The cab driver was scared. She could taste metallic, coppery tang in the back of her mouth when their eyes met and the static sound that roared at the back of her mind. He had been talking to someone before picking her up, someone at the home, right before she’d come out. A police officer. His brother. He knew who she was. She remembered someone heading around the corner as she’d come out with her bags. No one walked her out. No one said good bye.
That same metallic taste. The world was drowning in it now that she was away from home.
He mumbled something to her when she’d first come out before reluctantly going to get her bags. Their eyes met. The world dropped from under her feet and roared at the back of her mind. Mère told her when she found a boy which made her feel the way she felt when she touched people’s minds that she should immediately take him home to meet the family. Lark remembered her blushing at the teasing. She smiled more in her memories. At least, the ones before she turned twelve.
The roar quieted into soft radio static, just a station away from being able to listen as he climbed into the car. His knuckles went white from the steering wheel and safe for furtive glances to his passenger he kept his attention firmly on the road. She should’ve felt powerful, Lark reasoned. He was larger than her by a head and a half - bigger as well. Older. Stronger. Back home she probably would have revelled in it; she did revel in it. When she told her father about how the other kids treated her after her first semester in high school he smiled and call her his little viper with a kiss on the head, his little monster with an adoring smile. Mère hated the nickname; to her Lark had always been her little poppet, but she would smile all the same and shake her head at the entrance of the study. That world seemed miles away now. She used to savor it. The tang in the air tasted bitter now.
Daddy's Little Monster
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
Lark had met Melissa her first week at the home. The first few attempts of Lark’s to be kind, be the person that Firefox thought she was failed miserably. As if it was her fault; as if it were a crime to point out someone was actually wearing keds by choice instead of real shoes, or that their haircut made them look like butch Gwyneth Paltrow, or that they were skinny enough to look like an Olsen on meth. The words just bubbled out like sharp little barbs - even her friendliest smile still had those sharkish teeth - waiting for blood, waiting for weakness. Not that it was much her fault, Lark imagined, no one could take a joke here; they got angry, they screamed... one even broke down sobbing even when she tried to kindly offer that if they didn’t have money for decent clothes she could buy them something less embarrassing.
Worst of all was Melissa. She had wide, dark brown eyes and choppy short blonde hair that seemed like it had been done by someone in a hurry. Lark imagined from the bruises on her arm and shoulder that it hadn’t been her choice. She was skinny and underfed with a nervous disposition and all together too appropriate buck teeth. Back home her father would have called a girl like Melissa a ‘rabbit’ with a snort of derision - a person with the sole purpose of feeding sharks and lions. Back home, Lark would have agreed. Her weakness made Lark queasy inside; the way she’d just sit there and let the other girls bully her without a complaint or word.. They were roommates despite Lark’s protests that she needed her own room in a place where everyone was angry or scared or depressed all the time. No one listened much.. Space was too short.
So, every night Melissa woke up screaming.
Lark listened. Melissa was a talker so long as she wasn’t awake; mumbling things about people, about places and things that she’d seen. Lark listened to it and watched the clock tick down as the dreams warped into nightmares and she woke up screaming. Melissa never seemed to catch on that her roommate was there with a blanket and some hot cocoa each time. She took it on oath that Lark was studying or watching television or reading or something each time.
Dumb, Lark thought. Trusting and very, very dumb. Lark told her so every night. She stroked Melissa’s hair to calm the girl back down while calling her pathetic and embarrassing until her hiccupy tears ceased and Melissa drifted back to sleep. She rolled her eyes and commented on how much of a loser Melissa was as she covered Melissa’s morning chores and signed her name so no one would know the other girl was sleeping in. She gave her fifty dollars so she wouldn’t have to look at Melissa’s dumb, baby jumper again that she was wearing three days in a row despite the jumper being wool and summer being hot.
Little things in retrospect. Little ways that the person that Firefox said she was would eke out through the cracks despite Lark’s every attempt to keep from showing that softness to the world. Nothing so big as what followed; what she’d done to Melissa’s father after their theoretically supervised meeting. Custody battle - Lark understood that much from Melissa’s constant dialogue in her sleep. Melissa was at the home until something could get straightened out; whether Melissa’s mom could have her back after leaving or whether she stayed with her dad still. It wasn’t her business, at least, Lark tried to not make it her business. Then came fresh bruises that Melissa tried to hide them underneath a heavy sweater (in summer. Idiot. As if no one would notice). It was impossible not to notice Melissa flinch and snap around when a door slammed like she was expecting something. The way her voice rose into a panic when she spilled something and apologized over and over and over again when no one asked her to. Pathetic. Too pathetic to even exist, really, like a rabbit just trying to climb into some lion’s mouth. Lark told herself each night it wasn’t really her responsibility to keep Melissa from doing something so stupid, at least, not when Melissa seemed so intent on it. But, if the idiot didn’t seem to know what was good for her, then, what would ever change...?
She’d finally decided that nothing would unless she got involved herself after Melissa sniffled her way back to sleep. No one was around. At least Lark thought no one was around. She went through the other girl’s things to take out her ID, find her dad’s house and climb out the window. Her eyes stung. Tears, though Lark hadn’t the faintest idea for why. She watched him watching television in the window for a long moment - standing there so he could see the silhouette of someone stalking outside the window. She dug deep; every bit of rage and loneliness and frustration at being trapped here in this world that wasn’t her world. His self-loathing, his disguist, his contempt and rage... Lark reached down deep and grasped at it from it’s root and pulled it forth into the world. She let him see her; she took off her mask and held up the ID she’d taken from Melissa. His eyes locked on hers as Lark’s. Her head swam and that taste of copper filled her mouth and the roar of static flooded her mind. Strange. Before she hadn’t wanted to revel in it but something was different now. It didn’t taste bitter or empty now. The sharp metal tang almost came sweet. She revelled. Drank in the fear.
Melissa was asleep when she got back in and the sun was lightening the sky. Not much else was said. Life went on until one day when she saw something on her bed wrapped up in tissue paper. To my hero, the letter read, thank you. I can’t sew very well but I’ve been working on this for you so next time they won’t have to see your face. Thank you, so much, Lark. For everything. That was the last that Lark saw of Melissa. She got to the door in time to see the younger girl get into the car with a woman that looked too much like her to be anyone but her mother. Their eyes met. There was no roar, no tang of metal and copper. Melissa just smiled and put her hand against the glass of the window. Lark watched the car until it became a pinpoint on the horizon.
Worst of all was Melissa. She had wide, dark brown eyes and choppy short blonde hair that seemed like it had been done by someone in a hurry. Lark imagined from the bruises on her arm and shoulder that it hadn’t been her choice. She was skinny and underfed with a nervous disposition and all together too appropriate buck teeth. Back home her father would have called a girl like Melissa a ‘rabbit’ with a snort of derision - a person with the sole purpose of feeding sharks and lions. Back home, Lark would have agreed. Her weakness made Lark queasy inside; the way she’d just sit there and let the other girls bully her without a complaint or word.. They were roommates despite Lark’s protests that she needed her own room in a place where everyone was angry or scared or depressed all the time. No one listened much.. Space was too short.
So, every night Melissa woke up screaming.
Lark listened. Melissa was a talker so long as she wasn’t awake; mumbling things about people, about places and things that she’d seen. Lark listened to it and watched the clock tick down as the dreams warped into nightmares and she woke up screaming. Melissa never seemed to catch on that her roommate was there with a blanket and some hot cocoa each time. She took it on oath that Lark was studying or watching television or reading or something each time.
Dumb, Lark thought. Trusting and very, very dumb. Lark told her so every night. She stroked Melissa’s hair to calm the girl back down while calling her pathetic and embarrassing until her hiccupy tears ceased and Melissa drifted back to sleep. She rolled her eyes and commented on how much of a loser Melissa was as she covered Melissa’s morning chores and signed her name so no one would know the other girl was sleeping in. She gave her fifty dollars so she wouldn’t have to look at Melissa’s dumb, baby jumper again that she was wearing three days in a row despite the jumper being wool and summer being hot.
Little things in retrospect. Little ways that the person that Firefox said she was would eke out through the cracks despite Lark’s every attempt to keep from showing that softness to the world. Nothing so big as what followed; what she’d done to Melissa’s father after their theoretically supervised meeting. Custody battle - Lark understood that much from Melissa’s constant dialogue in her sleep. Melissa was at the home until something could get straightened out; whether Melissa’s mom could have her back after leaving or whether she stayed with her dad still. It wasn’t her business, at least, Lark tried to not make it her business. Then came fresh bruises that Melissa tried to hide them underneath a heavy sweater (in summer. Idiot. As if no one would notice). It was impossible not to notice Melissa flinch and snap around when a door slammed like she was expecting something. The way her voice rose into a panic when she spilled something and apologized over and over and over again when no one asked her to. Pathetic. Too pathetic to even exist, really, like a rabbit just trying to climb into some lion’s mouth. Lark told herself each night it wasn’t really her responsibility to keep Melissa from doing something so stupid, at least, not when Melissa seemed so intent on it. But, if the idiot didn’t seem to know what was good for her, then, what would ever change...?
She’d finally decided that nothing would unless she got involved herself after Melissa sniffled her way back to sleep. No one was around. At least Lark thought no one was around. She went through the other girl’s things to take out her ID, find her dad’s house and climb out the window. Her eyes stung. Tears, though Lark hadn’t the faintest idea for why. She watched him watching television in the window for a long moment - standing there so he could see the silhouette of someone stalking outside the window. She dug deep; every bit of rage and loneliness and frustration at being trapped here in this world that wasn’t her world. His self-loathing, his disguist, his contempt and rage... Lark reached down deep and grasped at it from it’s root and pulled it forth into the world. She let him see her; she took off her mask and held up the ID she’d taken from Melissa. His eyes locked on hers as Lark’s. Her head swam and that taste of copper filled her mouth and the roar of static flooded her mind. Strange. Before she hadn’t wanted to revel in it but something was different now. It didn’t taste bitter or empty now. The sharp metal tang almost came sweet. She revelled. Drank in the fear.
Melissa was asleep when she got back in and the sun was lightening the sky. Not much else was said. Life went on until one day when she saw something on her bed wrapped up in tissue paper. To my hero, the letter read, thank you. I can’t sew very well but I’ve been working on this for you so next time they won’t have to see your face. Thank you, so much, Lark. For everything. That was the last that Lark saw of Melissa. She got to the door in time to see the younger girl get into the car with a woman that looked too much like her to be anyone but her mother. Their eyes met. There was no roar, no tang of metal and copper. Melissa just smiled and put her hand against the glass of the window. Lark watched the car until it became a pinpoint on the horizon.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
The cab driver barely paused after unloading her luggage; roughly tossing the leather bound things onto the sidewalk. He certainly didn’t bother to help her to the door. Instead, he leaped back into his car and sped off as soon as it was safe to do so without hitting the girl. She watched it until it became a pinpoint on the horizon and the metallic taste receded. Lark was left to stand there alone staring at a building that seemed far bigger than it ought. She wondered for a moment if she would’ve felt afraid were that an option; staring up and empty at the building as her state appointed guardian came out and greeted her, explaining something about a meeting, the school, helping her. Fear is like blood in the water. It calls out the sharks. She could remember her father’s words clearer than the current droning in her ear; she let her hand run over the dark red felt that Melissa had so carefully sewn for her.. You’ll either have to become strong like a shark or stay weak and be gobbled up whole; that’s all that is there for weak people - to be gobbled up whole. And I know that my beautiful little girl isn’t weak.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
Lark unpacked what few things that weren’t confiscated over the bed. A few shirts and some dresses and slacks and skirts. Her sewing things had to be shipped rather than come with her; they said the wheel and the loom would arrive later in the week, but her needles and a few of the projects were still there. Still, all of that was just fabric to protect the real things she’d packed so carefully. Her hand lingered as it passed over the objects; her ballet shoes, her favorite doll, her first award for jumping, a picture of her parents when they were younger, and a small stack of letters tied together with string.
She looked to the doll; smoothing out its brown hair and fixing her own as well to match their styles with a wry chuckle. Isabella. She needed a place in the room.
Lark remembered how proud daddy and mere had been when she channelled power for the first time. Mere covered her mouth and squeaked the way, put her hand over her chest and smiled adoringly at her daughter and then her husband. Daddy ruffled her head and kissed her on the forehead and smiled that smile that made every problem in the world seemed to go away. They got on the phone immediately; daddy did, calling uncles and aunts and friends.
Mother and she, instead, went to the kitchen to make preliminary plans for the party. Lark had a few suggestions for friends, most of which were flatly refused. Mother rolled her eyes as she smiled, cutting the crusts from Lark’s watercress sandwiches as the young girl looked out the window with a sigh.
“I don’t understand why I can’t have the Evanses over... Robin never has time to play anyhow.”
“You’re a Boulstridge and a Lowell and a young lady - those boys... they are not good company for a young lady like you. Not everyone is like us with good blood. You’re practically royalty.” Mere was fond of reminding Lark of this, setting the plate with the finished sandwiches down. Usually it came as an admonishment for when Lark had moments of truly bratty behavior, but, today it was the beginning of an explanation.
“Your father’s family carries no small weight in our community; our wedding had been planned ages before. I was really surprised, actually, that he wanted me since my family wasn’t nearly so old. I was terribly frightened of your grandmere when I met her, I squeaked when I spoke.”
“You didn’t know daddy when you married him? How could you love him if you didn’t pick him...” Lark squinted slightly picking up her sandwich and nibbling delicately. Her mother shook her head and went to wipe off the counter.
“Love doesn’t work like that, little poppet.” Her mother’s laugh. It was beautiful. Lark tried to mimic it from time to time but there was some note that she could never quite match. “Storybooks are filled with this overwhelming love that takes you over. That’s the first, easy part, meant to help give you strength. Real love takes time and work and consideration for both people. And, we both knew that we were going to have a beautiful, wonderful, perfect little girl that we’d also love very much. And any rough spot we had, we just would sit and we’d talk about how wonderful our little daughter was going to be and they went away like that.”
They had a party later that week; invited some friends of the family and even a few uncles and aunts and their children. Lark showed off as best she could; figuring out which cousin had heard a ghost story and even making little flashes of purple from her hands for a second or two. She got presents - so many presents but best of all was the doll that had been made to look just like her with it’s perfect porcelain skin and bright eyes. Her parents talked about how their little girl was growing up and mama even cried a little as she gave her pre-dinner speech. Dinner was all of her favorites; roasted duck and fresh asparagus and mother even made her famous Bakewell tart for dessert. Everyone smiled at her. She even smiled back. She hadn’t known then, of course, hadn’t even suspected... though somehow Lark wondered if she should have instead of giggling when her father tweaked her nose and even teasingly complained she was too old for something like that. Why hadn’t she been angry when she found out the truth? A real hero would have been angry.
But, Lark wasn’t even angry now. Not at her mother or father. Not at her powers.
No one was around but she still blinked back the tears until her eyes burnt. No one was around; Lark took the comfort she could in hugging the doll and squeezing it until the urge to cry went away; burying her face in the lace and cotton dress that she and her mother had made and gritting her teeth so hard they almost squeaked. She stayed like that silent. The sting faded. Lark went back to unpacking. Isabella sat on her bed smiling as sweet.
She looked to the doll; smoothing out its brown hair and fixing her own as well to match their styles with a wry chuckle. Isabella. She needed a place in the room.
Lark remembered how proud daddy and mere had been when she channelled power for the first time. Mere covered her mouth and squeaked the way, put her hand over her chest and smiled adoringly at her daughter and then her husband. Daddy ruffled her head and kissed her on the forehead and smiled that smile that made every problem in the world seemed to go away. They got on the phone immediately; daddy did, calling uncles and aunts and friends.
Mother and she, instead, went to the kitchen to make preliminary plans for the party. Lark had a few suggestions for friends, most of which were flatly refused. Mother rolled her eyes as she smiled, cutting the crusts from Lark’s watercress sandwiches as the young girl looked out the window with a sigh.
“I don’t understand why I can’t have the Evanses over... Robin never has time to play anyhow.”
“You’re a Boulstridge and a Lowell and a young lady - those boys... they are not good company for a young lady like you. Not everyone is like us with good blood. You’re practically royalty.” Mere was fond of reminding Lark of this, setting the plate with the finished sandwiches down. Usually it came as an admonishment for when Lark had moments of truly bratty behavior, but, today it was the beginning of an explanation.
“Your father’s family carries no small weight in our community; our wedding had been planned ages before. I was really surprised, actually, that he wanted me since my family wasn’t nearly so old. I was terribly frightened of your grandmere when I met her, I squeaked when I spoke.”
“You didn’t know daddy when you married him? How could you love him if you didn’t pick him...” Lark squinted slightly picking up her sandwich and nibbling delicately. Her mother shook her head and went to wipe off the counter.
“Love doesn’t work like that, little poppet.” Her mother’s laugh. It was beautiful. Lark tried to mimic it from time to time but there was some note that she could never quite match. “Storybooks are filled with this overwhelming love that takes you over. That’s the first, easy part, meant to help give you strength. Real love takes time and work and consideration for both people. And, we both knew that we were going to have a beautiful, wonderful, perfect little girl that we’d also love very much. And any rough spot we had, we just would sit and we’d talk about how wonderful our little daughter was going to be and they went away like that.”
They had a party later that week; invited some friends of the family and even a few uncles and aunts and their children. Lark showed off as best she could; figuring out which cousin had heard a ghost story and even making little flashes of purple from her hands for a second or two. She got presents - so many presents but best of all was the doll that had been made to look just like her with it’s perfect porcelain skin and bright eyes. Her parents talked about how their little girl was growing up and mama even cried a little as she gave her pre-dinner speech. Dinner was all of her favorites; roasted duck and fresh asparagus and mother even made her famous Bakewell tart for dessert. Everyone smiled at her. She even smiled back. She hadn’t known then, of course, hadn’t even suspected... though somehow Lark wondered if she should have instead of giggling when her father tweaked her nose and even teasingly complained she was too old for something like that. Why hadn’t she been angry when she found out the truth? A real hero would have been angry.
But, Lark wasn’t even angry now. Not at her mother or father. Not at her powers.
No one was around but she still blinked back the tears until her eyes burnt. No one was around; Lark took the comfort she could in hugging the doll and squeezing it until the urge to cry went away; burying her face in the lace and cotton dress that she and her mother had made and gritting her teeth so hard they almost squeaked. She stayed like that silent. The sting faded. Lark went back to unpacking. Isabella sat on her bed smiling as sweet.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
The letters.
Lark stared at them for a long moment in the suitcase on her bed. She'd saved each one; wrapped them up in ribbon and hid them in the shoe box they'd decorated together with cut outs from magazines and books under her bed in Manhattan. It was too late to throw them out now. Ar wasn't certain to be above looking through trash - no one really could be trusted to not try and snoop. That opportunity passed.
She sat down on her bed. Opened the box. It still smelled like roses inside.
Some of the letters had started to become brittle; that weird crinkle when paper gets old. She stared at the letters in the box, the suitcase in her bed. Those could be put away later.
Lark picked up her awards for jumping. Three on one side of Isabella, three on the other, and the largest one behind her just like at home. It seemed odd putting these things up; bits and pieces of the old Lark around the room. Odd that her room was starting to look as much as the old one as it could. The same sewing table with bins and bins of needles, fabric, string organized to take up as little space as they could. The same awards neatly arranged and polished. Her music box that played songs from Swan Lake. The sheet that she used to make her bed a canopy. Her lamp that made the ceiling have the stars in the sky. Were these things even hers now? They were Lark's certainly but... Manhattan Lark. Princess Lark.
The music box was wound and it played softly as the ballerina twirled. The lamp was given a little push and the stars glittered across the sky.
Raleigh. She'd liked the idea of getting to say she hadn't thought about him since everything happened but that was a lie. Even getting to say she'd only thought of him once or twice would have been fine. Anything other than this constant nagging aching feeling. Lark cleaned her room again, vacuumed the rug, straightened out her objects, dusted away the non-existent dust. She had a diet soda, did fifty sit ups, ten push ups, took a shower, hung up some pictures and tried to start her needlework. It didn't work.
The rooms were meant for two people. All it took was a little bit of work with a wrench. She took the mattress from one bed and put it beside the other on the bottom to turn it into a proper Queen - stacked the two beds up and spread cloth to make a canopy. A safe little cave to watch the fake stars across the sky. It was a bad idea. Laying down and watching them spin was a bad idea: too many memories and she could make out his voice as if it were right beside her again. See his stupid freckled face with the scar over his nose from when he cut himself jumping over the fence when that new horse wasn't quite as prepared for a rider as everyone said. Feel is stupid shaggy hair draped over his arm. Hear his stupid laugh.
Stupid, all so stupid. Mere and daddy had warned her of this exact thing - that this sort of thing would happen to her. That the world was full of sharks just waiting to sink their teeth in as soon as you let down your guard. She sniffed back tears once - turning violently over away from the light.
Her datebook was out. Was open. Was written in with an appointment. 8:30pm.
She could hear his stupid laugh. She could see Lisa's stupid simpering smile when she asked for advice. The way that Hannah would giggle at Lark's jokes. Her friends.
Lark picked up her eraser.
Lark stared at them for a long moment in the suitcase on her bed. She'd saved each one; wrapped them up in ribbon and hid them in the shoe box they'd decorated together with cut outs from magazines and books under her bed in Manhattan. It was too late to throw them out now. Ar wasn't certain to be above looking through trash - no one really could be trusted to not try and snoop. That opportunity passed.
She sat down on her bed. Opened the box. It still smelled like roses inside.
Some of the letters had started to become brittle; that weird crinkle when paper gets old. She stared at the letters in the box, the suitcase in her bed. Those could be put away later.
Lark picked up her awards for jumping. Three on one side of Isabella, three on the other, and the largest one behind her just like at home. It seemed odd putting these things up; bits and pieces of the old Lark around the room. Odd that her room was starting to look as much as the old one as it could. The same sewing table with bins and bins of needles, fabric, string organized to take up as little space as they could. The same awards neatly arranged and polished. Her music box that played songs from Swan Lake. The sheet that she used to make her bed a canopy. Her lamp that made the ceiling have the stars in the sky. Were these things even hers now? They were Lark's certainly but... Manhattan Lark. Princess Lark.
The music box was wound and it played softly as the ballerina twirled. The lamp was given a little push and the stars glittered across the sky.
Raleigh. She'd liked the idea of getting to say she hadn't thought about him since everything happened but that was a lie. Even getting to say she'd only thought of him once or twice would have been fine. Anything other than this constant nagging aching feeling. Lark cleaned her room again, vacuumed the rug, straightened out her objects, dusted away the non-existent dust. She had a diet soda, did fifty sit ups, ten push ups, took a shower, hung up some pictures and tried to start her needlework. It didn't work.
The rooms were meant for two people. All it took was a little bit of work with a wrench. She took the mattress from one bed and put it beside the other on the bottom to turn it into a proper Queen - stacked the two beds up and spread cloth to make a canopy. A safe little cave to watch the fake stars across the sky. It was a bad idea. Laying down and watching them spin was a bad idea: too many memories and she could make out his voice as if it were right beside her again. See his stupid freckled face with the scar over his nose from when he cut himself jumping over the fence when that new horse wasn't quite as prepared for a rider as everyone said. Feel is stupid shaggy hair draped over his arm. Hear his stupid laugh.
Stupid, all so stupid. Mere and daddy had warned her of this exact thing - that this sort of thing would happen to her. That the world was full of sharks just waiting to sink their teeth in as soon as you let down your guard. She sniffed back tears once - turning violently over away from the light.
Her datebook was out. Was open. Was written in with an appointment. 8:30pm.
She could hear his stupid laugh. She could see Lisa's stupid simpering smile when she asked for advice. The way that Hannah would giggle at Lark's jokes. Her friends.
Lark picked up her eraser.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
It was strange taking out her clogging shoes again.
Lark put them on, practiced as softly as she could to not deeply upset the people under her first to make sure she remembered the steps. Just a tap or two so that it wouldn't be embarrassing - at least more embarrassing than the situation already warranted - with Syd later at class. She tapped her way through cleaning; straightening out her new bed sheets; fixing the faux canopy so the curtains would be held back with ribbon until they were loosened. The room was starting to look nice. Maybe a bit strange and packed as careful as could be to fit everything but nice. Lark flopped ungracefully on the bed, curling up with a pillow, breathing in and smiling. Maybe a little more than nice.
Raleigh had sent her a text. He'd called. He'd sent her a FacePlace message. She'd written a thousand replies and deleted each one. Paced around her room, read the letters that he'd written, watched a movie, pawned some things for money again to go shopping, came back and wrote a thousand more replies that were all deleted again. It was Finch who really got her to ignore them. And, even if the other girl did have odd interpretations on what sort of person was her type... it was nice. Having a friend. Friends. Someone to look out for her. Someone to think about and smile when no one else was around. Someone to call her out when she was being stupid and to knit things for and to not have to be so careful around all the time.
You just have to stop treating everyone as if they're out to get you.
One bad apple doesn't ruin the whole tree.
Why listen to what your parents told you? Look at where they ended up.
And maybe it wasn't all quite so bad. Even if the other kids were embarrassingly dressed, awkward, hopelessly nerdy and unquestionably weird it wasn't quite all so bad. Despite her best efforts.
Finch said not to reply to them but Lark did anyway. She opened up her laptop and typed out a flowery letter explaining her situation and his situation and what had happened between them. Two hours of careful word choice and editing deleted later in favor of a single sentence; "I don't need this anymore" sent by text. That was that. The weight lifted from her shoulders and the shadow looming over faded. Lark tossed her phone off to the side in the bed.
He had a stupid laugh. She'd never really considered it before but it sounded like a braying donkey and his face was smooshed together in the middle like some awful leprechaun. He wasn't nearly as clever as he thought he was but he always looked smug after he made even the slightest joke and when she suggested they do anything - cut class, smoke a cigarette, break out onto the roof - he always panicked about how much trouble they were going to be in. The worse was his laugh, though. How could you spend time around anyone with a stupid laugh?
She thought about throwing the box in the trash but after awhile put it up on her shelf with her other things. Just something to let go of. Her alarm went off and she rolled over to look at the clock with a sigh - climbing out of bed and getting herself dressed. She started to put in her contacts before hesitating and looking over to the glasses waiting on her nightstand for 'emergencies' and sighed with far more suffering than the slight smile on her face would suggest. It was a risk, maybe. And it would hurt, maybe, but she smiled all the same. Lark picked up the picture of her parents so it faced out from the world. "...I know you both were trying to look out for me. So, don't think of this like some huge betrayal or something like that. I'm still your little girl, Daddy. I'll always be. And I'm not weak. I'm strong, just like you wanted me to be... I just don't know if I want to be your little monster, anymore."
Lark stepped out of her shoes; picking them up to put in her bag for dance practice.
Lark put them on, practiced as softly as she could to not deeply upset the people under her first to make sure she remembered the steps. Just a tap or two so that it wouldn't be embarrassing - at least more embarrassing than the situation already warranted - with Syd later at class. She tapped her way through cleaning; straightening out her new bed sheets; fixing the faux canopy so the curtains would be held back with ribbon until they were loosened. The room was starting to look nice. Maybe a bit strange and packed as careful as could be to fit everything but nice. Lark flopped ungracefully on the bed, curling up with a pillow, breathing in and smiling. Maybe a little more than nice.
Raleigh had sent her a text. He'd called. He'd sent her a FacePlace message. She'd written a thousand replies and deleted each one. Paced around her room, read the letters that he'd written, watched a movie, pawned some things for money again to go shopping, came back and wrote a thousand more replies that were all deleted again. It was Finch who really got her to ignore them. And, even if the other girl did have odd interpretations on what sort of person was her type... it was nice. Having a friend. Friends. Someone to look out for her. Someone to think about and smile when no one else was around. Someone to call her out when she was being stupid and to knit things for and to not have to be so careful around all the time.
You just have to stop treating everyone as if they're out to get you.
One bad apple doesn't ruin the whole tree.
Why listen to what your parents told you? Look at where they ended up.
And maybe it wasn't all quite so bad. Even if the other kids were embarrassingly dressed, awkward, hopelessly nerdy and unquestionably weird it wasn't quite all so bad. Despite her best efforts.
Finch said not to reply to them but Lark did anyway. She opened up her laptop and typed out a flowery letter explaining her situation and his situation and what had happened between them. Two hours of careful word choice and editing deleted later in favor of a single sentence; "I don't need this anymore" sent by text. That was that. The weight lifted from her shoulders and the shadow looming over faded. Lark tossed her phone off to the side in the bed.
He had a stupid laugh. She'd never really considered it before but it sounded like a braying donkey and his face was smooshed together in the middle like some awful leprechaun. He wasn't nearly as clever as he thought he was but he always looked smug after he made even the slightest joke and when she suggested they do anything - cut class, smoke a cigarette, break out onto the roof - he always panicked about how much trouble they were going to be in. The worse was his laugh, though. How could you spend time around anyone with a stupid laugh?
She thought about throwing the box in the trash but after awhile put it up on her shelf with her other things. Just something to let go of. Her alarm went off and she rolled over to look at the clock with a sigh - climbing out of bed and getting herself dressed. She started to put in her contacts before hesitating and looking over to the glasses waiting on her nightstand for 'emergencies' and sighed with far more suffering than the slight smile on her face would suggest. It was a risk, maybe. And it would hurt, maybe, but she smiled all the same. Lark picked up the picture of her parents so it faced out from the world. "...I know you both were trying to look out for me. So, don't think of this like some huge betrayal or something like that. I'm still your little girl, Daddy. I'll always be. And I'm not weak. I'm strong, just like you wanted me to be... I just don't know if I want to be your little monster, anymore."
Lark stepped out of her shoes; picking them up to put in her bag for dance practice.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
Warning: Profanity
~*’s are used as parenthesis for mental communication considering the Simon Says situation.
The teacher’s words had become a soft drone in the background; easily ignored much like the rest of the world fading out of focus. All except for the point by the window where a spider was lowering itself onto the fake potted plant that kept the books on the shelf from spilling over.
Tuesdays were like that. Everything kind of faded into the back until something happened on Tuesdays and this was the most Tuesday of all. The sky was grey when she woke up and brushed her teeth and took a shower. It was grey at the end of second period. It was grey during lunch. The spider had some color. It was brown with little light brown rings around each leg and around its abdomen. Thorax? She couldn’t quite remember what it was supposed to be called.
“We’re not boring you, are we, Ms. Lowell?”
There were people looking at her which meant a question. Her book was on the wrong page. The boy to the right was on a different once and she glanced at the blackboard to try and get context. Lark tightened her jaw in preparation of incoming scolding but Mr. Klein’s face was amused. Not challenging or threatening – but it never really was; just patient.
“No. Just thinking, Mr. Klein.”
“Since you’re not already sharing it with the class, and consequently those of you thinking about what’s for lunch could take a page from Ms. Lowell in thinking quietly,” there was a polite class laugh, “I’m just going to presume it was private brilliance that I might convince you to share?”
He moved to the edge of his desk.
~*Simon’s leaving was important*~
He didn’t need to think that. He knew what he had asked when she wasn’t paying attention, after all. The class knew it, too. Their eyes met and Lark smiled a little, brushing hair behind her face. It was a prompt for her. Quiet, subtle. English was always her favorite class. She answered well enough to make Mr. Klein smile and nod, and even write something down on the board. Lark returned to her day dreaming.
~*SPIDER*~
Lark snapped up and ducked all at once as the thought streaked through her mind, whirling around to see where it came from as the metallic, coppery tang of fear flooded across her mindscape. Her concentration snapped; words bubbled to the front despite her effort to maintain a quiet control but enough other students flooded the room with their own thoughts that her own thoughts were lost in an unspoken din.
“Oh my god, gross, gross!”
The shriek pulled her attention to the back of the room; another girl leapt from her seat and hurled her book. Pretty brown hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks that glittered in the sun. Lisa. Lark opened her mouth to defend herself and realized a second before the words came out that Lisa wasn’t looking at her – she hadn’t thrown a book at her. Her eyes were on the window instead.
“Was it really worth all that, Ms. Anderson?”
“Yes! There was a spider the size of my fist!” Lisa picked up her book and made an icky face as she got a tissue to wipe off her copy of Lord of the Flies.
“You could have just let it out, Leese.” One boy offered.
“I panicked, okay? It was huge and spiders are creepy!”
The room devolved into questions over whether or not Lisa got it and Lark let herself drift off to stare at the empty web before the bell rang. Thoughts began to flood in with relief that school was done for the day. Lark barely had time to pack up her things when her cellphone began to buzz. Mr. Klein gave her a look a look of amused exasperation that it was turned on in class and Lark even found herself smiling back as she shrugged. It was nice. Safe. Nice.
“Lark Lowell, speaking.”
“Lark.”
Mr. Goodman. She knew that voice almost instantly. He had a thick Bronx accent that wanted to add an h in her name and a hoarse voice that made him sound older than he looked and not nearly professional as he should have. He sounded like a thug, not a lawyer. He was, sort of, both in the end so it made sense in its own way.
“How are ya? Everything goin’ okay with school?”
“…I’m okay, Mr. Goodman. School’s school.”
“Good, good. You was always a smart kid, you better get all As. How ya doin’ with money, Larky? Ya doin’ okay?”
~*Of course I’m not doing okay! You know I’m not doing okay, you know I don’t have anything*~ The thoughts came roaring through and Lark clenched the phone and opened her mouth to scream when she could all but feel the hand on her shoulder. Relax. Easier said than done, Brodi.
“…I’m all right.” The words came out more like a bark than a statement but Mr. Goodman didn’t seem to mind.
“Tough as nails just like ya pop, Lark. I’m just fuckin’ witcha, Larky, I know it’s rough, I know, I know. You’re a good kid, you know? I wish my own kid could hold up as good as you. Ya pop should be proud a ya, but, I know it’s rough.”
She didn’t want to be comforted by him. She wanted to keep a hold of the anger and bring it tight around her like a blanket to keep out everything bad and scary and tell him to fuck himself just to tell him to--.
“If you know—“
“All right, all right I got somethin’ for ya maybe ease off the problems a little. And I got some good news, for ya. Gonna need you to come in in October for the first hearing. We got some stuff on the table, I think we got a good case for phone rights and visitation rights and letters and alla that good stuff.”
“…My parents?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hope ya don’t mind we used an old essay or two from school about how they were your best friends to establish the relationship. But, yeah, the hearing in October about gaining visitation rights and phone calls and letters. All of that good stuff. Things going well the judge won’t be a complete prick and let this through.”
“How are they?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. Younger, too. Fifteen years sounded a lot bolder when there were other high schoolers around.
“Your mom’s doing fine bless her heart. They have her in solitary so mostly she’s been bored. Reading a lot. Your dad’s been doing a bit better; has a room in a cell, spends most of his time writing for when the communication thing is lifted. You know.”
“…Will they be at the hearing? I mean… could I see them at the hearing?”
“Aw, bless your heart. Of course. Not before or anything but during and then during recess there should be some time. All things going well, this’ll just be an awful 8 months we can put behind us.”
She wished there was a phone cord to wind. A smile grew across her face as the lawyer spoke – offering explanations she didn’t hear beyond the fact of seeing her parents again. Getting to see her family again.
Lark imagined her mother’s dark brown hair and the way it curled around her face and how she always smelled like jasmine tea. She thought about her father’s mustache and how it tickled her forehead when he kissed her before she left to school.
She thought about the sound of the door to her bedroom being kicked in and seeing men with guns rush in and point them at her. She thought about screaming for her parents and being grabbed and walked out and the flash from cameras.
“I’ll call you back, okay?”
* * * * *
Sydney’s accent was different; but it still sang like Brooklyn accents sang. Even if it was only a slight one it colored his words enough to make them sound like home. Lark listened to the sound more than the words sometimes – just asking him things that she knew he could talk about for hours and listening to the sound.
She brought back two cups of hot chocolate; handing Syd his before pushing the curtains aside so she could crawl under and sit near him. It only took him a second to notice Lark fidgeting and drumming her fingers on her cup – eyes down staring at her drink as she tapped the side. Syd always noticed the little things. Something was wrong, but, not something she wanted to talk about. Not yet, at least. Instead, Sydney looked around and started rambling about the first thing he saw.
~* Did you know that there’s one foot, nine inches between us right now? And, that the metal poles on the bed, at their current length, would take 75 pounds per foot of force to bend.*~
He looked up to the ceiling for a moment, squinting for a second as if that were bringing him his answer.
~*If you took a length between us it’d take more like a hundred and two pounds per foot.*~
Syd was smiling. He almost always was smiling and Lark couldn’t help but smile back.
~*How about now?*~
The game was invented almost before Lark realized that she was playing one; moving a little closer and asking Syd to recalculate. And Sydney, focused as he was on computing how much it would take to bend the piece of metal to close the gap between him barely noticed the actual closeness. At least, not until she stretched her legs over his and leaned against him. That snapped him from it. And it was good. Safe.
~*There’s a hearing coming up. About my parents. About whether or not they should be able to call me or write me or anything. They want me to come down and be there.*~
Lark went back to fidgeting with her cup but she kept her eyes on him instead of looking down. Sydney always noticed the little things. This time she wanted him to ask.
“Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. I mean... I have to, right? They’re my parents. I don’t know. I mean…” She sighed, shaking her head some. “It’s over the weekend, right before homecoming, maybe I shouldn’t—“
“It’s been awhile since I’ve visited my family. They’d probably be really happy to see me. If you go,” Syd was smiling. He almost always was smiling. “I can always go with you.”
Lark couldn’t help but smile back.
~*’s are used as parenthesis for mental communication considering the Simon Says situation.
The teacher’s words had become a soft drone in the background; easily ignored much like the rest of the world fading out of focus. All except for the point by the window where a spider was lowering itself onto the fake potted plant that kept the books on the shelf from spilling over.
Tuesdays were like that. Everything kind of faded into the back until something happened on Tuesdays and this was the most Tuesday of all. The sky was grey when she woke up and brushed her teeth and took a shower. It was grey at the end of second period. It was grey during lunch. The spider had some color. It was brown with little light brown rings around each leg and around its abdomen. Thorax? She couldn’t quite remember what it was supposed to be called.
“We’re not boring you, are we, Ms. Lowell?”
There were people looking at her which meant a question. Her book was on the wrong page. The boy to the right was on a different once and she glanced at the blackboard to try and get context. Lark tightened her jaw in preparation of incoming scolding but Mr. Klein’s face was amused. Not challenging or threatening – but it never really was; just patient.
“No. Just thinking, Mr. Klein.”
“Since you’re not already sharing it with the class, and consequently those of you thinking about what’s for lunch could take a page from Ms. Lowell in thinking quietly,” there was a polite class laugh, “I’m just going to presume it was private brilliance that I might convince you to share?”
He moved to the edge of his desk.
~*Simon’s leaving was important*~
He didn’t need to think that. He knew what he had asked when she wasn’t paying attention, after all. The class knew it, too. Their eyes met and Lark smiled a little, brushing hair behind her face. It was a prompt for her. Quiet, subtle. English was always her favorite class. She answered well enough to make Mr. Klein smile and nod, and even write something down on the board. Lark returned to her day dreaming.
~*SPIDER*~
Lark snapped up and ducked all at once as the thought streaked through her mind, whirling around to see where it came from as the metallic, coppery tang of fear flooded across her mindscape. Her concentration snapped; words bubbled to the front despite her effort to maintain a quiet control but enough other students flooded the room with their own thoughts that her own thoughts were lost in an unspoken din.
“Oh my god, gross, gross!”
The shriek pulled her attention to the back of the room; another girl leapt from her seat and hurled her book. Pretty brown hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks that glittered in the sun. Lisa. Lark opened her mouth to defend herself and realized a second before the words came out that Lisa wasn’t looking at her – she hadn’t thrown a book at her. Her eyes were on the window instead.
“Was it really worth all that, Ms. Anderson?”
“Yes! There was a spider the size of my fist!” Lisa picked up her book and made an icky face as she got a tissue to wipe off her copy of Lord of the Flies.
“You could have just let it out, Leese.” One boy offered.
“I panicked, okay? It was huge and spiders are creepy!”
The room devolved into questions over whether or not Lisa got it and Lark let herself drift off to stare at the empty web before the bell rang. Thoughts began to flood in with relief that school was done for the day. Lark barely had time to pack up her things when her cellphone began to buzz. Mr. Klein gave her a look a look of amused exasperation that it was turned on in class and Lark even found herself smiling back as she shrugged. It was nice. Safe. Nice.
“Lark Lowell, speaking.”
“Lark.”
Mr. Goodman. She knew that voice almost instantly. He had a thick Bronx accent that wanted to add an h in her name and a hoarse voice that made him sound older than he looked and not nearly professional as he should have. He sounded like a thug, not a lawyer. He was, sort of, both in the end so it made sense in its own way.
“How are ya? Everything goin’ okay with school?”
“…I’m okay, Mr. Goodman. School’s school.”
“Good, good. You was always a smart kid, you better get all As. How ya doin’ with money, Larky? Ya doin’ okay?”
~*Of course I’m not doing okay! You know I’m not doing okay, you know I don’t have anything*~ The thoughts came roaring through and Lark clenched the phone and opened her mouth to scream when she could all but feel the hand on her shoulder. Relax. Easier said than done, Brodi.
“…I’m all right.” The words came out more like a bark than a statement but Mr. Goodman didn’t seem to mind.
“Tough as nails just like ya pop, Lark. I’m just fuckin’ witcha, Larky, I know it’s rough, I know, I know. You’re a good kid, you know? I wish my own kid could hold up as good as you. Ya pop should be proud a ya, but, I know it’s rough.”
She didn’t want to be comforted by him. She wanted to keep a hold of the anger and bring it tight around her like a blanket to keep out everything bad and scary and tell him to fuck himself just to tell him to--.
“If you know—“
“All right, all right I got somethin’ for ya maybe ease off the problems a little. And I got some good news, for ya. Gonna need you to come in in October for the first hearing. We got some stuff on the table, I think we got a good case for phone rights and visitation rights and letters and alla that good stuff.”
“…My parents?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hope ya don’t mind we used an old essay or two from school about how they were your best friends to establish the relationship. But, yeah, the hearing in October about gaining visitation rights and phone calls and letters. All of that good stuff. Things going well the judge won’t be a complete prick and let this through.”
“How are they?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. Younger, too. Fifteen years sounded a lot bolder when there were other high schoolers around.
“Your mom’s doing fine bless her heart. They have her in solitary so mostly she’s been bored. Reading a lot. Your dad’s been doing a bit better; has a room in a cell, spends most of his time writing for when the communication thing is lifted. You know.”
“…Will they be at the hearing? I mean… could I see them at the hearing?”
“Aw, bless your heart. Of course. Not before or anything but during and then during recess there should be some time. All things going well, this’ll just be an awful 8 months we can put behind us.”
She wished there was a phone cord to wind. A smile grew across her face as the lawyer spoke – offering explanations she didn’t hear beyond the fact of seeing her parents again. Getting to see her family again.
Lark imagined her mother’s dark brown hair and the way it curled around her face and how she always smelled like jasmine tea. She thought about her father’s mustache and how it tickled her forehead when he kissed her before she left to school.
She thought about the sound of the door to her bedroom being kicked in and seeing men with guns rush in and point them at her. She thought about screaming for her parents and being grabbed and walked out and the flash from cameras.
“I’ll call you back, okay?”
* * * * *
Sydney’s accent was different; but it still sang like Brooklyn accents sang. Even if it was only a slight one it colored his words enough to make them sound like home. Lark listened to the sound more than the words sometimes – just asking him things that she knew he could talk about for hours and listening to the sound.
She brought back two cups of hot chocolate; handing Syd his before pushing the curtains aside so she could crawl under and sit near him. It only took him a second to notice Lark fidgeting and drumming her fingers on her cup – eyes down staring at her drink as she tapped the side. Syd always noticed the little things. Something was wrong, but, not something she wanted to talk about. Not yet, at least. Instead, Sydney looked around and started rambling about the first thing he saw.
~* Did you know that there’s one foot, nine inches between us right now? And, that the metal poles on the bed, at their current length, would take 75 pounds per foot of force to bend.*~
He looked up to the ceiling for a moment, squinting for a second as if that were bringing him his answer.
~*If you took a length between us it’d take more like a hundred and two pounds per foot.*~
Syd was smiling. He almost always was smiling and Lark couldn’t help but smile back.
~*How about now?*~
The game was invented almost before Lark realized that she was playing one; moving a little closer and asking Syd to recalculate. And Sydney, focused as he was on computing how much it would take to bend the piece of metal to close the gap between him barely noticed the actual closeness. At least, not until she stretched her legs over his and leaned against him. That snapped him from it. And it was good. Safe.
~*There’s a hearing coming up. About my parents. About whether or not they should be able to call me or write me or anything. They want me to come down and be there.*~
Lark went back to fidgeting with her cup but she kept her eyes on him instead of looking down. Sydney always noticed the little things. This time she wanted him to ask.
“Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. I mean... I have to, right? They’re my parents. I don’t know. I mean…” She sighed, shaking her head some. “It’s over the weekend, right before homecoming, maybe I shouldn’t—“
“It’s been awhile since I’ve visited my family. They’d probably be really happy to see me. If you go,” Syd was smiling. He almost always was smiling. “I can always go with you.”
Lark couldn’t help but smile back.
-
Lark Lowell
- Probationary Member
- Posts:103
- Joined:Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:23 pm
Re: Daddy's Little Monster
(( Profanity warning ))
She’d missed her flight yesterday.
The plane ticket said that the flight today was going to board in forty minutes. That would mean that when she touched down there would be two hours and forty five minutes before she would see her parents again.
Lark didn’t need to wake up to get ready for her flight. It was impossible to sleep the night before. Too many things had happened; too much emotion from too many sources and not enough to do but wander the halls wired and edgy even after Roach’s advice to relax. Maybe because of their talk – everything seemed a lot simpler when she was going to run home to tell her mother and father about her wonderful new boyfriend and all of her wonderful new friends. She’d picked out her favorite red pea-coat a few nights ago and a matching little hat and a pretty black dress that would show up well in print should the need arrive. She’d styled her hair into a cute little flip and put on some diamond earrings for a touch of glamour. She’d even written Matt a cute note and slipped it under his door.
But, something got tight in her stomach when she got to the airport and headed through the line. Lark’s excitement of seeing her parents flaked away into a quiet reality of the moment by the time she stood waiting for her turn to have her ID checked at security. Of all unwanted things to come to mind, Roach was the last thing she wanted to hear. And of course, the first thing that did.
’Cause your parents – let’s face it – are the reason psionics are hated. I mean, fuck… They’re the nightmare Tseng has at night when he thinks about what you and I can become.
She could see her mother’s soft brown hair and the way it framed her face and the way she smiled and the way she smelled – all of it came so quickly to Lark’s mind’s eye – her favorite memory from when they would sit and talk and sew in the upstairs room on Saturdays… along with something else. Something unexpected. Lark knew the emotion more by its absence than anything else; there wasn’t a tight feeling in her throat or a trembling of her hands or a quickening heartbeat. Just quiet and focus and empty. She was afraid; at least she would have been afraid if she could have been.
They’re parents. Fine. Don’t forget ‘bout them. But for all the good they did for you, they did a number of wrong on a lot of others. And that’s important.
It was a difficult emotion. Something would have been making her afraid. And Roach wouldn’t shut up. At least her mind wouldn’t shut up about it which was in all ways worse. Lark thought to her father and his neat goatee and the way he would kiss each cheek, then her nose and her forehead goodnight. Had he shaved? Maybe he was clean faced. Lark was pretty sure she’d never seen her dad without his goatee. What if her mother had cut her hair? Or didn’t like her hair cut? Or something else was wrong?
Something to do with that? No.
Lark passed security, and checked the boarding passes and then checked the clock. The plane was going to board in fifteen minutes. She was never late for things; never this late for things anyhow. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Final call. She watched the plane take off. She texted their lawyer that she overslept. Her parents would know that was a lie. Lark never overslept, but, she texted their lawyer and told him about how stressed she was in her new school and that she over slept before loitering around the terminal. Maybe it’d be believable. A lot could happen to a person over 8 months.
No one bothered a girl with a boarding pass wheeling around luggage, so, Lark simply wheeled around and watched planes arrive and leave. She missed her flight again. Something that Lark had been waiting for the past eight months and now she missed her flight again. Something her parents wanted so much – to see their darling, beautiful, disobedient, willful, lying, sneaky, underhanded, manipulative daughter.
No way to get to the hearing on time. No way to maybe see them again for another three months at best. All of it, and Lark couldn’t quite place why. She wandered and wandered until her phone rang. When did stop being sunrise? It seemed like a strange thing to miss happening.
“…Lark Lowell, speaking?”
There wasn’t any sound but Lark knew the voice by the way that it took in air. Mother. Mom. Mere.
“Oh, little poppet…”
Lark thought she heard her mother sniff once. Maybe she sniffled. It was hard to tell. Something cold and distant shattered and brought Lark crashing down into the present from the cloudy haze she’d been meandering through. The world faded out into a blurry mess from her tears. She thought back to her mother. The way her brown hair curled around her face and her blue eyes. There wasn’t an absence there this time.
“Momma…”
They cried. For at least ten minutes both just cried into the phone on both sides and listened to the sound of the other crying.
“…my precious little poppet. Are you okay? Are they treating you okay? Is there anything you need – anything at all I can get you.”
“No… mere, no, I’m fine. I’m… doing okay.”
And just like that 10 months of silence fell apart. Questions towards how Lark was doing, how well they were treating her at her new school, what had she been doing, how had she been eating, all of them flooded the phone and Lark could barely answer back from questions of her own: Had she seen father? What had happened at the trial? Would she hear from her again?
“I heard that a boy was flying down with you? Is it something…”
Lark thought about Matt. She thought about the way he smiled when she called him puppy and the way he stammered sometimes and how his voice sounded when he called her fajita. Her parents would love him. Someone smart; someone clever and smart. Daddy would take him under his wing like he did with Raleigh and have him over to watch baseball. Mere would invite him over to dinner and to the opera and ballet. And maybe a bit over time…
That absence again.
Except this time Lark knew where it was coming from, what it was coming from.
So. Do you worry at night that you'll end up showing Matt a side of you that he'll be afraid of?
“No… no one came down, mom.”
It’s not a bad lie.
“So no boyfriend, Lark?”
Your secret
I didn’t give my word, anyhow. It doesn’t count as breaking my word.
“I can go for a few months without a boyfriend, mere.”
I’m protecting him. I’m protecting everyone.
“I really can’t believe Raleigh. I mean, he seemed so nice. I heard all about what happened, Poppet, I’m so sorry.”
So don’t be mad.
“No, no… it’s okay. At this new school… no one comes near me. They’re all too scared. So, why date a wuss? Sharks have to swim with sharks, right?”
“I knew you could take care of yourself. You were always a strong girl.”
"You raised me to be strong, mom."
It’s the right thing to do.
Right?
She’d missed her flight yesterday.
The plane ticket said that the flight today was going to board in forty minutes. That would mean that when she touched down there would be two hours and forty five minutes before she would see her parents again.
Lark didn’t need to wake up to get ready for her flight. It was impossible to sleep the night before. Too many things had happened; too much emotion from too many sources and not enough to do but wander the halls wired and edgy even after Roach’s advice to relax. Maybe because of their talk – everything seemed a lot simpler when she was going to run home to tell her mother and father about her wonderful new boyfriend and all of her wonderful new friends. She’d picked out her favorite red pea-coat a few nights ago and a matching little hat and a pretty black dress that would show up well in print should the need arrive. She’d styled her hair into a cute little flip and put on some diamond earrings for a touch of glamour. She’d even written Matt a cute note and slipped it under his door.
But, something got tight in her stomach when she got to the airport and headed through the line. Lark’s excitement of seeing her parents flaked away into a quiet reality of the moment by the time she stood waiting for her turn to have her ID checked at security. Of all unwanted things to come to mind, Roach was the last thing she wanted to hear. And of course, the first thing that did.
’Cause your parents – let’s face it – are the reason psionics are hated. I mean, fuck… They’re the nightmare Tseng has at night when he thinks about what you and I can become.
She could see her mother’s soft brown hair and the way it framed her face and the way she smiled and the way she smelled – all of it came so quickly to Lark’s mind’s eye – her favorite memory from when they would sit and talk and sew in the upstairs room on Saturdays… along with something else. Something unexpected. Lark knew the emotion more by its absence than anything else; there wasn’t a tight feeling in her throat or a trembling of her hands or a quickening heartbeat. Just quiet and focus and empty. She was afraid; at least she would have been afraid if she could have been.
They’re parents. Fine. Don’t forget ‘bout them. But for all the good they did for you, they did a number of wrong on a lot of others. And that’s important.
It was a difficult emotion. Something would have been making her afraid. And Roach wouldn’t shut up. At least her mind wouldn’t shut up about it which was in all ways worse. Lark thought to her father and his neat goatee and the way he would kiss each cheek, then her nose and her forehead goodnight. Had he shaved? Maybe he was clean faced. Lark was pretty sure she’d never seen her dad without his goatee. What if her mother had cut her hair? Or didn’t like her hair cut? Or something else was wrong?
Something to do with that? No.
Lark passed security, and checked the boarding passes and then checked the clock. The plane was going to board in fifteen minutes. She was never late for things; never this late for things anyhow. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Final call. She watched the plane take off. She texted their lawyer that she overslept. Her parents would know that was a lie. Lark never overslept, but, she texted their lawyer and told him about how stressed she was in her new school and that she over slept before loitering around the terminal. Maybe it’d be believable. A lot could happen to a person over 8 months.
No one bothered a girl with a boarding pass wheeling around luggage, so, Lark simply wheeled around and watched planes arrive and leave. She missed her flight again. Something that Lark had been waiting for the past eight months and now she missed her flight again. Something her parents wanted so much – to see their darling, beautiful, disobedient, willful, lying, sneaky, underhanded, manipulative daughter.
No way to get to the hearing on time. No way to maybe see them again for another three months at best. All of it, and Lark couldn’t quite place why. She wandered and wandered until her phone rang. When did stop being sunrise? It seemed like a strange thing to miss happening.
“…Lark Lowell, speaking?”
There wasn’t any sound but Lark knew the voice by the way that it took in air. Mother. Mom. Mere.
“Oh, little poppet…”
Lark thought she heard her mother sniff once. Maybe she sniffled. It was hard to tell. Something cold and distant shattered and brought Lark crashing down into the present from the cloudy haze she’d been meandering through. The world faded out into a blurry mess from her tears. She thought back to her mother. The way her brown hair curled around her face and her blue eyes. There wasn’t an absence there this time.
“Momma…”
They cried. For at least ten minutes both just cried into the phone on both sides and listened to the sound of the other crying.
“…my precious little poppet. Are you okay? Are they treating you okay? Is there anything you need – anything at all I can get you.”
“No… mere, no, I’m fine. I’m… doing okay.”
And just like that 10 months of silence fell apart. Questions towards how Lark was doing, how well they were treating her at her new school, what had she been doing, how had she been eating, all of them flooded the phone and Lark could barely answer back from questions of her own: Had she seen father? What had happened at the trial? Would she hear from her again?
“I heard that a boy was flying down with you? Is it something…”
Lark thought about Matt. She thought about the way he smiled when she called him puppy and the way he stammered sometimes and how his voice sounded when he called her fajita. Her parents would love him. Someone smart; someone clever and smart. Daddy would take him under his wing like he did with Raleigh and have him over to watch baseball. Mere would invite him over to dinner and to the opera and ballet. And maybe a bit over time…
That absence again.
Except this time Lark knew where it was coming from, what it was coming from.
So. Do you worry at night that you'll end up showing Matt a side of you that he'll be afraid of?
“No… no one came down, mom.”
It’s not a bad lie.
“So no boyfriend, Lark?”
Your secret
I didn’t give my word, anyhow. It doesn’t count as breaking my word.
“I can go for a few months without a boyfriend, mere.”
I’m protecting him. I’m protecting everyone.
“I really can’t believe Raleigh. I mean, he seemed so nice. I heard all about what happened, Poppet, I’m so sorry.”
So don’t be mad.
“No, no… it’s okay. At this new school… no one comes near me. They’re all too scared. So, why date a wuss? Sharks have to swim with sharks, right?”
“I knew you could take care of yourself. You were always a strong girl.”
"You raised me to be strong, mom."
It’s the right thing to do.
Right?
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest