The Man in the Movie

A little story about going to the movies with Moira and Soren. We went to see “Dreamer” the movie about Dakota Fanning and the horse. We always go to the AMC 16 in Burbank because they have stadium seating and large spaces for wheelchairs. Soren rides in a stroller that is technically a wheelchair. Heavy duty—emphasis on heavy.

It’s opening weekend. Noon performance. We got there during the previews. It was dark. But there was a spot for the stroller and two seats next to that. Then there was this man in his 50s in the 3rd seat in. The rest of the row was EMPTY.

I park the stroller and go to seat Moira. But then man told me that the seat between him and Moira (the seat I was going to take) was for this friend. I explained that I had a wheelchair bound child, my daughter, and myself to seat. He understood, but his friend was going to be sitting in the seat between him and Moira.

So we walked down the rest of the row. Filled to the brim with old people that I couldn’t give the boot. I returned to the only opening available. I parked Soren, set up Moira, and then sat on the floor next to Soren. Within seconds I realized this was ridiculous so I climbed up to the row behind my kids. I told Moira I was right there if she needed me.

Now, I don’t know how many of you saw Dreamer, but the beginning is a little tense. I saw Moira curling up into a ball. And I saw that this a-hole 1 seat down did not have a friend sitting next to him. 15 minutes into the movie, I was pissed off and asked Mo if she wanted me to sit next to her. She did, so I climbed back down and sat next to the jerk. He promptly moved one seat down, away from me.

We watched the rest of the movie. It was good. Although I was rather livid through the entire thing. No friend (besides maybe his imaginary one) was sitting next to this guy. He had totally and unabashedly lied to me.

The movie ended and I stood up, taking myself and my children out. But before I did, I leaned over to this man and with my face red and my voice low and filled with fury, I said, “You should be ashamed of yourself lying to the mother of a special need’s child.”

He looked at me dumbly. I know it didn’t make a dent in him. It couldn’t have possibly gotten through the thick layer of gooberdome that encompassed this 50-year-old friend-less loser who was at the opening weekend, noon showing of Dreamer. But I had to say something.

The amazing thing was Moira’s reaction. We were leaving and her eyes were wide with horror. “Mommy, why did you talk to that man that way?” she asked. “Because he lied to me and I was very angry.” I could see in her eyes that she never wanted me to get that mad with her. I don’t plan to. I save that for the buttheads who hurt my kids.

Amy