On the Long Route

Breakfast with Bitzi

Chapter 2

Breakfast with Bitzi

Buster's stomach groaned loudly. It was a signal that he should quit daydreaming and seek breakfast. Although he had been awake for a while now, he had chosen to linger in the lazy comfort of his bed, reliving his party from the evening before, instead of heading to the kitchen. Squinting from the sunlight that streamed through the window, he sat up. The tips of his ears just scraped the bottom of the top bunk; he had grown several inches in the past six years and was still growing. If he did not ask for a new bed soon, he was liable to suffer a concussion.

Moments later, he was surveying his closet. He had packed most of what was not already dirty and spilling over the rim of his hamper, and so there was not much left from which to choose. Not that Buster was choosy to begin with when it came to clothes. He selected a random jeans/tee combo and thought again of how much fun his party had been, even if he had known about it. It had been great to spend time with his closest friends before he left Elwood City.

When he began fumbling underneath his desk, searching for his missing left sneaker and briefly wondering how in the world he could have lost something in a closed room in just a few short hours, his thoughts drifted elsewhere...

To Francine. It was hard to shake the conversation he had had with her in front of that little white house. He was not sure why he had been willing to divulge what he thought to her, especially since he had never mentioned it to anyone else, not even Arthur. For some reason, he found Francine much easier to talk to about serious things, almost comforting, like a mother that could beat you in a game of one-on-one basketball. Sometimes he could even swear she was psychic, a notion which scared him slightly.

One of these instances had occurred yesterday. Something Francine had said:

It might not be that awful.

He never would admit it to Francine, but that was the exact phrase he had used to reason with himself whenever he pondered his parents' divorce, whenever he got close to bringing up the subject to his mom or dad.

It might not be that awful.

He would always counter his own argument: If things really hadn't been that awful, then why did they divorce at all? It never made sense to him. After all, how many couples go splitting up because they are just so happy they can't stand it? None as far as he knew, and he knew loads about divorce statistics. No, something awful had happened, Buster was sure, and so he figured that it was best he did not know what it was. However, the blissful-ignorance approach had never managed to completely kill his curiosity, but he supposed that was just the detective in him fighting to get out.

Buster discovered his sneaker underneath the comforter that hung halfway off his bed and spilled onto the floor. He dressed hastily, remembering why he had bothered to get out of bed in the first place. He was happy to meet a myriad of sweet and savory aromas upon walking into the kitchen, his hunger increasing with each step.

"Morning, Mom," he said cheerfully, taking a plate from the cupboard.

Bitzi Baxter sat at the breakfast table, poring over the Sunday edition of The Elwood City Times with a red pen in her hand, circling any errors she could find. Obsessive as her hobby seemed, Buster knew this was how his mother liked to spend her Sunday mornings. She was so utterly engrossed in the activity that she only took notice of her son's presence when he spoke.

"Hi, sweetie," she said lovingly.

Buster gestured to the newspaper that took up half the table.

"Found anything I can send to Jay Leno?" he asked jokingly.

She shook her head. "So far, I've found four typos, an incorrect byline, and two grammatical errors, but no phrases carrying certain... connotations." She said the last word with disgust.