When Needed Part 2
Mar. 9th, 2011 09:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drownedinlightAnd I'm going back to the story from before. This is intended to be a longer piece, so it might be broken up by short stories occasionally.
Lux Harris, the biggest bitch in school, who for some reason always had a personal vendetta against Arcadia. Ever since middle school, Lux took every opportunity to put Arcadia down, commenting on her hair, clothes, and love of medieval history, and had, a couple of times resorted to getting physically violent, instead of just relying on her words. Since high school though, Lux had become a little craftier because all of Arcadia’s male friends had become dating prey.
“Lux isn’t that bad,” Roland reassured her. “She’s grown up a lot.”
“Only when you’re around, Rolo,” Maris assured him. “She’s an absolute bitch to Arcadia when they catch each other alone. And you know ‘Cadia, she doesn’t like to create confrontation.”
“Well, then, you’ll be happy to know that Lux is spending the summer in New York,” Roland said. “She just told me the other day that one of her cousins invited her to stay for the summer while she does some kind of internship there.”
“So at least while I’m alone, I won’t have people who hate me either,” Arcadia replied, with a grin that quickly dropped from her face. “Come on, Maris, we still have to get our books, and we don’t want to be late.”
Both girls pushed through the crowded halls to their lockers, exchanging the books they had brought to school, with the ones they would need for their morning classes. They managed to slip into home period just a few minutes before the bell and take their seats toward the middle of the classroom.
Usually, home period was held only once a month, or when a special announcement needed to be made, and lasted for only fifteen minutes. The teacher took roll by way of handing them their tentative schedules for next year, along with the finals schedule which would be happening the following week. After that, they were left to their own devices, and Maris engaged Arcadia by stealing her sketch book, and leafing through it, ooing and ahing at every single page.
“You know they’re not that great, right?” she said.
“Oh, come on, you draw this things straight from your head and they still look real,” Maris said. “You know how many artists would kill for that kind of ability?”
“I dunno, a lot.”
“All right then, let me ask you how many artist wouldn’t kill for that kind of ability?” Arcadia shrugged.
“It’s not even that I draw that well Maris. I just keep seeing these things in my head; like the sword in the stone, I dream about it all the time. Like it’s just right there in front of me. And that castle, I’m pretty sure it’s Camelot.”
“Okay, maybe you should lay off the medieval lit for a little while,” Maris said, closing the sketch book and sliding it back into Arcadia’s satchel.
“Actually, it went the other way around,” Arcadia said. “I started
having those dreams when I was five or six, and once I learned the power of my library card, I realized just what I was looking at. That I was dreaming the life of King Arthur as it happened.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that,” Maris said. “It’s kind of crazy. I guess you were just too good for the regular coming of age dreams about flying.”
“Maris, flying in your dreams symbolizes sexual freedom.” Maris grinned, and raised her eyebrows. “You’re gross.”
“No, I’m just free from ideology.” Maris looked up, and Arcadia followed her gaze to see Lux scowling at them before very quickly turning away. “God, if she doesn’t like us, why doesn’t she just ignore us. It’s not like we’re bothering anyone and we’re using our indoor voices and everything.”
“Just let it be,” Arcadia said. “Be free from her ideology.”
“That made no sense,” Maris said giggling a little. Arcadia smiled, but almost just as quickly frowned with thought.
“Maris, do you really think it’s strange that I had dreams about King Arthur before I even knew who King Arthur was?”
“A little,” Maris admitted, “but everyone has something strange about them. Look at me—I’m going to Greece to learn how to be a blacksmith and cook baklava. I mean, who does that in this day and age.”
“Plenty of people. I’m talking about deeply psychologically strange.” Maris mirrored her frown and took her hands.
“Are we going back to the whole adoption thing?”
“No, no we’re not,” Arcadia said. “I mean it. Do you think it’s strange that I could dream about those things, someone’s life before I even knew what it was or how it happened?”
“Maybe, but maybe not, there are always subconscious things, and I mean what about the Disney movie? They made one based off of T. H. White, didn’t they, and that was the early years of Arthur’s life. Your parents could have shown it to you when you were a baby or a toddler and that could have been put into your brain and come out in dreams years later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, no, not really, but it sounds like a lot of theory that I’ve read,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t put too much weight on the strange things that go on in your brain. As long as you don’t dream about hurting others or yourself, and nothing up there is causing you pain, I’d say you’re all right.”
“Even if I dream about flying?” Arcadia asked, a small smile tugging at her lips. That time, Maris laughed out right, her indoor voice flying out the window.
The day was filled with anxiety when she did not have Maris or Roland (who Maris told during fourth period) to reassure her that everything would be all right when she confronted her parents about the adoption. And as she sat at home waiting for the right moment, she wondered when it had gone from “telling,” to “confronting,” in such a short span of time.
“Arcadia, dinner time!” her mother called up the stairs. Arcadia took a deep breath, knowing she would not have long when she saw them, before the truth would burst forth. With lungs full, she descended the steps into the living area. To her surprise, her father and brother were still seated at the couch, watching a football game.
Usually, her mother had a rule that dinner time was family time, and that they all had to eat at the table. But Arcadia noticed that it was her parents’ college team playing (also where Guy would be going in the fall), and they had a major point lead.
“Come on sweetheart, join the crew,” her dad said, patting a space beside him on the couch.
“Let her get her food first, Hector,” her mother said. “It’s all on the stove, Cadi.”
Arcadia felt her mouth run dry as she spooned out some mash potatoes and gravy and selected her piece of fried chicken from where her mother had left it on the baking sheet. She would have to pick her moment now; they weren’t really going to give her their full attention now that the game was on, not like they would at the dinner table. She took her seat on the couch, just across from Guy, and waited for a commercial break to come. Nibbling at her fried chicken as she waited did not help the dryness of her mouth.
“Are you all right, Arcadia? You haven’t really touched your dinner.” her mother asked, as a commercial rolled across the screen. Her father stood to get a beer from the fridge, but she could feel his eyes watching her.
“You aren’t feeling sick, are you Cadi?” he asked.
“No, I just…I just need to talk to you both, and I’m just not quite sure what to say,” Arcadia told them. Her mother grabbed the TV remote from where it sat next to Guy and clicked the TV off. Guy looked like he wanted to protest, but turned his full attention to Arcadia, and her father came and sat down in his recliner, beer absent from his hands. Neither of which did made it any easier to say what she needed to say. “I know…I know that I’m adopted. I’ve known for about three years now, and I needed to tell you.”
Her parents exchanged a look, which she had a tough time reading, and her mother moved to sit next to her and take her hand.
“How did you find out?” her father asked.
“Two brown haired people, with brown haired parents, can’t really make a red headed baby,” Arcadia replied. “My teacher explained it in eighth grade science.”
“Arcadia, you know this doesn’t mean we love you any less, don’t you?” her mother asked. “Because we do. We both love you will all of our hearts.”
“You adopted her?” Guy asked. “She’s not really my sister?”
“You’re an idiot,” Arcadia said, wiping at her face, to get rid of the tears.
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out in science class. I’m just shocked, okay? I guess it doesn’t make any difference.” He tried to smile at her, but just ended up looking kind of stupid.
“Sweetheart, if you’ve known for so long, why didn’t you tell us when you were thirteen?” her father asked. “I’m sure you had questions. I’m sure you still have questions.”
“I just…I don’t know. I guess I still hoped that I was yours. I know you love me, and I love you too, but I still just wanted to be like Guy, you know. And I guess I just felt like it was my fault and that there was nothing to be done about it, so why even bring it up.”
“It’s not your fault you were adopted, sweetie.” Her mother brushed back some of her hair that was falling in her face and gripped her hand more tightly. “It was no one’s fault that you were adopted. Your parents were good people, and they wanted to keep you so badly, but they knew it would be better for you to be in a family where you could grow up well-adjusted and happy. And we wanted to have you—you were such a bright and beautiful baby, so playful and full of life. You and Guy got along so well when we first brought you home. It’s like the two of you had never even been apart. But it’s not your fault, sweetie, and you don’t ever need to feel like it is.”
“And sweetheart, you just have to know that we love you so very much. There was never any difference between the way we loved you and the way we loved your brother,” her father said, taking her other hand.
“Yeah, I mean, obviously they like you better,” Guy said. “I mean they chose you, and everybody knows I was an accident.” Arcadia choked on a laugh, trying not to swallow the snot trailing down her nose as she did. Guy stood up and opened his arms. “C’mere sis, you need a hug.” Her parents let her go sniffling into her brother’s arms. And when Guy wrapped his big, linebacker self around her, she did feel better and she felt a weight lift off of her heart. Guy kissed the top of her hair, and pulled back.
“I’m just going to go and wash my face,” Arcadia said, again wiping at her face.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it anymore?” her father asked, embracing her. She squeezed him around his waist, before let go, reaching out to hug her mother next.
“I’m sure, for now. I just needed to tell you guys that I knew.” She let her mother go before she retreated up the stairs to the bathroom.
Arcadia cut on the tap before she took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her face was red and the whites of her eye were covered with thin red veins. “I’m a mess,” she said, cupping her hands under the tap. She threw the water onto her face, and reached for the towel to dry it. Downstairs, she could hear her parents talking with Guy, but could not make out any of what they were saying. Maybe she could sneak in a call to Maris now, just to say that she did it—it was finally all out in the air.
She reached for a tissue, and blew her nose before returning her gaze to the mirror. A weight began to collapse on her heart again. Well, what had she been expecting? That she would instantly have brown hair and eyes and that just putting it out there would change the fact that she still wasn’t a Savage, not really? “I am so messed up,” she said pressing her hands into the counter.
There in her heart, the aching feeling had returned.
3/9/11 WC: 2154
Piece WC: 3354
Project WC: 22570
Still Reading: Gender Dilemmas in Children's Fiction by Kerry Mallan
Lux Harris, the biggest bitch in school, who for some reason always had a personal vendetta against Arcadia. Ever since middle school, Lux took every opportunity to put Arcadia down, commenting on her hair, clothes, and love of medieval history, and had, a couple of times resorted to getting physically violent, instead of just relying on her words. Since high school though, Lux had become a little craftier because all of Arcadia’s male friends had become dating prey.
“Lux isn’t that bad,” Roland reassured her. “She’s grown up a lot.”
“Only when you’re around, Rolo,” Maris assured him. “She’s an absolute bitch to Arcadia when they catch each other alone. And you know ‘Cadia, she doesn’t like to create confrontation.”
“Well, then, you’ll be happy to know that Lux is spending the summer in New York,” Roland said. “She just told me the other day that one of her cousins invited her to stay for the summer while she does some kind of internship there.”
“So at least while I’m alone, I won’t have people who hate me either,” Arcadia replied, with a grin that quickly dropped from her face. “Come on, Maris, we still have to get our books, and we don’t want to be late.”
Both girls pushed through the crowded halls to their lockers, exchanging the books they had brought to school, with the ones they would need for their morning classes. They managed to slip into home period just a few minutes before the bell and take their seats toward the middle of the classroom.
Usually, home period was held only once a month, or when a special announcement needed to be made, and lasted for only fifteen minutes. The teacher took roll by way of handing them their tentative schedules for next year, along with the finals schedule which would be happening the following week. After that, they were left to their own devices, and Maris engaged Arcadia by stealing her sketch book, and leafing through it, ooing and ahing at every single page.
“You know they’re not that great, right?” she said.
“Oh, come on, you draw this things straight from your head and they still look real,” Maris said. “You know how many artists would kill for that kind of ability?”
“I dunno, a lot.”
“All right then, let me ask you how many artist wouldn’t kill for that kind of ability?” Arcadia shrugged.
“It’s not even that I draw that well Maris. I just keep seeing these things in my head; like the sword in the stone, I dream about it all the time. Like it’s just right there in front of me. And that castle, I’m pretty sure it’s Camelot.”
“Okay, maybe you should lay off the medieval lit for a little while,” Maris said, closing the sketch book and sliding it back into Arcadia’s satchel.
“Actually, it went the other way around,” Arcadia said. “I started
having those dreams when I was five or six, and once I learned the power of my library card, I realized just what I was looking at. That I was dreaming the life of King Arthur as it happened.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that,” Maris said. “It’s kind of crazy. I guess you were just too good for the regular coming of age dreams about flying.”
“Maris, flying in your dreams symbolizes sexual freedom.” Maris grinned, and raised her eyebrows. “You’re gross.”
“No, I’m just free from ideology.” Maris looked up, and Arcadia followed her gaze to see Lux scowling at them before very quickly turning away. “God, if she doesn’t like us, why doesn’t she just ignore us. It’s not like we’re bothering anyone and we’re using our indoor voices and everything.”
“Just let it be,” Arcadia said. “Be free from her ideology.”
“That made no sense,” Maris said giggling a little. Arcadia smiled, but almost just as quickly frowned with thought.
“Maris, do you really think it’s strange that I had dreams about King Arthur before I even knew who King Arthur was?”
“A little,” Maris admitted, “but everyone has something strange about them. Look at me—I’m going to Greece to learn how to be a blacksmith and cook baklava. I mean, who does that in this day and age.”
“Plenty of people. I’m talking about deeply psychologically strange.” Maris mirrored her frown and took her hands.
“Are we going back to the whole adoption thing?”
“No, no we’re not,” Arcadia said. “I mean it. Do you think it’s strange that I could dream about those things, someone’s life before I even knew what it was or how it happened?”
“Maybe, but maybe not, there are always subconscious things, and I mean what about the Disney movie? They made one based off of T. H. White, didn’t they, and that was the early years of Arthur’s life. Your parents could have shown it to you when you were a baby or a toddler and that could have been put into your brain and come out in dreams years later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, no, not really, but it sounds like a lot of theory that I’ve read,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t put too much weight on the strange things that go on in your brain. As long as you don’t dream about hurting others or yourself, and nothing up there is causing you pain, I’d say you’re all right.”
“Even if I dream about flying?” Arcadia asked, a small smile tugging at her lips. That time, Maris laughed out right, her indoor voice flying out the window.
The day was filled with anxiety when she did not have Maris or Roland (who Maris told during fourth period) to reassure her that everything would be all right when she confronted her parents about the adoption. And as she sat at home waiting for the right moment, she wondered when it had gone from “telling,” to “confronting,” in such a short span of time.
“Arcadia, dinner time!” her mother called up the stairs. Arcadia took a deep breath, knowing she would not have long when she saw them, before the truth would burst forth. With lungs full, she descended the steps into the living area. To her surprise, her father and brother were still seated at the couch, watching a football game.
Usually, her mother had a rule that dinner time was family time, and that they all had to eat at the table. But Arcadia noticed that it was her parents’ college team playing (also where Guy would be going in the fall), and they had a major point lead.
“Come on sweetheart, join the crew,” her dad said, patting a space beside him on the couch.
“Let her get her food first, Hector,” her mother said. “It’s all on the stove, Cadi.”
Arcadia felt her mouth run dry as she spooned out some mash potatoes and gravy and selected her piece of fried chicken from where her mother had left it on the baking sheet. She would have to pick her moment now; they weren’t really going to give her their full attention now that the game was on, not like they would at the dinner table. She took her seat on the couch, just across from Guy, and waited for a commercial break to come. Nibbling at her fried chicken as she waited did not help the dryness of her mouth.
“Are you all right, Arcadia? You haven’t really touched your dinner.” her mother asked, as a commercial rolled across the screen. Her father stood to get a beer from the fridge, but she could feel his eyes watching her.
“You aren’t feeling sick, are you Cadi?” he asked.
“No, I just…I just need to talk to you both, and I’m just not quite sure what to say,” Arcadia told them. Her mother grabbed the TV remote from where it sat next to Guy and clicked the TV off. Guy looked like he wanted to protest, but turned his full attention to Arcadia, and her father came and sat down in his recliner, beer absent from his hands. Neither of which did made it any easier to say what she needed to say. “I know…I know that I’m adopted. I’ve known for about three years now, and I needed to tell you.”
Her parents exchanged a look, which she had a tough time reading, and her mother moved to sit next to her and take her hand.
“How did you find out?” her father asked.
“Two brown haired people, with brown haired parents, can’t really make a red headed baby,” Arcadia replied. “My teacher explained it in eighth grade science.”
“Arcadia, you know this doesn’t mean we love you any less, don’t you?” her mother asked. “Because we do. We both love you will all of our hearts.”
“You adopted her?” Guy asked. “She’s not really my sister?”
“You’re an idiot,” Arcadia said, wiping at her face, to get rid of the tears.
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out in science class. I’m just shocked, okay? I guess it doesn’t make any difference.” He tried to smile at her, but just ended up looking kind of stupid.
“Sweetheart, if you’ve known for so long, why didn’t you tell us when you were thirteen?” her father asked. “I’m sure you had questions. I’m sure you still have questions.”
“I just…I don’t know. I guess I still hoped that I was yours. I know you love me, and I love you too, but I still just wanted to be like Guy, you know. And I guess I just felt like it was my fault and that there was nothing to be done about it, so why even bring it up.”
“It’s not your fault you were adopted, sweetie.” Her mother brushed back some of her hair that was falling in her face and gripped her hand more tightly. “It was no one’s fault that you were adopted. Your parents were good people, and they wanted to keep you so badly, but they knew it would be better for you to be in a family where you could grow up well-adjusted and happy. And we wanted to have you—you were such a bright and beautiful baby, so playful and full of life. You and Guy got along so well when we first brought you home. It’s like the two of you had never even been apart. But it’s not your fault, sweetie, and you don’t ever need to feel like it is.”
“And sweetheart, you just have to know that we love you so very much. There was never any difference between the way we loved you and the way we loved your brother,” her father said, taking her other hand.
“Yeah, I mean, obviously they like you better,” Guy said. “I mean they chose you, and everybody knows I was an accident.” Arcadia choked on a laugh, trying not to swallow the snot trailing down her nose as she did. Guy stood up and opened his arms. “C’mere sis, you need a hug.” Her parents let her go sniffling into her brother’s arms. And when Guy wrapped his big, linebacker self around her, she did feel better and she felt a weight lift off of her heart. Guy kissed the top of her hair, and pulled back.
“I’m just going to go and wash my face,” Arcadia said, again wiping at her face.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it anymore?” her father asked, embracing her. She squeezed him around his waist, before let go, reaching out to hug her mother next.
“I’m sure, for now. I just needed to tell you guys that I knew.” She let her mother go before she retreated up the stairs to the bathroom.
Arcadia cut on the tap before she took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her face was red and the whites of her eye were covered with thin red veins. “I’m a mess,” she said, cupping her hands under the tap. She threw the water onto her face, and reached for the towel to dry it. Downstairs, she could hear her parents talking with Guy, but could not make out any of what they were saying. Maybe she could sneak in a call to Maris now, just to say that she did it—it was finally all out in the air.
She reached for a tissue, and blew her nose before returning her gaze to the mirror. A weight began to collapse on her heart again. Well, what had she been expecting? That she would instantly have brown hair and eyes and that just putting it out there would change the fact that she still wasn’t a Savage, not really? “I am so messed up,” she said pressing her hands into the counter.
There in her heart, the aching feeling had returned.
3/9/11 WC: 2154
Piece WC: 3354
Project WC: 22570
Still Reading: Gender Dilemmas in Children's Fiction by Kerry Mallan
