She had loved strawberry yogurt when she was younger. Sweet, creamy, with strawberry in just the right places. When she was five, her mother had given it to her for the first time. It had quickly become her favorite after-school snack. She had pitched a fit when her mother hadn't gone to the grocery store to buy it for her. That was also when she had gotten her first spanking. The red handprints had made her bottom swell up, and it hurt to sit down in the hard chairs at school.
When she was eight, she had gotten into trouble for beating up Billy Richards on the playground because he had been picking on her. Billy had to go down to the emergency room for stitches. She, meanwhile, had escaped the fight without a scratch. The teacher had walked her down to the principal's office, keeping a hand on her back to make sure she didn't wander, or stop to daydream. She had sat in the huge itchy chair that dwarfed her petite frame outside the office as her mother spoke with the principal. She knew she wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, but her ears caught the words "But my Faith... she would never..."
She had gotten her second spanking then, but she didn't cry when her mother hit her. She was a big girl now, almost nine, and big girls didn't cry. Tears threatened to come, but she scrunched up her face really tight and pretended to be like one of the superheroes on the TV. Her mother would let her watch her favorite show, Supergirl, right after school before she started on her homework. She would lie down on her stomach, her feet dangling in the air. Her eyes wouldn't leave the screen until her mother turned it off.
She had been made fun of when she was six. They had been given a topic to write about. Faith's was 'What I Want To Be When I Grow Up'. As she had stood in front of the class and told them that she wanted to be a superhero when she was older, she could see the teacher taking out her red pen and marking a big fat D in her gradebook. Tears had come then too, but none had fallen as she had run out of the classroom.
At twelve her mother started to drink. First it had been a small glass of vodka after work. Then slowly it progressed to two, maybe three beer bottles a night. She had gotten her third spanking for not taking out the recycle when she had been asked to. She didn't cry any more. No tears came. Her face was hard, hardened by spankings and mothers who drank and brought home strange men on the weekends.
One night she had had a terrible nightmare and when she tried to get into her mother's bed for a snuggle like they usually did, someone else was in the bed. Someone was in her spot. A small whimper had escaped her lips, but neither of them woke up. There was a strong scent of booze in the room, and something else... something she didn't recognize. Years later would reveal that it was cocaine.
It wasn't even one year later when they lost the house and had to move into a trailer. Taunting and teasing had followed her all the way through high school. 'Miss Trailerpark Trash' was written on pieces of paper that were slipped into the vents of her locker, and it was only through beating kids up that she was able to stick up for herself.
Eighteen was the magic number. She was called to be the Slayer, called to be the superhero she had always knew she would become. By then she had dropped out of high school, dismissed the possibility of even considering going to college, and started sleeping around. First it was Ronnie, the deadbeat. Then Steve, the klepto. And she never forgot Kenny, the drummer.
It was at Buffy's house that she had strawberry yogurt again, and thought how strange it was that a girl like her could still love it after all these years. She had spooned the first bite into her mouth, and remembered....
Remembered strawberry yogurt, and superheroes.
When she was eight, she had gotten into trouble for beating up Billy Richards on the playground because he had been picking on her. Billy had to go down to the emergency room for stitches. She, meanwhile, had escaped the fight without a scratch. The teacher had walked her down to the principal's office, keeping a hand on her back to make sure she didn't wander, or stop to daydream. She had sat in the huge itchy chair that dwarfed her petite frame outside the office as her mother spoke with the principal. She knew she wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, but her ears caught the words "But my Faith... she would never..."
She had gotten her second spanking then, but she didn't cry when her mother hit her. She was a big girl now, almost nine, and big girls didn't cry. Tears threatened to come, but she scrunched up her face really tight and pretended to be like one of the superheroes on the TV. Her mother would let her watch her favorite show, Supergirl, right after school before she started on her homework. She would lie down on her stomach, her feet dangling in the air. Her eyes wouldn't leave the screen until her mother turned it off.
She had been made fun of when she was six. They had been given a topic to write about. Faith's was 'What I Want To Be When I Grow Up'. As she had stood in front of the class and told them that she wanted to be a superhero when she was older, she could see the teacher taking out her red pen and marking a big fat D in her gradebook. Tears had come then too, but none had fallen as she had run out of the classroom.
At twelve her mother started to drink. First it had been a small glass of vodka after work. Then slowly it progressed to two, maybe three beer bottles a night. She had gotten her third spanking for not taking out the recycle when she had been asked to. She didn't cry any more. No tears came. Her face was hard, hardened by spankings and mothers who drank and brought home strange men on the weekends.
One night she had had a terrible nightmare and when she tried to get into her mother's bed for a snuggle like they usually did, someone else was in the bed. Someone was in her spot. A small whimper had escaped her lips, but neither of them woke up. There was a strong scent of booze in the room, and something else... something she didn't recognize. Years later would reveal that it was cocaine.
It wasn't even one year later when they lost the house and had to move into a trailer. Taunting and teasing had followed her all the way through high school. 'Miss Trailerpark Trash' was written on pieces of paper that were slipped into the vents of her locker, and it was only through beating kids up that she was able to stick up for herself.
Eighteen was the magic number. She was called to be the Slayer, called to be the superhero she had always knew she would become. By then she had dropped out of high school, dismissed the possibility of even considering going to college, and started sleeping around. First it was Ronnie, the deadbeat. Then Steve, the klepto. And she never forgot Kenny, the drummer.
It was at Buffy's house that she had strawberry yogurt again, and thought how strange it was that a girl like her could still love it after all these years. She had spooned the first bite into her mouth, and remembered....
Remembered strawberry yogurt, and superheroes.