The plush seat was now threadbare over time. Row 16 always, the aisle was to my right with no one to my left, there never was at the matinee showing. Only a few other diehards scattered throughout the old theatre, age its decorum in sight and smell. No one honoured the old movies anymore, everyone wanted CGI. But I found comfort in the vintage, in the throwback. Where dialogue set the stage and told the story. Where hearts bled and coloured the screen. Where passion was implied not bared. An era in time that was simpler.

Nona and her clutch bag, crisp one dollar bills, and always her treat. A ticket for each of us in one hand and a bag of homemade cookies in the other. Her french formula hairspray mixing with the smell of hot butter drizzle on fresh popped corn and the gentle touch of her arm through mine as we made our way to our seats.

I'm sitting here alone now yet not. A tilt of my head to the left and I can still see her. Shawl on, purse on her lap and her eyes alive feasting on the show before her, filled with wonder and so in the moment. No cellphone, not talking, just entranced. A little smile upturning her lips as an embrace filled the screen, her eyes turning to find mine and we shared that tenderness that was unfolding before us. I miss her yet I will always have her with me.