"Homework"
The doors opened, the buses churned up their engines, and a gentle
stream of women came forth like a slow rush of lava. Each one went to a
different destination: some by car or bike, others on bus or pool, still
others walked their way home. Ayanna rode in Gabrielle's car with Blake
and Janine; Usha pooled with a few of her friends in the debate team;
Corona, Katt, and Furious Hail traveled alone; Ana and Rai took to the
road together as they always had; Victoria and Olivia rode together
since their homework required it; Nomi, Vai, Hero, Zane, Mira, and X
Walker rode the bus; May and June took the handicapped bus; Lilian was
escorted home in privacy; Ancelin walked home, and Ivory strode towards
her own destination after bidding farewell to the kendo club. She
whistled the theme song to The Great Escape the entire way.
"So what'd you get for homework, Ayanna?"
"Nothing. It's only the first day." The three girls in Gabrielle's car
blew irritated raspberries.
"You got it easy," groused the driver. "Our teacher gave us the toughest
assignments legally possible. I had to read Moby Dick for homework! And
I'm dyslexic!"
"Ouch."
"Everyone else got the easy jobs," she sighed. "Vicki and Liv just hafta
stay over and get to class on time. No problem. But jeez..."
"Mine's easy too," said Janine. "I just have to find a new hobby. Gab, I
just got a great idea: what if I help you with your book and say that
it's part of my research on fishing or reading? Then I can pass that off
as a new hobby!"
"Do you think Miss Madsen would buy that?" Janine made a defeated face.
"Yeah, probably not. Well, I'll just start doing something easy, like
jigsaw puzzles. We've got a whole bunch at home, and I really didn't
like doing them before. She'll buy that, and if not, I can fall back on
my fish story." Gabrielle chuckled, nodding in agreement.
"You are a sweet friend. Blake, you got an easy job, too. Mind helpin'
me out?"
"Not at all, but if I don't take my meds, I'll never be able to focus.
And when I do--"
"Thus the whole point of the assignment," concluded Janine. "'Take your
meds and concentrate in class; don't, and you'll fail'. Is that right?"
"Uh, that sounds like her point. But we'd probably be better off not
second-guessing her. Madsen's unpredictable as hell."
"That's," said Gabrielle and Janine at the same time, "Miss Madsen."
Blake smiled and rolled her eyes. Ayanna, intrigued by the babble,
looked to her driver and date.
"Sounds like you have a tough teacher."
"Yeah," sighed O'Shannon, "the strict and fair type. I hope I don't grow
up like that." Ayanna made a coy smile.
"But maybe you'd be more loveable if you did."
"Nahh!! I'm good right where I am, right girls?"
"Right where you are," repeated Blake. Gabrielle smiled, turned off the
radio, and edged into the driveway of her house. Seeing as how her two
friends just volunteered to help with her homework, it made sense to
bring them along--and as for Ayanna...
"The sooner we get this over," said Gabrielle as she put her arm over
Ayanna's shoulders, "the sooner we can go on our date!" Blake gave the
two girls a strange look.
"A girlfriend already? That was quick!"
"What can I say, I'm a charmer!"
"And," added Ayanna, "from what I know, just my type, too."
Victoria Grissom smiled gently as she and Olivia found themselves in the
driveway of the younger girl. Olivia returned her gaze tentatively and
sighed.
"Well, we're here."
"Yup."
"It's been awhile since you were over at my house."
"Yes indeed." Victoria's smile grew sweeter.
"Dick Tracey's waiting for you!"
"Ugh," sighed Johnson, "don't remind me. I sure hope your parents are
making a good meal, or do you have to fend for yourself tonight?"
"They said we were having leftover chicken tonight."
"Good enough. Anything else, or is that it?"
"It's not a Thanksgiving meal," she said quietly. "We'll probably have
leftover macaroni, too. We never seem to eat everything."
"You should buy smaller quantities." Olivia and Victoria grew quiet.
They looked at each other, then away. They were still in the car, so
they left with a rustle and locked up.
"Did you call your parents and ask if you could stay over?"
"Yes, you?" Victoria smiled.
"You know you're always welcome here, Liv." Olivia grew less tense and
chilly, maybe from the small trek uphill to Victoria's house.
"That's nice to know." Victoria opened the door and let her friend
inside, announcing to whoever was in the house that she was back from
school. Her older brother was home but up in his room; her mother was
there too, but only briefly.
"Hi, Vick," she addressed with a toothy smile. She noticed Olivia and
broadened the friendly greeting. "Well, Olivia! We don't see you or hear
from you much these days. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied emptily.
"Well it's good to see you again. Are you staying over, or just
visiting?"
"Staying," she said. "One of our teachers gave out unusual assignments.
Mine was to stay over at Vicki's house and endure her pet spider. Our
teacher didn't know we were friends, so I guess I kind of lucked out."
Mrs. Grissom gave a simple smile and nod.
"I'm sure her whole point was to cure you of your fear of spiders.
Anyway," she said hastily, before Olivia could reply, "we don't have
much to eat since we're a little tight on money."
"That's okay, I'm not hungry."
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty certain."
"Well, okay. Vicki, do you have any homework?"
"Yes ma'am, we had the same teacher. I'm just supposed to be early to
class every day."
"Well," sighed Mrs. Grissom as she picked up some papers from the
kitchen table, "considering how you're not that responsible when it
comes to time, it's a well-justified assignment. You girls make
yourselves comfortable, and I'll let you know when dinner's ready."
"Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Grissom."
"Anytime, dear--and you know you're welcome here whenever you like."
May Romia Tramble had gotten used to riding the handicapped bus. She was
by no means limited in anything save perhaps advanced mental thought and
great physical labor, but her younger twin sister was different. June
Rhea Tramble, born a few minutes later yet in a completely different
month, was confined to a humbling wheelchair. The younger Tramble was
not born that way, she was made it through a bad car crash several years
earlier. Those involved in the wreck were wounded, but none as severely
as June, who went away with nearly-permanent disuse of her legs and part
of her waist. Doctors forecasted her possibilities for walking as bleak
but not impossible; in the meantime, her elder sister May became her
guardian angel.
May rode the handicapped bus for convenience and to keep her sister
company. She would help her on and off, and would be there whenever she
felt less than energetic, although both women were hardly social
butterflies. June, who had signed up for several advanced classes in her
senior year, had lots of homework to finish, but May only had to write
about "the beautiful side of life", or whatever it was that Miss Madsen
asked her to do. Far from being clueless or pessimistic, May decided
that if anything, she would write about the beauty of her love for her
sister.
Nobody was home when the twins walked and wheeled through their front
door, as usual. Since they were both in school and both at an age where
they could take care of themselves, their mother and father worked
full-time jobs in the morning and afternoon. They would be home in time
to eat June's meals and to see May's cleaning, or perhaps overhear the
twins' duet on flute and piano. The Tramble girls had a few hours to
spare until then, so June got straight to work on her papers while May
played some music for inspiration.
"Any idea what you're making?" she asked her sister casually. June was
in the middle of a book about Martin Luther and the Reformation as she
answered.
"Lasagna and carrot soup."
"Sounds good. Need any help?"
"Could you get the salt and the vinegar, please?" May put her paper on
hold (in theory, since she hadn't begun) and walked to the kitchen. With
only one floor to their house (logically, since June could no longer
climb stairs), she reached the kitchen quickly and stretched up to open
the cabinet. The Trambles had tried to adjust to their daughter's
physical condition over the years, but parts of the house still
reflected the older days. May took several other things her sister asked
for, and left with a welcome for her work. June marked her book and
orchestrated her way through the opening movements of dinner: placing a
pot full of water on the stove, turning the heat on, opening the box of
dried lasagna, wheeling over to the fridge to take the cheese and
leftover meat, and setting the table.
May blew her nose in the other room, cleared her throat, sniffled, and
sighed. She rarely got sick--probably because she was rarely around
large numbers of people--but her nose got so blocked up sometimes that a
tissue was the only thing that worked ("Relevant issues," she had noted
one lighter day, thinking back to her awkward youth, "not elephant
tissues."). She then looked at her paper and frowned. May hated to write
with pen or pencil and avoided it whenever possible. It gave her wrist
cramps and put splotchy red impressions on her palm and fingers.
Besides, typing was faster and easier to read.
I know that sometimes I can come across as pessimistic sometimes, she
had written in her essay, but that's only because at times, I can find
the world irritating or else lacking in optimism itself. I do not find
everything bad or disagreeable; the matter of my younger sister, June,
is something that brings me joy even amidst sorrow or oppression. Now
suffice to say, this won't be a Hallmark moment--and there it stopped.
"That's got to go," she murmured to herself. She highlighted the last
few words with her mouse and deleted them. "A 'Hallmark moment'? That's
stupid. I can come up with something better than that." She thought for
awhile, chewing on her lip absently, and came up with something good.
--These are not words from a bleeding heart, hopeless romantic, or
anything close to a person who can love anyone unconditionally. June can
irritate me and infuriate me, and at times I become impatient with her.
She's physically unable to do a lot of things that I can do just fine,
and there are times when I get so frustrated that I just don't want to
help her at all. (Those words were hard for May to write, honestly, and
she had to pause and ponder over them, some an hour at a time, before
she managed to key them in)
But the marks of a good person are when they help out those in need,
oftentimes not ever expecting a reward. "Blessed are they who shepherd
the weak through the valley of darkness, for they are truly their
brother's keeper", or in my case, my sister's.
"That's a good start," she whispered. May saved her work and scrolled
back to double-check it. She was an above-average writer and fancied
herself as reasonably perfectionist, and besides, Miss Madsen had made a
good, professional impression on her. Far be it from her not to give
anything but her best. She rubbed her eyes, took a drink from a nearby
cup of water, and resumed her essay--making very sure not to glorify her
sister or herself, but to give honest love and devotion when needed, and
genuine thought everywhere else. Frankly, it was very hard for May to
say anything but good about her younger twin.
As the lasagna cooked, June read the required chapters in her book. She
finished it and wheeled over to the kitchen table to complete her math
and sociology work, which took longer than the food. Far from helpless,
June Tramble had mastered the use of her wheelchair in nearly all
environments save deep snow and sharp inclines or declines. It was
frustrating and even exhausting at times, and unlike the few heroes and
heroines she read about in books and fiction, June was not always strong
enough to overcome the emotions that came with her disability. She
wasn't always bright or chipper, and could usually be seen lost in
thought, withdrawn, or shut inside a set of headphones. That day, she
was too busy working to really feel bad or good.
"It's just as Napoleon said," she had stated one day. "'The busy have no
time for tears.'"
Dinner, homework, and chores all finished around 5:00, just one hour
before the elder Trambles came home. May and June spent that time
practicing their instruments for orchestra.
Mira van Dijk had been assigned to make and eat a salad, something just
outside her cage of carne, and while a normal person would find the task
ridiculous, Mira took it very seriously and professionally. Her attitude
wasn't due so much to Miss Madsen's impression, but her gutsy way of
thinking and assigning unusual homework on the first day. If she could
fight weird, so could Mira, and she'd fight in such a polished, silvery
way that Madsen would be speechless. In short, Mira wanted to one-up her
own teacher.
She took every step seriously, almost as if it were a documentary. Mira
first scribbled down her thoughts about the "project" on paper, not
hiding how silly it sounded or how deeply she wished to take it. She
would take John Locke's approach--facts, facts, facts--and would record
everything possible. Mira found herself actually enjoying the work,
which she interpreted as Madsen's method of teaching.
When she got home, she immediately told her parents about her work. Mira
was brilliant enough to know that she was terrible at doing jobs
immediately, so she had to nearly beg her mother and father not to allow
her to slip into procrastination. She officially began her "research" by
raiding the icebox and looking for ingredients.
"Since you don't like vegetables that much," said her mother (their
conversations at home were Dutch when they could get away with it), "I
saw no point in buying salads. You're going to have to get it yourself."
This news annoyed Mira, but it made sense. Also, as she dwelled on it,
it made very good drama and material for her work. Simply having the
ingredients at home would be too easy; going to get them gave her more
of a "story", more of a character. Mira frowned.
"But I don't have any money."
"Then you have a problem," said her mother as she wedged her hand in to
get some orange juice. "I'm not going to loan you any, so you'll have to
figure out a way to earn some."
"But I have to turn in the report tomorrow morning! And she won't accept
an 'I didn't have anything to make a salad with' excuse."
"Then you'll have to earn it quickly." Mrs. van Dijk gave her daughter a
firm, matronly look as she poured a few glasses and drank one. Mira
sighed, but never resigned herself to defeat.
"I'll work for it," she stated. "Mother, what chores need to be done
around here?"
"You know what needs to be done, but you know your father and I never
paid you. Of course, there are some jobs you could do, like laundry,
cooking, mowing the lawn, vacuuming..."
All jobs Mrs. van Dijk knew her daughter detested.
"All right, I'll do it." Mira nodded her head and excused herself
briefly as she went for her notepad. She scribbled, in Dutch, the events
that had happened recently and what she was going to do to fix her
problem. Her mother smirked lovingly, happy to see her young offspring
so eager, professional, and un-lazy. After she made a few hasty notes,
Mira quickly bounded down the stairs to the laundry room and started the
wash, which luckily for her had not been done in a week. After putting
clothes in the washer, she dashed into a closet, pulled out the old
family vacuum cleaner, and hastily raced it across the downstairs den.
Her father, emerging from the shower, heard the commotion and inquired
his wife. She explained everything, causing her husband to laugh and
swell with some pride. Mira clumsily finished sweeping most of the
downstairs, and gently lifted the bulky cleaner up the stairs where she
would start on the hallway and bedrooms. Her father smiled and gave her
a wave.
"If she's going to the store anyway, we should just pay her for shopping
and let her use what's left over to get herself what she needs," he
suggested. Mira was not old enough to drive yet, but the store was in
walking distance and the weather was good that early evening. Mrs. van
Dijk agreed, and since the family needed groceries anyway, sending Mira
to the store with more money than she needed seemed like a good idea.
After she finished vacuuming, and after she put the heavy cleaner away,
Mira checked up on the laundry before tumbling upstairs. Her father
stopped her, explained the new plan, and gave his daughter $40 for
supplies. Mira smiled and hugged him before racing off to the store on
her bike. She would normally walk, but only if the weather was good or
if she had time to spare. It was already 5:30, and that report was due
first thing in the morning.
Having lived in the same neighborhood ever since coming to America, Mira
knew the place like she knew her own room. She had almost completely
memorized the layout of the store--as a matter of fact, she was
scheduled to begin a part-time job there soon--so she found everything
she needed in record time. While she was waiting for the people ahead of
her to complete their checking-out, Mira caught her breath and wrote
more notes about her experience. She also noted, as a side, that the
store played good contemporary music and not the deafening noise she
knew many others did.
"Hey, Mira," said her cashier as she came up to him. He was a
gentlemanly elder, the kind who found restlessness in retirement and
happiness in the company of many people. Old Jules knew Mira's family
well, and he even spoke a bit of their language. She grinned and began
to speak to him about her experience.
"Good evening. I know these things here are unusual, but it is for a
class work. I... have to write about eating a salad." Her English, while
still broken and accented, was considerably better than many
natural-born citizens, and both she and Jules knew this.
"Is that so?" he asked, or laughed. "Well isn't that strange! Why'd your
teacher ask you to write about eating a salad?"
"Her way of doing things," she guessed. "Madsen knew I hated vegetables
and I put things off, so she asked me to do this by this morning. Also,
my parents wanted me here, too."
"Oh, I see. Two birds with one stone, huh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your total comes to $36.48." Mira gave him the forty dollars, pocketed
the change, and left the store and Jules with a farewell. She flung her
groceries in the basket of her bike and pedaled off, making sure to
remember every possible detail for her notes. All of this--the
dedication, the attention to detail, the haste, even the greenery
itself--was completely out of character for her, but she figured out
that this was Miss Madsen's intention. Well, she thought, this is a game
in which I can play too.
Alex Walker, or "X" to just about everyone around, was by far not a
procrastinator or a poor student. She didn't need motivation to start
her work, or endurance to continue it: she had cunning and brilliance on
her side, and could really work hard once she got out of her lazy slump.
X had to write her dreams for her first class of the day, or to be more
specific, her desires. She interpreted it that way, but it could've
meant anything else. Madsen left it open to speculation without any
restraint, so it wouldn't be anything difficult. There was only one
genuine wrong answer--X couldn't write down what she had dreamt about.
So much for that chopper she had her eye on.
"What do I dream of?" she mused to herself, sticking a pencil in her
mouth graphite first. People would say she'd get lead poisoning from
chewing and sucking pencils, but they were morons. Pencils didn't have
lead, they had graphite, and it was a perfectly okay material to nibble
on or let savor over the tongue. Besides, certain wood had good taste
and it was healthier than smoking.
"Gotta stick to the program," she muttered to herself, discovering how
easily she got lost. Pencils... of all the things to muse about. She
didn't write that down. She walked up and got something to eat, then
locked herself in her room and made sure she had silence. A sign reading
"Mad genius at work, violators will be shaved" hung on her door, warning
family and any untimely visitors not to disturb her. Taking a cue from
Victor Hugo, Alex Walker disrobed completely and, in the nude, began to
think and write.
Damn, I'm chubby, she groused immediately. Then she got her idea.
Thanks, body. You saved my education again. Another round of Oreos and
milk! Still naked, X sat uncomfortably at her computer desk and began
typing. When stuck, her fingers traveled south and sought inspiration;
when she found herself without a muse, she blurted out some nonsense and
laid down on her shaggy bed. What did she want out of life? Why did she
keep on living? Was this assignment about goals or fantasy, or perhaps
the passing philosophical whimsies of a mind teetering on the edge
between child and adult? Was it fair to ask such an ambiguous question
to one so prone to philosophy and imbalance? Or maybe Madsen had just
ran out of good ideas. Not likely.
X Walker picked up a small guitar she had taught herself to play, and
sang a song she invented in her own time. Both were on the level of
refuse, she knew, and her skills probably wouldn't improve even with
professional help. She didn't even look good playing it naked--more like
a trashy whore begging for a buck. She drew in a very deep breath and
hummed the song instead. Better, just.
She got dressed and decided, on a whim, to visit the gymnasium. She
would also buy a goldfish and ogle that chopper. Another thing out of
reach.
My dream is to have shit that's always out of reach, she wrote absently.
I stretch out my hand and my imagination and I can never get it. That
chopper in the window, that skill in music, a cool girl in my arms, a
black belt, you name it. I want "stuff". Human beings are always going
after what might make them happy, but it never does. That's the whole
philosophy of American life, right? "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness". What trash. Yeah, Miss Madsen, I said "trash".
It's all worthless, like King Solomon said. I read the
Bible--Lamentations. "Everything is meaningless". Man, I really liked
that book. Maybe I should go to church. I'd be perfect for it, wouldn't
I? People like me need to keep those snot-nosed scum-suckers on their
toes.
Alex Walker looked back at her work, and was surprised.
"Damn," she whispered, "I sure do ramble when I get going."
Furious Hail volunteered at a soup kitchen nearly every day in spite of
herself. She put on a dark flair at school, at home, and pretty much
everywhere else, but the people at Hope Center on 4th knew her as a
commoner, a saint, and a servant with a gentle smile. Hail had been
assigned to acquaint herself with the equally-unruly Ivory Tran, whose
own homework more or less coincided with hers. Hail shared the same
physical education class with Tran, but the two never spoke until after
the class ended. Hail showered with most of the other girls, and when
she got out, Ivory was there waiting for her, or else the upcoming kendo
club.
"You and I are in the same English class, right?" she asked. Hail
nodded.
"Yeah. We got the same bitch as a teacher, too."
"Tell me about it. I'm supposed to go to some shitty poor people's home
and serve them dinner or whatever, so I figure since you said you went
to one all the time, we may as well go to the same one. I'm gonna be
late, so could you just give me directions to it?"
"Uh, yeah." Hail loaned Tran a paper and pen and described the way. She
was already enthralled with the snobbish, rebellious young woman, who
seemed just as dark and "bad" as she was. Ivory was striking, though a
little on the petite side: she wore a tight shirt that proudly exposed
her navel piercing, and her thin eyebrows sported rings and decorations
of all kinds. She had brownish-blue eyes (because of her contacts), and
blonde hair that looked like it had been dyed before. Her shirt, making
naked her shoulders and some cleavage, didn't cover up two circular
holes that, according to Ivory, bullets had pierced through. She was
tough-looking with foreign beauty and sensual intimidation, and Hail was
taken by her.
She didn't see Ivory Tran until sometime early that evening, not long
after she wound up in the Hope Center on 4th. Hail--Haley, as she was
sometimes called--greeted her usuals with a big smile and wave, and they
gave a soft cheer as she returned to the kitchen once again. Big Thom
was there as well, a dirtied apron already over his large body. He gave
Hail a smile and smock.
"Hey, Haley. How are you?"
"You know I don't like that question, BT," she said as she tied the
apron on. "I always have the same answer: miserable, downtrodden,
lonely, messed-up, and on occasion, suicidal or else not too bad. But if
you really wanna know, I'm okay. I'm bringing in a friend today if you
don't mind."
"Great! We could always use another." He smiled and waddled off to work.
The volunteers at Hope Center weren't paid, unless one considered thanks
and a few leftovers as compensation, but it was a good place for Hail to
get away and calm her mind. She went to work almost immediately--first
she smuggled a handful of potato wedges from a heater and stuffed two in
her mouth. Despite its reputation, appearance, and clientele, the Hope
Center sure knew how to make food.
Hail stayed out of the group prayer due to apathy and atheism, but she
had the respect enough to be quiet and close her eyes. Not long after,
the group split ways to their own stations, Hail to the main service
line. She spotted Ivory Tran just outside, her arms crossed defensively
and her face wrought with snobbishness. Hail cracked a brittle smile and
quickly went over to her.
"Hey, you made it."
"Yeah, but only cuz' I want a passing grade. That stuck-up bitch... who
does she think she is?! How'd you let her get away with treating you
like that?"
"Well I had no choice," replied Hail. "Anyway, grab an apron. I'll
introduce you to everyone during first break."
"Ah, no need. I won't be here longer than I need to. Just one week, and
I'm gone."
"You may like it by then. If this place can grow on me, it can grow on
anyone. Now suit up, please." Ivory snarled as she looked at Hail's
pathetic getup. Donning cooking clothes just... disgusted her.
"Ugh, I don't have to wear a fucking hairnet, do I?"
"No, just gloves and an apron. I'll show you." Hail walked Tran to the
apron rack and picked out a green one, then went over to where the
safety gloves were. Tran managed to grin as she snapped one on.
"I feel like a proctologist here. I may take these on my next date!"
"Sick!" laughed Hail. She was amazed at herself, laughing so easily. It
had been a very long time since she smiled so readily. Maybe Ivory was
having a greater affect on her than she originally thought. Ivory
cackled, apparently having fun with the gloves. She followed Hail back
to the service line and tried not to snarl too much as she poured,
spooned, and shoved food on the trays and plates of the less fortunate.
During the first break, Hail decided to adhere to Ivory's wishes and
didn't introduce her to anyone, except Big Thom, who had come by to say
hello. Both girls got a good helping of leftovers and sat down at a
lonely table while they waited for the second half of supper's serving.
"So, how was it?" asked Hail. Tran shrugged.
"Not bad. The food's good. I've never cooked before, so I don't know if
I'd make anything good or not. But this shit's good! Who made it?"
"Just the people around here. The government supplies us with food and
the city gives us volunteers. I myself came to 'work' here after they
helped me out during a bad period in my life. I'm not really over it
yet, but at least they know I'm grateful."
"So you ate here yourself?"
"Yeah..." Hail murmured and stirred her soup around aimlessly. "I kinda
wandered in here after a few hours of desperation. I ran away from home
and didn't have enough to eat off of, so I came here. They took me in,
no questions, and treated me a hell of a lot better than anyone else
ever has. I came back to volunteer and I've been here ever since." Ivory
raised her eyebrows, impressed, and swallowed up part of her food.
"Hmm. So you weren't forced here, you came here out of your own free
will."
"That's right. Hey, you don't have to stay here any longer if you don't
want to, but it would really make me happy. There's nobody here close to
my age, not even among the regulars. I'd be nice to... y'know, have a
friend."
"A friend?!" Ivory laughed herself silly, nearly spilling her soda.
"God... you wanna be friends with me, huh? Okay, what the fuck ever.
Yeah, you can help me with my fucking homework."
"Not so loud," murmured Hail, lowering her head in shame. "Some of the
people here are very sensitive to curse words. I don't mind--shit, I've
said worse--but I like these people and I don't wanna upset them. Keep
it down."
"Fuck that," burped Ivory in reply, slurping the last of her drink.
"I'll fucking say whatever the fuck I fucking want."
"And I respect and understand that," managed Hail hastily. "It's
just..."
"Yeah, I know. You told me. Anyway, I'll think about it--whether I wanna
stay here longer or not. I guess as long as I get some free food, it'll
be okay. So we back to work after we eat?"
"Uh, we're on tray duty. You ever cleaned trays?"
"No...and I don't wanna."
"Tough shit, Tran." Hail smiled impishly and pointed to a table full of
stacked filthy trays. "We gotta get through all that or else no more
food for next time. Three other people usually help, so it's not all
bad."
"And if they don't?" Hail shrugged.
"I usually just stay until I feel like I've worked off my tab, sometime
around halfway through the stack. If I don't feel like going home, I do
the whole thing."
"And how many times have you done that?" Hail shrugged, finishing off
her own meal in the process.
"I dunno. A lot. I don't mind at all. Better'n listening to the shit I
put up with at home."
"Your parents suck?" Hail shrugged.
"My dad's a bastard, and my mom's a smutty bitch off somewhere away from
us. They're divorced, the fucking retards. I just try not to get
involved in their shit. That's why I come here, or else go to parties. I
just hate my fucking home life."
"I see." Ivory made an empathetic face, sighed, and picked up her tray
and trash. "Well, I'll stay awhile, but only because I have to. I guess
once we're done, I'll see you tomorrow. You going to Madsen's?"
"I'd rather go fuck myself," growled Hail bitterly, "but my dad's stupid
about making me go to school. He'll make calls and make sure I'm there.
The only way to get out is if I'm sick as shit or dead, and I'm not in a
suicidal mood."
"Nice. Well, let's get to work. Damn it! Can't these people clean their
own shit?"
"You get used to it. Human beings as people always expect some other
person to do their work. These people at least have an excuse. We'll get
some help. You dry and I'll wash; that's cleaner. Here, get a trash can
and a bucket." Ivory cringed, unable to believe that she was wading in
such slop, and went to fetch the two items. Some of the trays, it
seemed, had been vomited upon. Some had. Yuck.
"You know, Ayanna," said Gabrielle casually, about an hour before their
date ended, "for a minute there, I never thought I'd finish that
chapter. I guess I owe me friends again. This date made up for all the
hassle."
"I'm glad," she cooed, bringing the redhead a little closer as they
walked. "I'm also glad I found a girlfriend my very first day of school!
What're the odds? And we have so much in common, too! I really lucked
out."
"We, dear. We lucked out."
"Ah." Ayanna sighed as they returned to her house. Gabrielle had driven
over there the first chance she got, so she would be back at home in no
time. O'Shannon took a look at the place--a fine two-story building with
a small lawn, ample shrubbery and trees, and a quaint brick mailbox in
front--then focused on her more animate girlfriend.
"Home again home again, jiggedy-jig. So I guess we'll see each other
tomorrow afternoon, huh? What lunch ya got?"
"First."
"Ah, I got second. Bah. Well, we've got gym class and the evenin'. So...
g'night!"
"No kiss?" Ayanna Montgomery looked at Gabrielle sweetly and
smiled--maybe too sweetly. O'Shannon, for all her bravado, blushed.
"Uh, it's not in me nature to kiss on the first date. I mean, it ain't
like I've never kissed a girl, it's just..."
"I understand. A bit too quick, huh?"
"Yeah." Gabrielle and Ayanna smiled awkwardly, until they finally
extended their elbows and shook them together. They bade each other good
night and good luck for the morning, and parted. Gabrielle let out a big
sigh once she got in her car, and an even bigger one came out when she
finally flopped into bed. Class would start in less than nine hours.
"Thank you." Victoria giggled.
"You really don't like my spider, do you?"
"Honey, I love you, but it's just not natural for a person to keep a
spider as a pet. I mean, Gab's got a gerbil, and I don't mind at all.
Why couldn't you have gotten a dog instead?"
"Mmn-nnh," shrugged Grissom with a grunt. "Maybe I just needed to be
different." Poor Olivia shuddered in spite of the fact that her friend
had moved her spider's terrarium into another room. Staying in the same
house as a spider and staying in the same room as one were two different
things.
"Brr! Well, you could've gotten a lizard at least--but no snakes."
"No, no snakes." A pause. Vicki tried smiling. "So, are we going to
sleep together? I MEAN--ARE WE GONNA SHARE THE SAME BED?! I MEAN... uh,
oops?" Her face by that time was red. As usual, she had let something
strange slip out her mouth. Olivia tried making an encouraging face.
"It's no big deal. I brought my pajamas--erm, basically a T-shirt and
shorts. I mean, I don't mind."
"I'm not gonna grope you in the night--I mean... oh, shoot!"
"Vicki," managed Johnson with a laugh, "calm down. And try to control
yourself. We're best friends. How awkward can it become?"
"Very much," she murmured in a mousy voice. "You and I... well, you
know."
"So should I sleep on the couch?"
"No! No. You're my guest, no! You should... you should get the best,
um... bed. Uh, I guess we can sleep... um, back-to-back, so we don't...
you know..."
"I guess. I'll be sure to wake you up. I don't want to go through all
this just to have you fail." Victoria sighed out a smile, and finally
seemed to relax.
"Thanks, Liv. Whew! I just... yeesh, I blurted out all kinds of wacky
things, didn't I?" Olivia gave the smaller, younger girl a warm smile,
and held her in a gentle hug.
"That's just who you are, sweetie. We've all got problems, and if
everybody hated everyone's problems, everyone would be lonely. So you
deal with mine and I'll deal with yours, okay?" Victoria nodded happily,
and purely on instinct, Olivia bent down a little and pecked the other
girl's lips. Both their faces froze and became pinkish at the sudden
action. They cleared their throats and awkwardly parted.
"Uh, sorry. I'll go change now."
"Yeah. G'night in advance."
"Yeah, night."
"You need any help?" asked May. Only she was dressed in her evening
wear; June usually just undressed once she got in bed. The slightly
younger Tramble sister wheeled over to her bed, appraised it, and
smiled.
"No, I... I'm going to try and get in myself. I've been practicing, so
I..."
"You don't need my help anymore." May smiled sadly, almost regretfully,
and June laughed.
"No, I didn't mean it like that! I just... think I can do this myself,
that's all." May nodded and watched with interest as her twin sister
struggled to release herself from her wheelchair. June parked as close
to her bed as she could and used her strong arms to propel herself in a
"jump" towards the mattress. She plopped on very ungracefully, flopped
around until she was looking up at the ceiling, sat up, and gingerly
worked her stubborn, useless legs underneath the sheets. Still sitting
up, she threw off her outer shirt and skirt, and snuggled the rest of
the way inside by pushing against the headboard. She concluded it all by
giving her elder sister a wink.
"See? Easy. Could you please move my chair for me?"
"Sure." May wheeled it back in its closet, and bent down to hug her
sister goodnight. They kissed each other's cheeks, and soon May was
underneath her covers as well. Their parents came in five minutes later,
and in spite of their daughter's age, they still tucked their little
girls in.
One down, a year to go.
Wasted, disoriented, smelling terrible, and hours out after curfew,
Furious Hail staggered down the streets towards her home, the only place
she knew she could still get free room and board. Her father, pathetic
as he sometimes was, worried himself stupid whenever his daughter came
home past midnight--which was almost all the time. That night was no
different, so he had the front door unlocked and waiting. Hail fainted
several times along the way, and completely passed out right on the
front porch.
Her father had been watching her arrival--he had been ever since eleven
that night--and when he saw his only child go limp, he rushed outside
and scooped his baby girl in his arms. He took her to her room, keeping
watch over her twisted, tired face, and placed her on her bed as softly
as he could. He kissed her forehead and left her to sleep off whatever
troubles she was going through, and would be there to wake her in the
morning.
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