When I first moved to my neighborhood, I was surprised to learn about an existing GroupMe group chat of 200+ women. This is a remarkable online space, Facebook Marketplace but really NICE. In it, we ask to borrow dinner ingredients we thought we had. People announce when they’re at the store in case someone needs something. We post stuff we’re sometimes selling but mostly giving away. Lovely, right? We’re not too good, either, to give away partially-eaten trays of Walmart cupcakes. Not to be confused with trays of partially-eaten Walmart cupcakes.
Recently, a woman I don’t know in the group shared a recommendation for a limited release movie, Soul on Fire. [My review: I loved it! Go see it!] Deciding spontaneously on a Saturday afternoon to go see it, I invited a friend. Shockingly, she wasn’t available with ten minutes notice. It worked out, though. The private side of me likes watching sentimental movies solo so I can laugh or cry or take notes on material (not kidding), or be pensive—without commentary. Not that this friend would have pried, but some would. “Are you okay?” some might ask when they’re flummoxed that you’re touched by a moving movie.
Decades ago and while in college, I went to the premiere of a tear-jerker of a movie with a guy named Jonathan. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t succumbed to Shiny Guy Syndrome. In what had to feel like betrayal, I asked hilarious and detached Jarom to Homecoming, instead of dependable and fun Jonathan. But prior to me wrecking things with him, we were at this preview.
This movie was rough, and we all knew it would be. One glaring clue: They passed tissue boxes around the theater. The plot goes something like this:
An unlikely love story culminates in marriage, only for the wife in this adoring young couple to be diagnosed with cancer.
He, a lifelong believer, grapples with his faith in God, while she, a former party-girl non-believer finds peace and reassurance in her faith.
Then she dies.
And leaves the husband to raise their toddler on their own.
Devastating, right? Unabashedly weeping throughout, I kept stealing side-long glances at Jonathan for any expression of emotion. NOTHING. This guy was impassive. But, like the lid on a tea kettle starts to splutter, his emotions eventually couldn’t be contained any longer. After holding his breath for too long, a benign breath turned into a series of awkward, audible gasps. What do you know: he wasn’t like the Tin Man after all.
Fast forward a decade to another movie. I had driven from Flagstaff, Arizona to Phoenix. This city is also in Arizona in case you missed key geography lessons along the way. The friends I was going to stay with had hit a snag and wouldn’t be home for hours longer.
Deciding to do something more interesting than sit in my car, I went to see a movie. By myself. For the first time. On a Friday night. The movie? The Odd Life of Timothy Green. You may not know, but they make astonishingly large movie theaters down there. And that night at least, this ginormous mega megaplex theater was hopping. Previews for my movie were well underway when I entered my particular theater. I rounded the corner to assess my seat options, and saw…not another soul in the entire theater.
When I say this theater was large, I’m talking about seating capacity of something like 700. Two and a half populations of my best friend’s town in Wyoming could fit in this theater. Delighted at first by the serendipity of having a theater this large all to myself, I planted myself as central as possible and settled in to enjoy the show. At first. That delight popped like a balloon when, minutes later, a solo man entered the theater. And walked up the many stairs to the row directly behind me.
THEN SAT IN THE SEAT DIRECTLY BEHIND ME.
Now, can you think of any valid reason a well-adjusted, average person would choose that particular seat under the circumstances? I can’t. It absolutely had the beginnings of a Dateline episode. Cue Keith Morrison:
“What should have been an innocent night at the movies took a turn when a stranger entered the theater and made his shadowy way toward the only woman in the theater…”
My mind raced through all the options:
Stay and feign confidence? At what risk to life and limb, especially my vulnerable neck?
Move? What if he followed me? At that point we’d both know that I knew he had sinister intentions and what if I couldn’t get away?
We’ll never know what he intended. It could be that he was clueless and harmless. All I know is that I had never been more relieved to see a gaggle of women enter a room of any size. And to have them share my row. Gone was any vestige of wanting a personal bubble. “Invade my space, ladies!” I was practically begging. I’d never been so grateful for a group of stranger women who accidentally had my back.
Oddly enough, I don’t remember much about the movie except that I think I ended up enjoying it. But every time I end up in a sparsely occupied movie theater, whether solo or accompanied, I remember THAT experience and I bet you can see why. Which, I suppose, makes it the most memorable movie I’ve ever seen. Not bad in the end, especially since it wasn’t the end for me.
Isn’t life cool, and aren’t people interesting and sometimes “interesting”? See you in the next one…
You are SO funny!! Your vulnerable neck... haha. What a psycho!!