon Lovitz, Cuba Gooding Junior, Dave Thomas, Rowan Atkinson, Kathy Najimy, and John Cleese.I bought a ticket.Ten people were there as well. I laughed and laughed and laughed.


Afterwards I stumbled out in that bright afternoon. I missed the safety of the darkness, of being entertained. Yet for a while everything wasn't so bleak. This is what art does: sometimes it helps you forget. Sometimes it helps you remember.


I don't remember the rest of the day; I was sad. I knew we would come out of it, but how? When?


I still don't know. What I do know is I still need to write about that damned movie theater where more ways than one helped me get of myself, if only for a little while.


And I still have to clean my kitchen.