Ferris Bueller's Night Out

His dad took the 294 out to Willow Road, and he stared out the window in the stifling silence, waiting for his dad to say something – anything – but the old man just pushed on into the night.

"Quite a snow," Tom Bueller said at last. "First good one we've had this year."

"Oh?" Ferris said, turning to look at his father. "Is that right?"

But nothing. Not even a 'How are you doing, son?' so he turned and looked at the passing trees, their snow covered branches beginning to sag under the weight of so much...

"Got a girlfriend yet, son?"

"No, but I've been thinking of adopting a Pitbull."

"Don't worry, Ferris. We won't be visiting you out there any time soon."

"Phew. One less thing to worry about."

They turned on Hibbard and the contours of this part of the world seemed less changed to him, more comfortably familiar, and when his father turned on Pine the landscape seemed to pop into sharper relief – and the word "Home" kept slamming into consciousness. Home, as in 'I belong here.'

'And maybe I did, once. But I turned away from all that, didn't I? Like I turned away from – him. From everything he represented, everything he wanted me to be.'

Passing Rosewood, then Blackthorn – and feelings of the familiar engulfed him as they turned on Walden Road. Houses he had known since childhood looked resolutely unchanged, even the Christmas lights looked transported from the 70s to the present, and he saw a snowman in their front yard and wondered who the hell had made it...

Yet all the lights were off inside, save for a Christmas tree in the living room, and as he got his bag out of the trunk he wondered if his mother had gone to sleep early. He cut across the yard – a simple gesture he knew infuriated his father no end – heading for the front door, and he waited while his father walked along the freshly shoveled walk for the front porch, and he stood aside and waited while the old man fumbled with the keys to the door – dropping them once before he managed to open the door.

He followed his father into the dark house, and put his bag down and reached for a light switch when –

"SURPRISE!"

Every light in the house flipped on, party-poppers popped and confetti arced through the air, and as Ferris Bueller jumped back in shock he noticed that about half the Class of '86 was in the living room – iPhones out, cameras flashing away – and he turned and looked at his old man.

"Happy Birthday, Ferris," his father said, trying to make himself heard over the roar – and just as gravity is an inescapable force, so too was their overwhelming need.

He flew into his father's arms, then felt his mother beside them and he turned and gathered her into their enfolding embrace, and he didn't want this moment to end, this feeling of belonging.

But soon enough gravity pulled him out into the living room and he made his way through his friends – until he came to Cameron. Then he flew into Cameron's arms, too...

"Bastard!" Ferris cried. "You knew? And you kept it a secret!?"

"Dickhead! Of course I did – your mother would have killed me if I hadn't!" And Katie came over and hugged Cameron – again – and then the three of them walked through the crowd to the kitchen together...

...and there was Sloane Peterson, standing by an open oven door, taking a fresh batch of her infamous brownies from the oven...

+++++

Thirty years.

Thirty years since he'd seen her, and the wave of emotion that rolled over Ferris Bueller was unsettling enough – until he saw her eyes. Again, and for the very first time. Just like the last time.

Thirty years, and the wave of anger that hit him hadn't subsided even a little bit. Thirty years since she'd shown him the letter. From the boyfriend she'd never let on she had. The other boyfriend – she'd had for over a year. Out in Oregon.

"Ferris! Hi!" she said, but she was measuring his reaction as closely as he was gauging hers.

"Hello there."

She put the pyrex baking dish down on a trivet and came to him, gave him a little hug, and the slightest kiss on his chin. "You're looking pretty good," she chirped.

"Uh-huh. You too." He turned to leave – but Cameron was blocking the way.

"Ferris? Come on...thirty years...let bygones be bygones..." Cameron whispered, but he saw his mother standing in the dining room, looking at him carefully now, and once again he felt something wasn't quite right with this world. No, something was very badly askew.

And his father walked over and stood beside his mother, and the tumblers started falling into place...

"Jeannie," he whispered. "Where's Jeannie?"

His father came to him again, and Sloane was by his side now, too.

"Ferris, she's upstairs. In her bedroom," his old man said. "You need to know; this was all her idea...she wanted to do this for you."

"What? What's wrong? What are you not telling me?"

Sloane had him by the arm now, Cameron too, and his mother came up to him and led them all into the kitchen. Once the door was closed his mother came to him: "She's sick, Ferris. Our Jeannie's very ill."

"What do you mean, sick? How sick?"

Tom Bueller looked away, and in that moment he knew his sister was very ill indeed, and with that he broke free and ran for the back stairway, the one that led straight to their rooms. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, then he stood outside her door, listening.

Voices. Jeannie's and...?

He knocked on the door, waited a second then opened it and stuck his head in.

A nurse adjusting an IV, and another woman, about their age, blocked his view of the bed and he started to come in...

"Ferris," came the disembodied voice he knew so well, "not yet, okay?"

The other woman came to the door and ushered him out into the hall.

"You must be Ferris. I'm Deb," the woman said, holding out her right hand.

He looked at it and took it. "Deb?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Jeannie and I are, well, we're together."

"Together?"

"They're married, Ferris," Katie Bueller said, now standing by her son's side.

"Married? I didn't get an invitation?" – and he turned and looked at this woman anew.

"No one did," Tom Bueller said. "They eloped. Isn't that right, Deborah?"

"Yes, Dad," this stranger said, then the nurse opened the door and asked Ferris, and only Ferris, to come back inside.

He turned, looked at his father – who nodded his head gently, mouthed 'it's okay' as he motioned to her room with his head – and he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath...

"Hey, it's Dickhead!" she said when he had closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Fuckface. What's with all this nonsense?" he asked, pointing at the IV stand by her bed. "You know, you don't need all this bullshit if you're just trying to cut classes..."

"No one would know better than you, Ferris."

"You got that right. Now really, what's all this about?"

"Oh, a little problem with my pancreas."

"Cancer?" he asked, quietly. He didn't see her hands shaking, or her lips trembling. Neither did he feel his own hands shaking.

She nodded her head and he started to cry. Slowly at first, then almost uncontrollably.

"Come here, Dickhead. You'd better sit your fat ass next to mine and give me a hug."

They held on to another for the longest time, then she told him to go downstairs, join his party, and that they'd talk again later.

"Dad said this was all your idea?"

"Uh-huh. One more Christmas together, Ferris. Let's make this one the best ever?"

He nodded his head. "Okay."

The nurse went back in as he left, but no one was waiting for him now so he walked back down to the kitchen. Deb and Sloane were cutting brownies, his mother leaning into his father's shoulder, smiling very bravely now as he came over.

"I take it she asked you to not tell me?" he said when he got to their side.

His father nodded his head. "She only told us right after Thanksgiving, Ferris. She came home two weeks ago, and we've got hospice care set up here now."

"Hospice? Now? How far along is this?"

"She has a week, maybe two, Ferris," his mother said, tears rolling freely now.

"I see," he said in a daze, then he turned towards a voice he'd never expected to hear again. "Is that Rooney?" he said.

"None other," Cameron said, now standing by his side. "Darth Rooney, in the flesh."

"Who the hell invited him?"

"I can not tell a lie," Cameron said, pointing. "She did," he added, indicating his mother.

"Of course I did, Ferris," Katie Bueller said. "This is an important night for him, too. He's just been invited to speak at your thirtieth reunion this summer."

"Oh, joy."

"Exactly!"

"Here Ferris," Sloane said, handing him a brownie. "Try one of these," she said as she disappeared into the living room, handing out fresh brownies as she went. He watched as she handed Rooney two of her potent concoctions, and he groaned inwardly, dreading what had to come next. Her marijuana brownies had been the stuff of legend by her sophomore year, and he turned in time to see Deb carrying a couple up to Jeannie's room.

"Oh, swell," he said – but Cameron was already giggling.

"Mow-ee Wow-ee," Cameron pantomimed, then: "I can't wait to see Rooney with the munchies."

"You're sick, Frye."

"I know. Ain't it grand?"

Then he watched his father take two of the brownies – and when Sloane grinned at Ferris he rolled his eyes – and for a moment wished he'd never been born...

+++++

The party wound down sometime after midnight, some time after his red-eyed father downed a bag of Doritos, some time after he stumbled off towards his bedroom, dragging Katie behind him – all the while muttering something about taking Viagra this late at night – leaving Cameron, Sloane and Ferris to hold down the fort. Ferris – on Hawaii time and a confirmed night owl – wouldn't be sleepy for another five or so hours, while both Cameron and Sloane, being long-time west-coasties, weren't in much better shape. Ferris turned off all the lights save for those on the elaborately decorated Christmas tree, and the three of them sat in the living room – staring at the tree's amber glowing memories.

"You know," Ferris said after several minutes in the zone, "my earliest memories are right here in this room. In this very spot, I think – I don't think Mom has even changed the furniture arrangement in here since third grade. Most of the ornaments on that tree...I recognize most of them from then."

"I think I'd be kind of grateful to have that feeling right about now," Cameron sighed.

"I don't think your folks were ever into Christmas," Sloane said. "Not like Ferris's parents, anyway."

"No one's into Christmas like my Mom."

"I love her so much," Cameron said, and Sloane leaned over and gave him a hug. "She was always the mother I wished mine was."

"She's like glue, I guess," Ferris said, still not looking away from the tree. "She's the thing that bound us all together, one way or another. I think she still does, like it's her role in life."

"Remember when she taught us how to bake cookies?" Sloane said. "After my father died?"

"What year was that?"

"I can't remember."

"We need to get the fire going again," Cameron said, standing to go get a few logs. Ferris went with him, then they stoked the embers and added a log, waited for it to catch them added another.

"Good call," Sloane said – yawning, and Cameron smiled at her as he sat beside her on the sofa. Without any pretense she scooted away a bit, but then lay her head in his lap, and Cameron visibly relaxed for the first time all evening.

"Why don't you two get married?" Ferris asked. "Just stop all this pussyfooting around and, well, go out and tie the knot?"

"I think, Ferris," Cameron began, sarcastically, "maybe it has to do with her still being in love with someone else."

"Oh? What do you have to say about that, Sloane?"

"It's true," she said, then she yawned again. "My god, I'm sleepier than I thought..."

"Go upstairs, take my bed," Ferris said. "I won't be sleepy 'til noon tomorrow." Seconds later he saw she was out cold, her head still planted firmly on Cameron's lap. He shook his head as he said: "Have any idea how much pot she put in those brownies?"

Cameron bit his lip, snickered: "A shitload, man."

"You know, my dad is 82 years old, and for God's sake, he's upstairs boning my mom."

"Hope springs eternal, Ferris," Sloane purred, a smile buried within her sleepy features.

"Sloane?"

"Yes?"

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, Ferris."

"How're things going in LA?"

Cameron leaned back, looked at the ceiling for a long time then shook his head. "It's high pressure, Ferris, and not at all fun. I always thought Hollywood would be, ya know, but it's not. The actors I've met are like something out of a nightmare, all ego and drugs and manic parties...and everything is always money-money-money."

"Any bright spots?"

"Yeah, the composers. Zimmer is cool. I could see hanging out with him someday."

"What are you working on now?"

"Paramount approached me to direct a remake of Now, Voyager..."

"The Bette Davis flick?"

"Yup."

"Who'd play...?"

"Mindy Mahan."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me...?"

"Nope." Sloane was grinning now, trying to stifle a laugh when Cameron continued. "She's really gotten her act together, and when you get right down to it, she's not a bad actress."

"Been getting' any?" Ferris asked.

"Any what?"

"Any what? What the fuck's wrong with you, Frye? Have you been going out any, or did you join an order?"

"The Franciscans, Ferris. Years ago."

"So, why don't you ask her to marry you?"

"Who? Sloane?"

"Maybe you have another ear infection, too?"

Cameron looked down at the girl with her head on his lap. "Sloane, honey, would you like to get married?"

Her eyes popped open and she turned to face Cameron. "You serious?"

"Yup. What do you think? Wanna hop on a plane, go to Vegas and tie one on?"

She turned and looked at Ferris, a million questions in her eyes. "What do you think, Ferris? Should I marry Cameron?"

"Would that make you happy? Happier than anything else in the world?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"What would make you happier?"

"If you asked me to marry you."

He looked at her for a long time; his eyes danced over and he looked at the fear and longing in Cameron's eyes, and he smiled and shook his head. "I'm too old for you, honey."

"Then I'll marry you, Cameron," she said, grinning.

"You better be sure this time," Ferris added, "because I think he is."

And Sloane sat up when she heard that, then she rubbed her eyes. "Cam, do you mean it? You really want to get married?"

"Only for the last thirty seven years."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"I think I'd like that," Sloane added. "Ferris? Do you think your dad would stand up for me?"

"Yeah, if your goddamn brownies don't kill him first."

"You think we could do it here?"

"Where?" Cameron asked incredulously. "Here?"

"Yes," Sloane added. "Right here in this living room. That way Jeannie could be here, be a part of everything. Cam? What do you think?"

"I like it," Cameron said as he pulled at his chin. "Ferris? You in?"

And Ferris Bueller looked at the two people he still loved most in this world, and he nodded his head. "Yeah. Why not. I'm sure Dad knows a JP he can get to do it. When? When should we shoot for?"

"Christmas Day?" Cameron said, his voice cracking now as the turn of this evening caught up with him.

"Ooh, I love it!" Sloane added. "Ferris? You really think we can pull this off?"

"Hey," Ferris Bueller said, pointing to himself with both thumbs, "look who you're talkin' to, kid. Now get upstairs, both of you, and get to work, try to make some babies or something..."

+++++

An hour later Ferris was still sitting alone in the dark, still looking at the Christmas tree, still thinking about Cameron and Sloane and smiling to himself when he heard voices coming down the back stairway, and he turned in time to see Jeannie – with Deb rolling the IV stand behind her – and he stood and rushed over to her.

"Are you okay for this?" he asked as he took her forearms and steadied her.

"Yeah," she said – her voice tremulous, beyond weak as she looked in his eyes. "I needed to sit with you for awhile. Like old times, ya know."

He helped her over to the big chair by the tree – always her favorite – then sat on the sofa across from her as Deb disappeared back into the kitchen...

"What'd you think of Rooney?" she asked as he settled in.

And Ferris sighed as he thought back to their encounter now almost thirty years ago – and their latest only a few hours gone. "You know, it's hard to think we were ever afraid of the guy. He seemed so much bigger than life back then. Now, he just seems..."

"Small."

"Yeah, Jeannie, that's it. Like, why were we so concerned about something so small. So..."

"Insignificant."

"Yeah," he grinned. "Exactly."

"Kind of like all the differences between us, huh?"

He looked at her then, saw something wonderful in her eyes. "Yes. That too."

"When I was diagnosed," she began as she drifted, "I was sitting in the docs office waiting for her to come in – after all the MRIs and blood work – and I just knew it was going to be bad news." She sighed, looked at the tree while Ferris looked at the glow on her face. "I was sitting there thinking how much I needed you with me just then, that you'd know just what to do, that you'd know how to get me out of this, take me away from everything I knew was about to happen. That you'd make everything all better again."

"I wish you'd called me."

"I wanted to."

"Why? After all this...?"

"Time?" She turned and looked at him again. "Time hasn't been that kind to you and me, Ferris, or maybe..."

"Or maybe we haven't been too kind to time."

She nodded her head again. "You know, when I wasn't so busy hating you I looked up to you like you wouldn't believe. My big brother, the kid with the plan, the man I knew I'd always be able to count on to get me out of anything bad."

He smiled at the irony of the thought, of her emotions. "I've never loved anyone as much as I loved you that afternoon. When Rooney..."

"I know. I'd never hated anyone as much I hated you that afternoon, then I realized all that hate was just envy. That you were the person I'd always wanted to be, yet somehow never could be, and I realized that wanting to destroy you was a way of destroying myself."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It was that one moment in life when everything became crystal clear. I wanted to be like you – just like you, in every way, if you know what I mean. And I knew I never could be, so I just let go for a while. I let go and started to drift."

"Tell me about Deborah."

"We met at school, right after I started my third year at Deerfield; we were house mothers in one of the dorms. I'd never thought of myself that way – you know, liking women – but I liked talking to her, had never felt so comfortable with anyone, and all the rest was easy after that. It was like all the stories you hear growing up, finding a soulmate, finding someone to grow old with, to talk with, to hold in the middle of the night."

"Lucky."

"What about you?"

He shook his head. "No such luck."

"Why not?"

"You know, I think I finally convinced Cameron to ask Sloane to marry him tonight, and I think she said yes."

"What?"

"I think they're going to do it, too. Right here, in this room, on Christmas Day."

"WHAT?"

"Yup."

"Ferris? Not you? Why didn't you ask her?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because if I did I'd end up losing them both, forever. This way I can have them and hold them in my heart, the way I've always wanted them to be. The way we were back then."

"But you've always loved her, since second grade, anyway. It just doesn't make sense, Ferris. You two belong together. You always have."