Some landed on the floor.
Some landed on me.
The first few pieces hit my shoulder.
Then one became tangled in my hair.
Owen reached over and removed it.
“You have popcorn in your curls.”
“I noticed.”
He removed another.
Then another.
A minute later, a larger handful
came flying forward.
Popcorn bounced off my head and shoulders.
One piece disappeared down the back of my shirt.
I turned around.
“Please stop throwing popcorn. It keeps landing on me.”
“He’s not throwing anything,” the father said without looking away from his phone. “He’s eating.”
“He’s missing by several feet.”
The mother finally looked up.
“He’s a child.”
I turned around again.
This was our first night out in seven months.
I wasn’t going to spend it arguing with strangers.
I leaned against Owen and tried to focus on Spider-Man.
His arm went around me.
Then I noticed his thumb.
Rubbing against his finger.
After that, things got worse.
Ethan started kicking my chair repeatedly.
During loud scenes, I could almost ignore it.
During quiet scenes, each kick felt enormous.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
People nearby started turning around.
Then something cold hit the back of my neck.
Soda.
I
turned again.
“Please stop kicking my seat.”
The mother sighed loudly.
“Can you just watch the movie?”
“I’m trying.”
“He’s nine. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to ask him to stop.”
“I already did.”
“Three times,” an older man behind them said.
