Scooping my backpack situated on the landing below the final step as I descend, I shove my laptop and oversized water bottle into the zip opening briskly walking past the old English rooms where classes continue.
My chest heaves in abnormal rhythms after bursting myself free of the restricting gate exit loosening its coils my bag still intact.
I race over the beige pavement, feet slamming downward along the steep slope. As my quick steps echo in the vast silence, the lollipop man preps for afternoon pick ups armed with scarlet 'Children Crossing' signs.
I turn right, speed dialing my mum as I veer along a sharp footpath. Three rings later I tap the pedestrian crossing button, pacing on the curb corner anticipating the lights transition from green, to amber, then red.
No sign of my bus luckily. "Hello—" She answers with muffled speech, I assume testing the quality of dinner which she always cooks for my arrival.
"Hello, how you doin'?" I ask imitating Joey Tribiani's signature phrase. Although she can't see my smolder I appreciate her New Yorker accent response, "I'm doin' fine honey, how you doin'?" Red, blue, green and other coloured cars fly past me carrying a warm breeze that whips at my skirt.
"I'm good, on my way home so I'll text you when I'm on the bus." I adjust my blouse as the wind picks up, crossing the road when I'm given right of passage.
"Alright, take it easy, I always worry when you leave early. I'd have more piece of mine if you were surrounded by students instead of being alone." The timetable I have for senior year allows a free final period every Friday which I abuse sneaking out to make the earliest bus and come home within the hour.
My house isn't an hour away, but driving would land me smack dab in peak hour traffic everyday after school and I would lose time.
My hatred for public transport will last until I graduate that's for sure. I can't stand standing when my bag weighs a tone or when adults eye my like they caught a whiff of rotten meat.
I dash the last few meters to make the bus parked at the stop. Flagging it down I board the bus, pleasantly welcomed by many uninhabited seats and air conditioning I'm glad for squeezing myself through the faulty back entrance gate of the school.
An automated and refurbished door similar to my escape route was close at hand. Unfortunately it relied on the time, therefore only unlocking five minutes prior to the final bell. Who has the patience to wait for that?
I sit in the shaded segment of the bus where the sections behind and ahead of me are empty of passengers.
Cross legged with my back pressed on the cool wall surface that precedes the graffitied glass windows, I text mum the vehicle number (a precaution of hers) while plugging my ears with dark, noise cancelling earphones.
OK. I love you, will see you at the usual pick up. :)
She responds instantly. Shooting a standard heart emoji her way I allow the methodical lull of the engine and gentle carriage sway to relax my senses.
*
In and out of consciousness I barely register where I am until I enter the front door of my house, ushered by my mother. "Careful—Hi, Buster." My voice picks up when Buster, our medium sized Maltese cross Shih Tzu, pounces on my knees tail wagging tongue fervently hanging out an open mouth.
"Aw, you're so cute!" I squeak rubbing his exposed stomach once he flips in puppy surrender onto his back, tail whipping the wooden floor. He has a strange Dorito scent about him which I don't understand but love unconditionally.
Moving aside, mum kisses my older brother Rick, on the cheek wielding two mega heavy shopping bags in each hand. I swear she is a Super Mum.
Groaning when she released the plastic bags onto the kitchen counter passing the games room on the left and master bedroom beside the library on the right hand.
The house is Modern interior and exterior, we moved in when it turned six, in two months it'll be twelve. "There, that about does it." She says, the crevices in her fingers marked by the straps that dig into her skin, the circulation slowly returning. "Mwah, mwah, mwah..." I pepper a restless Buster with numerous kisses as I scoop him into my arms so that his legs flail.
The positions allows me access to bury my face in his stomach fur while blowing raspberries causing him to wriggle and gruff until I release my iron grip, settling him on much appreciated solid ground.
"Got your email today, about Drama, thanks for that." My mum unpacks the groceries with Rick's silent assistance. People always comment on the physical likeness we possess.
"Make sure you follow that list to a 't', I'm not responsible for anything you might miss." She adds offhanded, dislodging a one strap bag from her hipbone.
Over time she has gained weight --no thanks to a fluid retention issue-- with that exception, our upturned noses and heart shaped face might prove difficult to distinguish if her hair wasn't dyed ash blonde while mine is cinnamon brown.
"Yeah, actually Lucinda called me last period to confirm my place on the roll before I made a run for it. Good thing to, the bus had barely anyone passengers.
"What? No Creepy Crabtree?" Rick questions clearly amused. Creepy Crabtree was a bus driver who drove him to school when he attended Nicholas Brothers Catholic school, the establishment next door to Blackmore's.
He drove with a lead heavy acceleration foot in habit of slamming the brakes abruptly, often causing all standing commuters to lose their footing, some sustaining minor injuries.
He never spoke a word of English and frequently neglected to pull over at the required bus stops. "Haven't seem him since you graduated, must have taken your abandonment to heart." I mock, catching a hand towel he throws aimed at my face.
Walking past the microwave, I talk over my shoulder opening the unlocked sliding door, then the fly guts infested screen as Buster squeezes his head forcefully through the small gap in advance of its full length parting.
He barks full strength at a taunting bird, springing eagerly on his hind legs. "What'd you do all day?" I nod toward my brother, the unemployed, unliscensed bastard whose bedroom doubles as a cave these days.
"Listened to a bit o' music, jumped around a bit, ate, drank, sang—" That sums up his life post College graduation, unlucky employment wise.
"Sorry you had to suffer that, mum." I interject, eyes falling on the oven when it 'dings' ignoring Rick's scoff.
I survey as mum returns the dials to zero the light and timer switching off. "What's for dinner?" She leans into a dead lift stance, removing a metallic tray of creamed potatoes fanning the plumes of smoke that fog her rectangular lenses.
"Have I ever told you that I love you?" The words leave my mouth now salivating at the godly sight. My favourite dish.
"Mmhmm." She says suspiciously,I plant a kiss on her cheek dividing a large serving for myself into a bowl while providing a small fraction for Rick. "Funny." He drawls sarcastically.
YOU ARE READING
Chapstick Boi
Teen FictionMeet Spooky or more commonly known as, 'the over involved Lesbian', 'Spooky scary skeletons' and 'JJ'. Doesn't matter what you call her, she's still gay. You've heard all those stories surrounding closeted gays who suffer in silence, hiding their se...
