The only way I can get this story to work is if I pretend you have to be 21 to live by yourself in Australia. Sorry! I know the facts are wrong, but it'll pay off!
Disclaimer: I see no point in trying to claim The Avengers as my own! Y'all should know that by now. Anything you recognise isn't mine! – JaSoStylish
Shock. That's how it was to me. No, no, No, NO!
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It all started whilst I was completely tuning out of Chinese Literature and the pointless droning of Professor McOllin. Looking up at the clock, it was 43 minutes and 17 seconds until lunch. And counting. Sigh. I heard a nasally voice over the PA system.
"Samantha-Jane Plenn to the reception. That's Samantha-Jade Plenn, thank-you." I quickly began thinking through a mental list of anything that could have gotten me into this trouble. Bad mouthing Miss Hei, the Philosophy professor? I've already had enough trouble with her. This year, I was really pushing myself to be the goody-two shoes that I was expected to be. Just because I was a university scholarship student everyone expected me to be the best at everything. (Even myself, sometimes.) I was an archery sharp shooter, 1st VIII stroke and black-belt too. I'm athletic and intelligent! Don't get me wrong though, my life definitely always hasn't been this good…
Sam! I thought to myself, Snap out of it, this isn't a great time to reminisce. I remember grabbing my file and shuffling out of the lecture hall, whilst being on the receiving end of a death-glare from the Prof. I was still tired from rowing earlier that morning. Yeah, I know. What idiot does a major in Medicine, minor in Conversational Mandarin and still joins the rowing club? Well, being a grad student at Melbourne University does that to you. And that means no social life for me. Yay! Not.
Wrapping my woolen scarf tightly over my chapped lips, I stepped out the heavy glass door and into the unpredictable weather of inner Melbourne. I was tucking my wavy brown hair behind my ears in a futile attempt to beat the vicious wind and nervously shoving my wide glasses up the bridge of my nose. I walked quickly toward the main office, still wondering what the reason was. None of my guesses were even close to what I was about to find out. Pushing a heavy should against the glass door I hastily shoved my belongings into an old satchel slung over my shoulder and stepped into the warm entrance hall. The usually sharp and nasally-voiced receptionist had a softer expression than usual. Something's going on. She just gave me a sympathetic look and pointed down the hall to one of the conference rooms.
I peered around the door and saw a large man sitting behind the desk, head in hands. He had a short scar that way inflamed on the back of his hand and a bit of a 'five-o'clock shadow' going on. I slunk in and soft sat down in the chair opposite, scooting away slightly. What? I like my personal space…
"Miss Plenn?" he began. After a short nod in greeting from myself he continued. "Miss Plenn, I'm Sergeant James Stonehouse. I'm terribly sorry but I'm hear to inform you that your mother's corolla was involved in a high-speed accident."
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Shock. No, no, No, NO!
"I'll just leave you be, then." He mumbled under his breath. There was a pause as the man stood up and slowly walked towards the exit.
"Sergeant, what are you saying, exactly?" I asked, my brain not processing the man's words. He turned, in slow motion, over his shoulder.
"You're mother's been killed, Samantha. I'm… I'm sorry but I really must be going. A PR officer will contact you soon." I sunk down into my chair as his words sunk in. I sat there sobbing into my own shoulder for longer than I care to know.
Mother's … killed… sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Samantha. The words run over and over in my head. Like a sick rhyme. Taunting me.
"NO YOU'RE NOT!" I screamed out - my face red, "Liar!" My cracked voice echoed around the room. This could not be happening.
When I was younger I asked my mum about my dad. Why did all the other girls get to have one but not me? I wasn't that naughty. Did I do something wrong? Don't worry SJ, my mother had said, her young face happy, but with a shielded emotion behind he aged eyes. It's not your fault. Mummy made the wrong decision but then daddy didn't stay and help her. He left us, but I don't think he knew there was two of us then… A small smile appeared on her worn face, making dimples on her cheeks. My father had spent only a week or so with my mother before disappearing back to wherever he came from. I never asked about my dad again and I think that was for the best. Even as a young child, I could see the pain it brought to my mother to think or talk about him. I don't even know his name, but I don't think I want to. Don't worry, she had told me afterwards I'll never leave you like he did.
"Liar!" I said again. This time it was a muffled whisper under my breath. My mum was too good of a person for this to happen to. I could set the blame on her. Then again, I couldn't. I tried to debate what to do from here. My mother's parents had died when I was young and I had no other family. I sat there, curled up in a ball, lent my head against the desk, crossed my arms and laid on my back but I could clear my head. Think SJ, mum always used to say, about all the ways of thinking until you find the right one for you.
At some point I subconsciously decided to skip my afternoon rowing training and made my way home. On my way back to my mum and my little apartment, I realised it wasn't that anymore. I was just mine. I was talking about getting my own place soon but I didn't ever want it to happen like this.
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The days after that slowly blurred into that of a rainy nightmare. I attended rowing trainings, silently took notes in lectures, ate and sleep. Running on auto-pilot. I got a call from the police station, as promised by Sergeant Stonehouse, and made plans for the funeral to be the next Saturday morning.
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Today is the morning of her funeral. I dress in my best and only dress, a long dark grey coat, boots and a light yellow scarf – mum's favourite colour and quickly made my way to the train station. On the radio in the train carriage a reporter was detailing the latest feat by the Avengers in New York City. That's what I want to be able to do. Help people when they really need me and be able to live a quiet life the rest of the time. That's why I chose to study medicine. Although, maybe with a bit less attitude, I thought whilst looking at the fake pose that Tony Stark, aka Ironman, was pulling on the cover of the person sitting across from me's paper.
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With both of us being Atheist, it was a simple and non-religious service. It was just myself, the service-man and undertaker. Whilst I could hear him talking, I tuned out. It seem too fake – too rehearsed. Those were words that this man thoughtlessly recited every other day. They didn't apply to my mum. She deserved better.
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Walking back to my apartment from the cemetery I saw an unhealthy homeless woman with a sign. It read: 'I don't need you money to live, in need your smile." That was it. That snapped me back to reality. Handing the woman a $50 note with a smile she said "No, but it might help." The woman gratefully took it with two hands. Sam knew that her mum wouldn't want her to live like this, on auto-pilot. I just need one night to let it all go – get rid of my bottled up emotions.
Later that evening I stood in front of her full length mirror, one of the few luxuries in the minimal apartment. I really need to get a part-time job, I thought to myself. I've got to pay the bills around here somehow. Dressed in my favourite tight shorts and a flowy exercise singlet, I smiled at my reflection – hyping myself up for a big night. After pulling my bowstring a bit too far I tore through the target; giving myself an interesting looking mark on the inside of my forearm. I had spent a few hours in the local archery range, which was pretty empty apart from a few stragglers. Giving up, I bought a bottled of wine from the bar, shoved it under my arm and walked out.
I was almost home when I heard a noise behind me: uncoordinated walking and heavy breathing. A drunk, and my the looks of things, a male one too.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he called out loudly, "you wanna come back to my place?" My hand tightened around the bow on my back. This was not happening. Not now.
"No." I said shortly. "No thank you."
"Well I wasn't exactly giving you a choice, honey." a voice said in my ear. It stunk of alcohol fumes. I knew I had had a drink or two early but was definitely in much better fighter shape than he was. I struck out with my elbow as I spun around. Bring up my knee sharply into his stomach. The drunk stumbled back at the force of the blow and bent over. I pulled out my bow and unsheathed an arrow, quickly pointing them at him. The man quickly tripped back and ran around the corner with a shocked look on his face.
I sprinted home and stopped, suddenly. This isn't safe. I know I'm a good fighter but I need help. I admitted it to myself. I need to find my father. I don't need to get to know him but he sure as sugar honey iced tea owes me some money or something for 20 ½ years of upkeep.
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The following day, I got in a meeting with a family solicitor that was relocating me to a foster family as I wasn't 21 yet. I had other plans.
"Excuse me, sir," I interrupted when he was telling me about the family I was supposed to be living with. "I would like to live with my real father." I received an odd look but he obliged.
"I'm sure that can be organised in time." He croked out stiffly. "Here," he said, trying to help me out "here's his name." He handed me a piece of paper. My birth certificate! I snorted when I read the name and looked up at him sharply.
"I may be underage, sir, but I'm not stupid. This says my father is Anthony Stark. As in Tony Stark! As in Ironman!" I said, my voice rising in pitch.
"I assure you, Samantha, that document is correct."
My father is friggin' Ironman. Well sugar honey iced tea, SJ. Looks like you've got it bad.
Hmmm…. Not sure if I will continue. 5 reviews? Pls?
"There are no shortcuts to any place worth going."
C ya. - JaSoStylish