I rested my head against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around me.
Then he whispered,
“Thank you.”
“You can thank me after the movie.”
“No. Thank you for getting us here.”
The lights dimmed.
Then a family sat directly behind us.
A father.
A mother.
And their son, Ethan, who looked about nine.
The father was talking loudly on his phone.
The mother was texting.
Ethan wore a Spider-Man shirt almost identical to Owen’s and carried an enormous
bucket of popcorn.
He sat directly behind me.
Before the previews ended, something pushed against the back of my seat.
Then again.
And again.
I turned around.
Ethan’s light-up sneakers were pressed against my chair.
His parents were both staring at their phones.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Could you ask him to keep his feet off my seat?”
His mother rolled her eyes.
His father sighed.
“Ethan. Feet down.”
The boy lowered his shoes.
For approximately three minutes.
Then the movie began.
So did the popcorn.
Every time Ethan laughed, he threw a handful toward his mouth.
A surprising amount missed.
