He wanted Owen to know the ending was excellent.
And he promised not to spoil it.
Owen stood in the lobby holding that crooked drawing.
Tamika’s eyes were wet.
“In twenty years here,” she said, “I’ve never received a thank-you letter from somebody I asked to leave.”
Owen looked at the drawing.
“His arm is too long.”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
Owen smiled.
“Yeah.”
“It is.”
Three weeks later, we returned to the theater.
Lisa had flown in to stay with Frank.
This time, she understood how difficult caregiving had become.
She promised to come regularly.
The Spider-Man movie was barely still showing.
One late screening each night.
We bought two tickets.
Row F.
Middle seats.
Nobody sat behind us.
The lights dimmed.
Owen took my hand.
We watched the entire film.
Beginning to end.
When the credits appeared, he stayed seated.
“It’s funny,” he said.
