Put the Cigarettes Back in the Door

It was a Sunday night in Autumn during my senior year of high school. My brother was back for the weekend from college as was one of his good friends. I didn't have much homework and thought it would be fun to go to a movie. I suggested the Shia LaBeouf vehicle "The Greatest Game Ever Played" as the three of us had oft-discussed our shared enjoyment of his show "Even Stevens." Due to late planning probably, we ended up going to the 10 pm showing. There was one other person in our theater and the whole complex seemed pretty well deserted when we exited just after midnight. I happened to be at the fore of our little group as I pushed open the side door that leads from the lobby out to the parking lot. As I did so I realized a green box of cigarettes had been wedged in the door, which is locked from the outside, and it dropped to the ground. I looked up and saw a man in a large puffy coat turn towards me. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and pointed with it as he said very sternly, "Put the cigarettes back in the door." My heart was racing. Thankfully my brother hadn't let the door close and was holding it with his hand. Tracey said to me, "Don't fail Daniel." I managed a smile but I didn't feel much like making jokes. What if I did fail? I looked past Puffy Coat and noticed a SUV pulling up to the curb with spinners and illegally blackened windows. One of the windows rolled down and smoke rolled out as the presence of a few more intimidating men was revealed. Worried I wouldn't be able to keep the door ajar the way it had been with the box wedged half way up, I slid the box back into the gap between the door and the frame with my foot. Thank heavens it stayed open when my brother let go. Images and anecdotes of robberies and shootings in that very parking lot began racing through my head. What were they planning on doing? Puffy coats are probably just the new uniform at the theater, I assured myself. What if I read the next day in the newspaper that the theater had been robbed and ransacked? What if someone was hurt or even killed? What if I was an enabler or even an accomplice? My thoughts became increasingly irrational and I became increasingly relieved, though not any less paranoid, as we grew closer to our cars and the distance between us and the theater enlarged. My brother didn't seem to think much of it, he wasn't visibly shaken whatsoever. I relayed some of my fears to him on the ride home and he just said I was being silly. How could I just go back home and concentrate on homework and pretend that nothing happened? I never heard anything more about it, but silly or not as it might be to me the incident was especially troubling. I blame Shia LaBeouf quite frankly.