Bec3 It Ain t Over Til It s OverChapter 15 Later Saturday Morning
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Bec3: It Ain't Over Til It's OverChapter 13: Saturday Morning Breakfast free porn video
The first thing I knew, my clock was saying 6:41. I lay there and watched it tick over to 6:42, then to 6:43. I was wide awake and not going back to sleep anytime soon. According to my parenting book, teenagers aren’t supposed to wake up this early. They’re supposed to sleep in for hours and hours. I can’t wait for that to start happening. Waking up too early sucks.
I got out of bed and stepped over Tara. I wrapped myself in my robe and sat at my dresser. I let out my hair and brushed it carefully. My hair had been in braids since yesterday morning when Pearl and her grandmother did them – and it showed. It took a lot of brushing. I wasn’t being noisy but I didn’t have to be quiet. There was no danger of disturbing Tara. I could have stood over her and played a trumpet and she wouldn’t have woken up.
I used a scrunchy to bind my hair into a loose ponytail and flipped it over my shoulder. Then I went exploring. At this hour, the house was silent and still mostly dark.
The light was still on in the kitchen and I found Mum slumped over the table. It looked like she had pushed her finished drawing out of the way and then folded her arms under her and gone to sleep where she sat.
I sat down next to Mum and picked up her sketch pad. Her new drawing was of Mum and Dad and me during my visit to The Parents’ room last night. There were no clear faces visible but it was obviously us. Maybe I should say it was inspired by my late night visit and then it turned into something different. The viewpoint was from above the head of a big double bed. A couple lay together on the bed, facing each other as they slept. The bed lay in a pool of light that was centered on the couple. The pool of light created dark shadows around the outside of the bed.
At the foot of the bed a pair of bright eyes watched from the shadows as the couple slept.
Are they friendly or sinister – those staring eyes? Mum’s drawing doesn’t answer that question. The viewers can decide for themselves.
I know my answer. But then, that’s because I know who those eyes belong to.
It was almost as if Mum didn’t know the answer. Her drawing wasn’t about that one moment but about the last few days. My body being hidden in shadows was code. She was telling me she couldn’t see me clearly – she didn’t understand me. All she could see were my eyes and she couldn’t read what they were saying.
I sighed to myself and looked across at Mum as she slept with her head on the table. What could I do? How could I reassure her when I didn’t know the answers?
I picked up the sketch book and flipped over the page. The next sheet was blank. I brushed it twice with the back of my hand and started drawing. Just for fun, I copied Mum’s style instead of using my normal one – she shades using a kind of irregular hatching which I don’t normally do and she uses more shorter lines that combine to form an outline whereas I tend to use more single long flowing lines – stuff like that. I also copied the bedroom scene with the anonymous couple sleeping on the bed.
The change I made was that the watcher was now seated on the end of the bed. The light picked out her outline and made it obviously a young girl but the details were still indistinct. Again, the average viewer wouldn’t know it was me but Mum would. My eyes still gazed out of the shadows, but now they were clearly placed in a shadowy face. The watching figure was no longer sinister. She was connected – a part of the group – but still separate, still not fully understood. She sat motionless and watched as her parents slept.
It took a while to draw but I got it done. Mum slept beside me for the entire time. I put the finished picture down next to her and walked away from the table. I washed my hands at the sink and then filled a bowl with cereal, added milk from the grumpy fridge and went through to the living room to eat my breakfast. It was nice to sit in the quiet like that. I kind of wished I could laze around in my pyjamas for the whole day, but that wasn’t going to happen.
I was virtually done eating when I heard a little pair of footsteps come racing down the hallway. Angie came into the living room and paused when she saw me sitting there. Then she toddled across and picked up the TV remote. She expertly switched on the TV and changed channels to the cartoons. She hardly seemed to notice the bright green cast on her arm.
I set my cereal bowl out of the way and held out my arms for her. She snuggled on my lap and the two of us relaxed and watched cartoons. The stories were simple and happy and slow and corny and the artwork could best be described as primitive, but I loved every minute of it. I sat slumped on the couch with Angie in my arms and let myself drift. The lumpy weight of Angie’s body pressing down into me kept me anchored to the couch. Without her weighing me down, I might have floated away like a helium balloon.
Some time later I looked up and saw that Dad had walked into the room. He was standing beside the couch and looking down at us.
“Hi!” said Dad in a quiet voice.
“Hi!”
“I see your mother has been drawing again.”
We were speaking in those hushed tones people use early in the morning before everyone has woken up.
“Yeah!”
“It looks like we’ll be getting our own breakfast this morning.”
I pointed at my used bowl and spoon. “I’ve already eaten.”
Dad glared at the evidence. “You didn’t clean up after yourself.”
I shrugged and pointed at my occupied lap. “I got Angified before I could clean up. I’ll do it later.”
“Never mind! I’ll do it,” grumbled Dad.
He picked up my plate and looked at Angie.
“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Angelcakes?”
“Nope!”
“What do you want, cereal or toast or beetles?”
I screwed my face up at Dad but Angie laughed and clapped her hands.
“I want beetles – and toast.”
“You’re on, Angelcakes. Beetles on toast, it is.”
Dad took two steps toward the doorway and then stopped.
“Blast! It looks like we’re out of beetles. They all ran away. I suppose they didn’t want to be eaten. How about I open a can of baked beans instead. Is that okay?”
Angie nodded. “Can I eat in front of the TV?”
“May I ... and no, you may not! You know we eat breakfast in the kitchen.”
“Bec had her breakfast out here,” said Angie with a hint of a whine in her voice.
I ended up on the receiving end of one of those “if looks could kill” glares from Dad. He turned and went into the kitchen without saying another word.
A little while later Dad came back into the living room. He was carrying a tray with two plates of toast and baked beans plus a plastic beaker of milk and a mug of coffee. He set them down on the coffee table and winked at Angie.
“We’re eating out here this morning because Mum is sleeping in the kitchen and we don’t want to wake her. Now sit up to the table and don’t make a mess.”
He waited for Angie to scramble out of my lap and sit with her legs under the coffee table before he lowered himself to sit beside her.
I watched with a pleased smile on my face as Dad and Angie ate their breakfast together. Angie chattered away to Dad about thousand different things and Dad listened intently to every word. Dad was looking more relaxed with Angie than I’d ever seen him and Angie was lapping it up. It made me feel good, watching that.
When they were finished, Dad got Angie to lie on the floor and watch the cartoons. Then he came and sat next to me.
“I think we should probably talk about last night,” said Dad.
I nodded. “Probably.”
Dad nodded and looked around the room.
There was a moment of silence.
The TV still gyred and gimbled away at Angie with its racing music and silly sound effects, but between us there was silence.
The moment of silence stretched out.
Dad picked up my hand and held it in one of his. He used a finger of his other hand to trace up and down the back of my hand. Then his finger tracked down to my wrist where it brushed back and forth over my bracelet.
“I see you remembered to put your bracelet on this morning,” he said.
“I didn’t take it off.”
“Good! That’s the idea.”
There was another silence – a long stretchy silence.
I leaned sideways and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt him tense slightly and then relax. His hand patted mine.
“So what are your plans for today?” he asked.
“I have that wedding Mr Davidson is involved with.”
“Oh! That’s right. I forgot about the wedding. I’m tempted to drive past simply to get a look at George in a tux.”
“I’ll take a photo for you. My new phone has a built-in camera.”
“Does it? I didn’t know that.”
“Yup.”
Dad nodded his understanding and looked around the room.
The bright colors and fast pace of the action on the TV made a sharp contrast to the snail-like progress of our conversation.
“So, honey! Are you feeling okay this morning?”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Good! That’s good!”
“How about you, Dad? Are you okay?”
“I suppose I’m fine, too.”
Silence stretched into long strings that drooped in the middle until they broke under their own weight and dangled uselessly.
Elouise
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