007 Bomb

The movie was sold out. "Sit with your sister here," my mom said. She pointed to two empty seats in the third row near the wall. "Your father and I will be over there." I couldn't make out where she meant. It was too dark. By the time the previews started, she was gone.

I was twelve, my sister nine. Her eyes widened as she moved her head to get a clear view of the screen. Three teenage boys sat in front of us. They joked with each other and talked about what they thought James Bond would do.

Instead getting excited over the movie, I grew anxious about finding our parents after the movie. My stomach churned. I twisted in my seat. As the film started, I let out a huge fart. Instant relief. And it didn't make a sound. 'Now I can enjoy the movie,' I thought.

The teenage boy in front of me covered his nose. "Man, you farted! God!" He elbowed his friend. "Come on man! Can't you hold it?"

I clamped my hand to my mouth. For sure they would hear my muffled chuckles. Snot dripped over my finger as I tried to suppress the laughter that welled up.

"I didn't fart man. You farted!" the friend said.

"I didn't fart. It had to be you. You're the one always letting loose."

"Wasn't me man. It had to be Jimmy."

"Don't blame me. I didn't fart," Jimmy said. "But damn, that stinks."

And it did. The rotten egg smell surrounded us. "Peeyoo Mike," my sister said.

"Be quiet Dana," I said. "The guys in front think it was one of them." My sister saw the older boys elbowing each other and holding their noses. Then her hand clamped to her mouth.

"Shhh." I whispered. But it only made me laugh. One of the boys turned and we snapped to attention, eyes glued to the screen.

"Can't believe you farted man," the boy in front of me said.

"I didn't fart," the friend said.

"Can't go with you anywhere. How are we supposed to meet girls?"