late arrival

The children of my friends have all come and gone.  Their spring breaks happened over the past few weeks.  My son’s break begins today.

Yesterday afternoon I text Alexander to ask when he’s coming home. “Proly 2 or so.”  He later amends this to the bus leaving around 2 or so.  That means he should be home around seven.

Great.  I text him and ask if he wants sushi for dinner. “Yes,” he immediately responds.  These kind of texts he doesn't ignore.

I imagine a nice Friday night with my son.  I haven’t seen Alexander in over two months.  We’ll watch a movie or maybe a Law & Order.  It’ll be nice.  I’m looking forward to tonight.  Have been all week.

But then last night I get a text from Alexander.  “Hey, actually don’t get sushi, Daniel’s staying at our place on Friday.”  Daniel is a friend of his from school who lives in LA.  I like Daniel; no problem I text.  I guess our nice night in together will be another night.

Then Alexander writes again.  He and Daniel are now taking a 4pm bus; they should arrive around nine.

The 4pm bus morphs into the 4:20 bus that morphs into the bus being delayed and finally arriving at Cornell at 5:30, over an hour late.

Around 11, Alexander and his friend Daniel arrive.  My son is barely recognizable under all the hair he’s sprouted since his last hair cut in January, here in New York. I like long hair.  It's just that his is unrestrained, and grows more up and out than down.  Maybe there are no hair cutters in Ithaca.Though really,  it doesn’t matter.  He’s my son. I'll always find him adorable.