By Bijoux (Dominique)
Disclaimer: I invented none of the Buffy characters. Not one. All credit goes to Joss Whedon.
Almost every night my father comes home from work, slumps in front of the television set and barks at something he does not like. There is always a movie that did not live up to expectations or a football game that one team or other should have won but lost.
On the news channel the government is always cheating honest, hard working, tax paying people like him. Most nights he grumbles continuously under is breath while guzzling six pack after six pack, until finally he falls into a fitful sleep right there on his Lazy boy sofa.
Tonight, the object of his displeasure is homosexuality. There is something on CNN about gay people, and he takes one look at the news excerpt and that has him going. For an entire hour he grumbles non-stop and displays such bigotry that I am beyond appalled, beyond angry. I reach down to take his dinner tray which is empty before him, and although I feel a pang of rage rise sharply inside me, I quickly swallow it down.
Tonight I do not want to upset him. Tonight I want to keep him as mellow and contented as possible. I have gone through the trouble of baking a lemon mar range pie just so that he will be happy, and I bring it out now, cut out in a large wedge on a plate.
The news has mercifully changed to something that is happening in Iraq, and his face relaxes slightly. He reaches out to take the pie that I offer him, and although he does not thank me, I see his eyes light up. He leans back in his chair, spoons a large portion of pie and stuffs it into his mouth.
I wash up the dishes quickly, wipe my hands nervously on a dish towel and then move to face him.
“I’m g-going out, dad,” I say, tensing at every word. “I-is there a-anything else I can g-get for you before I leave?”
He glances up at me and I can see the surprise on his face.
“Out?” he mutters, frowning. “Out where?”
“Just to the Holly’s park fair,” I reply, being careful to keep my voice light, not too eager.
I’ve learnt from a very young age that the less eager I seem, the more likely he is to agree to what I want. The truth is that I am not going to the fair at all, but I choose to say that because I figure he will think it is an innocuous place for me to be.
I pray that he will not erupt into one of his drunken rages and forbid me to go. I’m almost eighteen now but my father has a strangling hold on me. There are very few places that he will allow me to go. If I dare to rebel he gets mad and so abusive that I regret it instantly, and some times Donny joins in and there is little I can do to defend myself.
But I don’t know what it is, maybe it is the mixture of drink and pie, but my father sighs, waves his hand and says,
“Be back at the reasonable time.”
Donny is sitting on the couch across from him and he hears this, and his mean, handsome face darkens like an eight year old. He whines,
“You can’t let her go, dad. I haven’t eaten yet.”
I hold my breath. On most nights, my father would not have even listened to an argument. Donny, at twenty-one, is the other man of the house and that means I have to see to his every whim.
“Give your brother his dinner,” my father says, and just before my hopes go crashing to the very depths of my toes, he adds, “then you can go.”
“Thank you!” I say excitedly. We share on odd relationship, my father and I. I know in his warped way he loves me and I love him too, as well as Donny, even though they are mean to me because well, they are my only family.
I am so happy that he has allowed me to go that I spring on him, kissing him plum on the cheek, causing his frown to deepen immediately.
“Tara,” he says, wiping his cheek with his hand. “You’ll be a woman soon. Women don’t just go kissing their fathers every chance they get.”
“S-sorry,” I say, pulling away from him. I move once again to the kitchen to prepare Donny’s dinner. I set the table and after a while, Donny gets up from the living room, pulls out a chair and sits down.
He follows my every movement. Just as I am plopping mash potatoes into his plate, he reaches out suddenly and grabs my hand, causing me to jump with fright.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on?” he sneers, causing my heart to stop, I swear it, for more than a second. “You think I don’t know what’s going on,” he says again, this time louder and more insistent. “But I know. I know all your little secrets.”
“Donny,” my father says from the living room, continuing his fathomless display of graciousness. “Leave your sister alone.”
Donny lets go of my hand and glares at me. I reach shakily for the baked chicken, arranges two pieces on his plate and then put the pot back on the stove. Then I remove the apron from around my waist, wash my hands quickly and head for the door.
Just as I am slipping out, Donny shouts out after me,
“And you’d better be back by eleven o’clock, Tara Ann Maclay. Don’t you be two seconds late!”
I ran from the house feeling the cool night wind as it whips my hair. Elation causes me to run even faster and I hurry down the road, pass people who are all decked for a night out at the fair.
I have been waiting for this moment for days now, counting the hours, the seconds till I am in my lovers’ arms. I miss her horribly. It’s been two weeks since we last saw each other, and I am impatient now as I move through the tall maple trees and then out towards the dark pasture where we always meet. I have kept the image of her in my head, and it has comforted me at nights in my lonely bed.
I love everything about her. I love the way she looks at me. I love her eyes, how caring and compassionate they are, and the way her face breaks out into these countless little expressions. Her face is an open book on which little emotion is hidden. I love her hair and the dots of freckles that cover her nose and cheeks. I love the way she talks continuously when she is nervous or excited. But most of all I love her smile. She has the most breathtaking smile. It is honest and mischievous and goofy all at once and when I make her laugh I enjoy it more than her because then her eyes crinkle and her tongue pokes out ever so slightly from between her teeth.
She hears my footsteps and comes out from our secret hiding place and gives me a little wave.
I continue to run and she rushes out to meet me. We grip each other and laugh like delighted children. Then she captures my lips with hers, and her mouth is as cool as the night air, her breath just as sweet. She lays little kisses across my neck and then points upward.
“Look,” she says, breathlessly.
It seems the stars are all out tonight, spread infinitely across the sky like a vast array of sparkling gems.
“Isn’t it great?” she whispers holding me close. In her arms I feel safe, protected.
She stares up mesmerized, her eyes wide like a child, and I am mesmerized too but for other reasons. I stare at her while she looks up and I am amazed that she belongs to me. She can be with anyone she wants but here she is with me.
At last her gaze reaches down to meet mine, and probably she sees my eyes so full of love, that she brushes my cheeks with her fingers and smiles.
Did I say how much I love her smile? She kisses me again, and then we lay down on the grass, she on top of me, and make out for a while. She pulls up my shirt, unhooks my bra and then runs her fingers over my bare skin. Then she bends and kisses each of my breasts.
I close me eyes, run my fingers through her thick curls and savor the feeling of her body against mine. She murmurs sweet nothings across my lips and ears and neck and I whisper back.
For so long I have been a scared little girl, tormented and alone, with no one to share my hopes and fears and dreams. But this is slowly changing. I will be an adult soon, free to move about as I please, free to love whomever I want. I will have to face my father and brother in the not too distant future, but I don’t care. I don’t think about that. In fact I think of nothing save for the woman who is holding me in her arms.
Tomorrow I will have to deal with all these challenges, but not tonight. Tonight I am being loved.
Fin…………………
Pour Natalie. Je t’aime, chérie
Edited by: bijoux2 at: 8/29/04 2:25 am
Won’t be continuing though, cuz this is only a short story that I had in my head and wanted to share. thanks again