reach the scene when Ferris Bueller tries to help his buddy Cameron Frye turn back the odometer on his father’s Ferrari, and Cameron reaches his breaking point. I have watched it so many times, but tonight it means more. Maybe it means more because of what I am going through and what I saw Gavin go through earlier tonight. I’m worried about him and Brody. I hope they are outside later.
After the movie ends, I start heading upstairs when Mom asks if I need something to help me sleep. I don’t bite her head off; my steam is gone. I tell her I don’t before saying good night.
It’s a lie.
I’m not tired and I probably do need something to get me to sleep, but I already feel numb and I don’t want to take something that will make me even number.
My thoughts race. What does Dr. Larson look like? Does she have kids? Are Mom and Dad happy they have me or am I a disappointment? I’m flawed. I’m sure I have disappointed them. Do the Fergusons go through this shit too? Does Gavin’s mom act like mine? Do I act like Gavin? What is Gavin’s “condition”? Is it like mine or completely different?
I snicker under my breath realizing I just called this mental crap a “condition” without going ape shit.
I look out the small window and wonder if they are out there now. I rise and brush the drape aside to peer at the house next door. The blinds on Brody’s window are drawn and there is no light behind them. I look into their backyard, but see only the blue-green glow the moon is casting on the Fergusons’ grass; no Brody and no circle walking Gavin. I’m a little deflated, but scanning both their backyard, part of mine and the trees, and seeing how the moon’s phosphorescence changes everything it touches, inspires me to take night shots with my camera.
The snoring between Mom and Dad is profound. I creep out of my room, down the stairs, and out the back door stealthily, convinced once again my sneaking out will go undetected.
The soggy and stiflingly warm air settles on my bare arms and legs as I step off our back porch into the yard where the sound of crickets battle with the warblings of night birds from beyond our yard, in the heavy brush. I wonder if there is a trail beyond the brush or if it is marshy; maybe a spring or something. I make note to venture out beyond the yard during the day and look up into the weaving tree branches above me. The moon’s glow peeks through just right and I raise my camera to snap a picture just as a voice breaks the silence.
“Was wondering if you would be out tonight.”
Startled, I jump. “Whoa! Shit!”
Brody is leaning against a column that holds up his slanted porch. He is in a simple white t-shirt, black wind shorts and no shoes. His hands are buried deep in his pockets and he has a casual slouch. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I stand frozen just looking at him longer than I should; he is really nice to look at. “Oh, it’s all right. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here.”
Brody steps off the porch and walks toward the fence separating us, his eyes leaving mine only to nod at my camera. “Are you taking pictures?” he asks, like it is the oddest thing to do at night.
His arrogant tone makes me tense and I prepare for a typical asshole-type judgment to follow.
“No. I mean yes, I was going to until you interrupted me.” My voice is small, but annoyed like it normally is when I am confronted.
Brody stops a few inches from my fence and smiles softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” It isn’t just a casual, not-really-meaning-it sorry. It is a real, heart felt sorry. A sorry I wouldn’t expect from a guy like Brody. “How does that work exactly?”
His curiosity seems genuine, so I move closer and speak nervously, but coherently (thank God).
“Just like day shots, except softer, more mysterious. I was about to take a shot of the moon through the branches when you spoke.”
“Oh,” he says, barely nodding his head and
After the movie ends, I start heading upstairs when Mom asks if I need something to help me sleep. I don’t bite her head off; my steam is gone. I tell her I don’t before saying good night.
It’s a lie.
I’m not tired and I probably do need something to get me to sleep, but I already feel numb and I don’t want to take something that will make me even number.
My thoughts race. What does Dr. Larson look like? Does she have kids? Are Mom and Dad happy they have me or am I a disappointment? I’m flawed. I’m sure I have disappointed them. Do the Fergusons go through this shit too? Does Gavin’s mom act like mine? Do I act like Gavin? What is Gavin’s “condition”? Is it like mine or completely different?
I snicker under my breath realizing I just called this mental crap a “condition” without going ape shit.
I look out the small window and wonder if they are out there now. I rise and brush the drape aside to peer at the house next door. The blinds on Brody’s window are drawn and there is no light behind them. I look into their backyard, but see only the blue-green glow the moon is casting on the Fergusons’ grass; no Brody and no circle walking Gavin. I’m a little deflated, but scanning both their backyard, part of mine and the trees, and seeing how the moon’s phosphorescence changes everything it touches, inspires me to take night shots with my camera.
The snoring between Mom and Dad is profound. I creep out of my room, down the stairs, and out the back door stealthily, convinced once again my sneaking out will go undetected.
The soggy and stiflingly warm air settles on my bare arms and legs as I step off our back porch into the yard where the sound of crickets battle with the warblings of night birds from beyond our yard, in the heavy brush. I wonder if there is a trail beyond the brush or if it is marshy; maybe a spring or something. I make note to venture out beyond the yard during the day and look up into the weaving tree branches above me. The moon’s glow peeks through just right and I raise my camera to snap a picture just as a voice breaks the silence.
“Was wondering if you would be out tonight.”
Startled, I jump. “Whoa! Shit!”
Brody is leaning against a column that holds up his slanted porch. He is in a simple white t-shirt, black wind shorts and no shoes. His hands are buried deep in his pockets and he has a casual slouch. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I stand frozen just looking at him longer than I should; he is really nice to look at. “Oh, it’s all right. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here.”
Brody steps off the porch and walks toward the fence separating us, his eyes leaving mine only to nod at my camera. “Are you taking pictures?” he asks, like it is the oddest thing to do at night.
His arrogant tone makes me tense and I prepare for a typical asshole-type judgment to follow.
“No. I mean yes, I was going to until you interrupted me.” My voice is small, but annoyed like it normally is when I am confronted.
Brody stops a few inches from my fence and smiles softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” It isn’t just a casual, not-really-meaning-it sorry. It is a real, heart felt sorry. A sorry I wouldn’t expect from a guy like Brody. “How does that work exactly?”
His curiosity seems genuine, so I move closer and speak nervously, but coherently (thank God).
“Just like day shots, except softer, more mysterious. I was about to take a shot of the moon through the branches when you spoke.”
“Oh,” he says, barely nodding his head and
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