Heather unlocked the door. It was a crisp fall late-October afternoon. She felt a bit weak. She barely ate breakfast or lunch. Her friends were concerned about her. She couldn't eat. For someone who's 14 and healthy, she was never sick. Therefore, it was so unusual for her to not be able to keep it down.
Now that she was a teenager, her mom took the chance to take on new patients. As an ob/gyn, she was in high demand. Such was the case today. Also, her father was a tax accountant. It may not be tax season, but he was still wrapped up, submerged in figures and numbers.
She always had cheese and crackers. When she got home today, however, she didn't want them. How could she hide that in any of the trash cans? Did either of her parents even pay that much attention to what was in the trash can? Also, she was mindful of what she fed their dog, Goldie.
She just sat on the couch and soon got into those Dick Van Dyke reruns. Two hours of it. She wasn't sure what to eat. Her parents were going to be out all evening. How to hide what she couldn't eat.
Later that evening, she attempted to eat...
The door opened. She heard the lilting whistle of her mom. She had this way of whistling tunes from the Jesus Music era. Song of choice "Rock That Doesn't Roll."
"Hi, Mom," Heather said as she kept wiping her mouth and swallowed hard several times.
"Honey, are you okay? You look sick."
"Oh, no. I was just getting small aftertaste of some juice I drank."
"Well, that stomach bug is going around."
"Mom, I never get that no matter what."
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