Bus Stop Portrait #4

She knew wearing sandals wasn't the greatest choice, but she went against her better judgement - wanting to capitalize the last couple days of summer before the weather turned sour and forced her into shoes. Actually, the more she thought about it, her whole outfit wasn't exactly appropriate for as far as she was. Not only did her feet hurt, but so did her lower back. And because she wanted to wear one of her favorite tops, which she had well before the pregnancy began, she couldn't sit down on the bench that was right behind her, even though her body was pleading with her to.

It wouldn't be long until he'd arrive. She was ready for it. She'd been through it before. Knew what to expect. Although, she'd be lying if she said she was looking forward to it. When Kyrie entered the world, things were going to change. It had been hard with her husband overseas. Not only because of the danger he was in every day, but because their son was going through the rebellious years, pushing her buttons every chance he got. Deep down she was hoping that a younger brother would put him on the right track - almost force the maturity to the surface. He was a good kid, but he was really wearing her down. The constant calls from school, the back talk, coming home with cuts and bruises from a recess scuffle - it was never ending.

She felt guilty. He was at home, curled up in bed, sick as a dog, and she couldn't be there for him. When she had entered his room to wake him up for school, he was already tossing and turning, coughing away. She checked his temp, pressing her hand then cheek against his forehead, just like her mother used to do, and even checked his palms, which were cold and clammy. He looked run ragged. She had left him a cup of tea on his night stand and some money to order some soup before she left for work. On the way out of her room, she noticed a copy of "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" on the floor and smiled - one of her all time favorites favorites.

She really just wanted the day to be over. To get home and cook him a nice dinner, maybe grab some ice cream on the way home to soothe his throat. She was just to rummaging through her mind with what flavor she should get him when she saw the front door of the apartment open. To her surprise, he poked his head out, looked around quickly and bound down the stairs. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was walking to the corner pharmacy to get something. But the more she watched him, the more she realized he wasn't actually sick.

Thats when it hit her.

The copy of "Ferris Bueller" wasn't for enjoyment. It was for studying and perfecting. She could just picture him, watching the beginning on loop, memorizing the important moments, "The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It's a good non-specific symptom. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you're bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It's a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school."

He had to be so proud of himself, thinking he got away with it - probably headed to one of his friend's houses. Of course she was mad, but she couldn't help but smile. She could imagine the look on his face when he walked in and she was home, waiting for him. After all, her generation was the first to be taught by Ferris. She'd been there, done that.

She just hadn't been caught.

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