Setting: August 2025 — A chilly theater in the heat of summer
The first time I went to the movies alone, years ago, it felt like rebellion. Buying a single ticket, sliding into a seat with no one beside me... it was awkward at first, then unexpectedly empowering. I realized I didn’t need company to enjoy myself. I could be my own.
A few weekends ago, I went alone again. I just had to see Weapons. Horror is my favorite, but I only have a couple of friends who share that love, and none of them were interested in this one. I thought about waiting until it hit streaming, whenever that might be, but why keep waiting for someone else, or for a someday that might be months away?
When the previews started, I felt that little thrill — mentally circling the films I wanted to see, anxiously awaiting the opening scene. I noticed I was the only person there by myself. For a second, I wondered if I looked strange. Then I stopped caring. No small talk required, no one whispering in my ear. Just me, my smuggled-in can of Diet Coke, and the movie.
The film was great: I jumped at all the right spots, covered my mouth in surprise, and watched anxiously as the story unraveled. Eventually, the credits rolled, the lights came up, and I walked out into the afternoon air.
Alone.
On the way home, I debated whether I was brave enough to sit down at a restaurant by myself. In the end, I grabbed Mexican takeout instead. Maybe next time. Even so, the day had already given me more than I expected. It turned out I’d seen more than a movie — I’d seen proof that after so long of standing still, I’m finally moving back into life.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still
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