Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me; they belong to WB and DC, who don't deserve them.
A/N: I haven't actually seen the final episode yet, but Terra has always been my favourite character. Hopefully I haven't screwed this up too badly.
Continuity: Post-'Things Change' (Season Five final episode).
Feedback: If I make puppy-dog eyes, will people review?
The More They Stay the Same
© Scribbler, February 2006.
Tara was aware, sometimes, of a presence just beyond her field of vision, behind the bike sheds, outside her classroom window. She would look, whip her head so fast she cricked her neck, but there was never anything there – or so she told herself.
She flicked the channel over when the news came on with stories about superheroes. Once or twice her parents refused to give up the power of the remote over dinner, and she was forced to watch people in spandex prance about shooting things. It all seemed very brash and artificial. When her mother made a comment about them being brave and selfless Tara scowled into her mashed potatoes.
She went to school and flunked math and got a tutor – a senior called Peter, who had a braying laugh and acne scars but didn't use extra lessons as an excuse to feel her up. She liked gym and English best of all, both for the sense of escape they gave her. She excelled at gymnastics, had good stamina and wasn't too bad with the javelin or hammer, but declined a place on the track team when asked. Other girls looked at her like she was crazy – the Jock Flock, mostly – but she didn't care much.
Once, when coming home from the library one evening, she got caught up in a crowd rushing away from Penhouse Avenue. Not knowing what was going on, she was borne away in completely the wrong direction, finally fighting her way free almost five blocks later. Rather than go through that again, she took the long way back, traipsing through neighbourhoods where everyone washed their cars on Sunday morning like it was part of their religion.
Later she found out the Titans had been fighting The Zoo Crew and messed up most of Penhouse. No casualties, but a lot of property damage, including the bus stop she used to get home. Being so close to an actual superhero fight was no biggie in Jump, but she was kind of glad she hadn't known at the time.
She didn't go down to the harbour. She didn't like crossing the bridge if she could help it. Being that close made her feel antsy, like that time she got sunburned painting a neighbour's fence for extra cash, and just as irritable. She fed sparrows and squirrels, but chased off seagulls with arms flailing all the way to the end of the garden.
Time passed, life happened, both as they always did. She grew out of her favourite jeans and mourned them by picking off the homemade patches and sewing them onto her new pair, even though there were no holes to cover. Her hamster died. She buried him the backyard and nearly had hysterics when a stray cat dug him up and ran off with his body. She gained a cousin, lost a great-aunt, waved her uncle off as he emigrated to Australia, and plodded on with her B average.
She finally got her learner's permit and badgered her dad to take her out whenever he had a spare moment. After one initial ding she was as careful a driver as he could ask for, justifying the extra money he had to pay out to get her included on his motor insurance. She got a part-time job stacking shelves at the local supermarket to help pay for it, but left after just a month and a crapload of bad feeling from workers who thought she looked like someone else.
When they went on vacation to the mountains she admired the view, but didn't feel anything more than mild boredom when faced with the rocky majesty of nature. She flatly refused to go potholing, claiming the small dark tunnels made her nervous, and instead sat in the café outside, sipping a chocolate milkshake and nibbling a giant cookie until her family emerged back into the light. Then she threw herself at them, hugging them tight like they'd been gone a few weeks instead of a few hours.
She couldn't walk in heels, preferring boots with flat soles. Sometimes this worked, and sometimes it didn't. She couldn't wear skirts and not look stupid in those boots, but that was okay because she wasn't really a skirt girl anyway. She relented a little for her mother and wore the odd floaty blouse, sometimes offset with a hairpin shaped like an insect, flower or bird. She wore her hair up a lot after catching a documentary about the Great Exodus when she was fifteen and everyone left Jump City to the madman called Slade and his robots.
Her first kiss was a little sloppy, taken by a boy in her History class behind the bleachers at a football game. Someone scored a touchdown and the crowd went wild, stomping above their heads. He pulled her hair from its restraint and she pushed him away, one eye hidden behind a blonde curtain. He tasted like hotdog and diet soda and she couldn't even remember his name later.
"You know," Her English teacher said when giving back papers, "you might want to look into a career in journalism. You have a real flair for it."
Tara said she would think about it, and did. There were worse careers she could imagine than writing articles about current events and human interests.
One night she became sharply aware of something outside her bedroom window. Throwing down her essay on Mark Twain, she stalked across and threw it open, hissing into the night, "I know you're there. Don't even try to lie to me. It's insulting."
There was a long pause before someone answered, slowly, "Yes, I suppose it would be."
A pair of eyes looked back at her from the tree that sometimes tapped the glass when its branches got too long.
"I already said I have nothing to say to you people."
"I wasn't expecting you to say anything."
"So why hang around? You must have skin like an elephant to go where you're not wanted."
No answer.
Tara sighed. She felt the air empty out of her toes and whisper between her teeth. "Look, I get that you think we have some sort of weird connection, and I know that there's been a lot of shit you've had to deal with – and done – but truthfully? We don't. We never did. End of story. Finito. You don't need to keep checking up on me. And frankly? This is way past stalking now."
Still no answer.
"You still there?"
"I am."
"Well you shouldn't be. Get lost. I don't have anything else to say to you – any of you. Just leave me alone." She made to slam the window, but stopped.
"Who's lost?"
"Hey - " But the presence was gone. Tara felt it like she felt the house was empty when she came home from school and let herself in. She glared suspiciously into the dark, started to draw her head back inside and paused. On a whim she gave a middle-finger salute, then shut her window. It locked with a resounding click.
FINIS.