Eli and his friends love scary movies, so when they saw the ads for “Pitch Black” on TV, seeing it on the big screen became their number one priority. From what I could gather from the same commercials, the movie was about all the horrible things that would happen, and all the terrifying androids that would be out to get you, and the various, bloody ways in which you could die – would die – if the earth was shrouded in darkness. My movie tastes are generally different. But given my mission was to find out about Eli, I agreed to take him.

The day the movie opened happened to be a school holiday, and I called Eli the night before what time he wanted to go. I didn’t question his wanting to see it opening day; I often get excited enough about a movie to want to see as soon as possible, too. But when Eli said calmly, “It’s at 11:15. I looked in the paper,” as if I should have known, I realized another way in which we’re different. A 26-year-old goes to a movie the day it opens because she just can’t wait to see it. A 12-year-old goes on opening day so he can be first to see it.

So at 10:30 the next morning, Eli and I were on our way. We had to drive a ways because, Eli said, the theater at the mall was the only place with stadium seating. I parked the car and we hustled inside, leaving the sunshine of a rare warm day in February to enter the neon light of the mall. Although he has lived his entire life in a city with a reputation for lengthy, rainy winters, Eli is a 12-year-old boy, and most 12-year-old boys could care less about weather. They plan to play video games on Saturday afternoon, and if it’s snowing, fine. If it’s 80 degrees, fine. They plan to play on the swings at the park. If the sun’s out, fine. If the freezing rain turns their fingers blue, that’s okay, too.

We were both out of breath when we reached the ticket window. Eli bounced up and down in his Sketchers with excitement.

“Two for ‘Pitch Black’ please,” I said, counting out the money and shoving it through the window.

“Are you his parent or legal guardian?” the girl asked me.

I looked back at her with confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Are you his parent or legal guardian? The movie’s rated R,” she said. She looked bored. She, of course, knew I was not Eli’s parent or legal guardian.

“Um, no,” I began, “but I’m 26.”

“He can’t go in without a parent or legal guardian,” she said, smacking her gum.

Eli had stopped bouncing. He sensed trouble. He looked quickly from her to me, started to say something, but then stopped himself. He let me do the talking because I was the grown-up.

“But his parents are OK with him seeing this movie with me,” I said, realizing as I spoke that we would not be seeing “Pitch Black” that day. But I had to try again; Eli had hardly slept the night before, he was so excited to see the movie. “What if I have them call you and tell you it’s OK?”

“He can’t get in without a legal parent or guardian,” she said again, speaking slowly, loudly, as if she were talking to a person who didn’t speak the language. I wondered if her parent or legal guardian knew she was working in a movie theater. She couldn’t have been more than 15 years old.