line with three hundred other people in a narrow hallway for forty-five minutes. The whole time Smitty Tibbs stood beside us, pretending he was alone in the world. If that's what he was doing.
Finally, we paid for Smitty's ticket, herded him along into the auditorium, found three seats together, sat down and broke out our goodies. I leaned over and put a Snickers on the arm of Smitty'sseat, being careful not to touch him, and then the lights went off and the movie started.
I guess I should have made Mom tell me more.
Alan Arkin plays the main character, a deaf-mute man who takes a room with a Southern family during the Depression. The family is down on their luck, the father disabled and money scarce, which is why they had to take in a boarder. It's a movie about poverty and anger and handicaps and love—the spiritual and physical traps human beings can fall into. Not what you'd call light entertainment.
I was uncomfortable at first, wondering if the handicaps of the protagonist were going to upset Smitty. But when he didn't show any signs of distress, I forgot all about him and lost myself in the story. That's what I love about good films and good books— you can climb right into them and be there. I just hate it when I'm doing that, and then somebody butts in and messes with my concentration.
Which some idiot did right in the middle of the climax of the movie. An innocent person had been brutally hurt, and Alan Arkin was the only one who knew. He had to get help, but no one could understand him—he was trapped inside of that body, and the horrible sounds that tore their way out of his throat took you by the heart and ripped you apart. It was not the best time for somebody to decide they needed to climb over me to get to the aisle.
“Where's he going?” Caulder whispered.
“ What? ” I snapped. But I noticed that the seat on the other side of Caulder was empty. So my idiot had been Smitty.
“Who knows?” I hissed back. “To the bathroom. How should I know?”
“Yeah, maybe that's where he went,” Caulder said doubtfully. He craned his neck around, looking back toward the door. Then he shrugged. “He's probably just…” He shrugged again and settled into his seat.
I tried to get back into the movie. But I kept waiting for Smitty to come back, and so did Caulder. Every so often, we'd look at each other and feel uncomfortable.
Then it was over. “I'm exhausted,” Caulder said, and I could only agree. We looked for Smitty as we left the auditorium. There were hundreds of people waiting for the next show, lines looped all up and down the hall. We didn't see Smitty there. Caulder checked out the men's room. No Smitty. We went through the whole building, and then we decided he must be waiting for us at the car. So we went all the way down to the parking lot, only to find out that he wasn't there—so we had to go back to the building.
By this time the halls were empty and the next show was running. Caulder talked the kid at the door into letting him go in to see if maybe Smitty had wandered back in there, looking for us. Which he evidently hadn't.
We checked out every crevice of the building, the entire grounds around the building, half the campus, and then we went down and got the car. We drove home slowly, watching both sides of the street all the way—no Smitty.
“His mother's gonna freak,” Caulder muttered. He turned the car around and drove back to the university another way. Then westarted driving a grid—back and forth, every possible street. It was getting very late. And Caulder was starting to get seriously scared. I was worried too—but Caulder was nearly frantic.
Well, we finally did find Smitty. He was walking down our own street, just passing in front of Caulder's house. Caulder pulled in hard against the curb, jumped out of the car, came around and put a hand out. Smitty stopped. Then Caulder started yelling, not so loud Mrs. Tibbs would have heard it, but loud enough that I could
Finally, we paid for Smitty's ticket, herded him along into the auditorium, found three seats together, sat down and broke out our goodies. I leaned over and put a Snickers on the arm of Smitty'sseat, being careful not to touch him, and then the lights went off and the movie started.
I guess I should have made Mom tell me more.
Alan Arkin plays the main character, a deaf-mute man who takes a room with a Southern family during the Depression. The family is down on their luck, the father disabled and money scarce, which is why they had to take in a boarder. It's a movie about poverty and anger and handicaps and love—the spiritual and physical traps human beings can fall into. Not what you'd call light entertainment.
I was uncomfortable at first, wondering if the handicaps of the protagonist were going to upset Smitty. But when he didn't show any signs of distress, I forgot all about him and lost myself in the story. That's what I love about good films and good books— you can climb right into them and be there. I just hate it when I'm doing that, and then somebody butts in and messes with my concentration.
Which some idiot did right in the middle of the climax of the movie. An innocent person had been brutally hurt, and Alan Arkin was the only one who knew. He had to get help, but no one could understand him—he was trapped inside of that body, and the horrible sounds that tore their way out of his throat took you by the heart and ripped you apart. It was not the best time for somebody to decide they needed to climb over me to get to the aisle.
“Where's he going?” Caulder whispered.
“ What? ” I snapped. But I noticed that the seat on the other side of Caulder was empty. So my idiot had been Smitty.
“Who knows?” I hissed back. “To the bathroom. How should I know?”
“Yeah, maybe that's where he went,” Caulder said doubtfully. He craned his neck around, looking back toward the door. Then he shrugged. “He's probably just…” He shrugged again and settled into his seat.
I tried to get back into the movie. But I kept waiting for Smitty to come back, and so did Caulder. Every so often, we'd look at each other and feel uncomfortable.
Then it was over. “I'm exhausted,” Caulder said, and I could only agree. We looked for Smitty as we left the auditorium. There were hundreds of people waiting for the next show, lines looped all up and down the hall. We didn't see Smitty there. Caulder checked out the men's room. No Smitty. We went through the whole building, and then we decided he must be waiting for us at the car. So we went all the way down to the parking lot, only to find out that he wasn't there—so we had to go back to the building.
By this time the halls were empty and the next show was running. Caulder talked the kid at the door into letting him go in to see if maybe Smitty had wandered back in there, looking for us. Which he evidently hadn't.
We checked out every crevice of the building, the entire grounds around the building, half the campus, and then we went down and got the car. We drove home slowly, watching both sides of the street all the way—no Smitty.
“His mother's gonna freak,” Caulder muttered. He turned the car around and drove back to the university another way. Then westarted driving a grid—back and forth, every possible street. It was getting very late. And Caulder was starting to get seriously scared. I was worried too—but Caulder was nearly frantic.
Well, we finally did find Smitty. He was walking down our own street, just passing in front of Caulder's house. Caulder pulled in hard against the curb, jumped out of the car, came around and put a hand out. Smitty stopped. Then Caulder started yelling, not so loud Mrs. Tibbs would have heard it, but loud enough that I could
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