His wife had placed an expensive designer bag directly in the wheelchair space.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Those are our seats.”
I showed him the tickets.
He glanced at them.
Then looked at Caleb.
“Sit somewhere else.”
I thought I had misheard him.
“Excuse me?”
“The view here is good. Find another spot.”
“My son can’t just use another seat. This is a designated wheelchair section.”
The man looked at Caleb’s chair.
Then shrugged.
“Not my problem.”
His wife said nothing.
He leaned back comfortably.
“I spend enough money in this stadium to deserve a decent view.”
Then he looked directly at Caleb.
“He can watch from the concourse.”
I stared at him.
Then he added,
“He probably doesn’t even understand the rules.”
His wife smiled.
Not awkwardly.
Not apologetically.
She agreed with him.
An usher started toward us.
Before he arrived, Caleb touched my sleeve.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
