Alone

“One for Up in the Air, please.” I hand my credit card to the young woman and she
starts to process my movie ticket. She shows me her little computer screen and asks
me to choose my seat. I donʼt get out much — Iʼve never been to a movie theater where
you have to choose your seat number in line. But then again, this is Los Angeles and
according to all my cousins, things are better and hipper here.

“Well, I donʼt like sitting too close to the screen,” I tell the girl. I find it odd that we are
having this conversation. Does she need to know these things about me? Itʼs her
theater, how do I know where to sit? People are in line behind me and I just want to go
in.

“Here you are, M22.” My ticket is printed, and Iʼm on my way. I decide against popcorn
or a hot dog. I have no children with me who will beg for all the treats that end up
costing way more than the movie itself. I find my theater with the previews already
rolling and hope I can I find my seat without disturbing too many people. My eyes
adjust quickly, but there is no one here. Not a soul. I start looking for row M and find it.
No kidding.

I laugh at the absurdity of trying to find M22 when the theater is totally empty. I still
consider finding it, but then it seems like too much work and finally select a seat that
seems somewhere in the middle.

I put up my feet. I donʼt turn off my cell phone. Then I think that it doesnʼt matter, since
no-one will probably call me anyway. I look up at the window where the movie
equipment is and wonder if the guy up there is laughing at me. But one of the good
things about being 41 and a Mom of two kids is that it just doesnʼt really matter. What
other people think really matters a whole lot less than it used to.

Actually, being alone is a luxury. When you have two boys with lots of after school
activities, homework that they never want to do and constant exploding sound effects,
the quiet and aloneness feels pretty nice.

After my movie, I leave the theater and the usher asks, “Did you enjoy your private
screening?”

“I did,” I reply smiling. After all, this is my first visit to Hollywood and a private screening
seems appropriate.

On my way out I pass a guy with a broom heading in to clean up after me. I tell him that
there is nothing to pick up. I only wish Iʼd eaten some popcorn or something. He thanks
me and then I think, donʼt all Moms deserve a personal janitor once in a while?