It was the second time Zed was called by the school to talk about Abra. It annoyed her, but she knew they only wanted the best for them, which made her even more annoyed and guilty for having those feelings. She appreciated their concern, but nothing they could do would help. They wouldn't be able to imagine the issue even if they tried hard enough. It was more than their imagination could take.
Diane, Abra's teacher, was a respectable woman with good intentions. Right now, she sat in front of Zed, with a wooden table between them. They were in the class Abra went to learn every day with other children. It was filled with infantile drawing and there was chalk everywhere. Even though it was a light environment, Zed remembered the absolutely gut wrecking fear she had felt in the beginning. Her two sides – the reasonable and the emotional one – were fighting more than ever. Her reason kept saying she had to be a suitable and normal mother and send her daughter to school like everyone else did, that she needed education if Zed wanted Abra to have a typical life and a decent job, so she wouldn't have to live like Zed herself. Her emotional side was worried that someone – something, although she didn't know exactly who or what she feared exactly – would find them, that this modest life would be shattered in a fraction of seconds, that she would lost everything she battled for. Her naïve side was also worried about what the other kids would think about her daughter. Zed never went to school, she had had a home education, but she knew kids could be cruel with outsiders, especially different ones.
Back then, she didn't know about Abra's… gift. She was also a psych. Zed kept her chalk and pencils locked in a drawer, so Abra never took any of them to draw at home. But then, in her first week going to school, she came back home with a colorful paper held in her little and soft hands. She was so happy with what she had done, Zed could barely be angry, but she felt fear within her guts.
"Look, mom! Look what I did!" exalted Abra, with a big smile on her face. "Mrs. Diane said I'm pretty good!" She was. Obviously she was. She was just like her mother. Abra didn't draw ordinary stuff - unicorns or whatever kids draw those days.
Zed took the drawing from her hands and stared at it for a few minutes. It was pretty good – too good. Too accurate. Too… futuristic. It wasn't anything supernatural, thank God. It was only Zed on their counter, cooking. It was messy, the lines weren't too clear, the colors were wrong. But it was Zed.
"Did you like it?" asked Abra, faltering.
Zed did her best to open an honest smile.
"Of course, sweetheart. It's perfect."
Abra was happy. Zed wasn't.
The woman didn't want her daughter to suffer like she had. She didn't want Abra to be a part of that world she had walked away from so many years ago. But she knew it wasn't possible. She knew Abra would be called, sooner or later.
If it depended on Zed, it would be later.
Some weeks after Abra's first day in school, Zed was cooler with that, until she received a call from Diane. Abra's drawings were scaring other kids. She drew dark scenes of other kids too realistically. Zed had to talk to her and asked her to stop, even though she knew it didn't work like that. Maybe, if she repressed her daughter's gift since she was a child – unlike what happened to Zed –, it would go away. But it didn't.
Abra cried for days after that, refusing to go to school if she couldn't draw what she wanted there. Then, Zed, with a very heavy heart on her chest, promised she could draw at home, which made her happy again.
It was so easy to please kids. You only had to burn your hand for them.
Now, Diane showed her Abra's last drawing. Zed gasped out loud, against all her instincts. Her heart seemed like a bird flying on her chest, trying to free itself.
No no no no no
This isn't happening this isn't happening this isn't happeni-
"Do you know this man, ma'am?"
"I- I-" Zed swallowed, trying to gain time to compose herself. "Why… why do you think this is wrong, Mrs. Grant?"
She knew why. But Diane didn't and would never know.
"I'll be completely honest with you, miss Hodkin." It was Zed's fake surname. It wasn't something new to her. "Must kids do draw imaginary friends. But this is completely odd."
"And why do you think that?" Zed tried to look as completely lost as possible.
"Because most children's imaginary friends aren't adult men."
Zed was uneasy. The drawing, on the table, kept glaring at her, accusatory. His dark and intimate eyes were staring at her, which didn't help her to stay calm.
"Well, we know Abra's special, Mrs. Grant. And I'm not saying it just because I'm her mother – although this is a big part of why I'm saying it." She laughed, trying to seem relaxed. "She draws exceptionally well. And her imagination runs wild."
"I know this, miss Hodkin. But what also concerns me is that when I asked her who he is, she said he was her father." Zed held her breath. What would she say to Abra? She knew one day this would come back to bite her. She had been so luck until now – her daughter never seemed interested in knowing about her father. Now she knew why – Abra already knew. "I think she's making her own father in her imagination, to fill the blank space she has at home. Honestly, I'm not here to tell you how to raise your own kid – I can picture how hard must be being a single mother -, but it's very harmful not to tell her about her heritage…"
Angry filled Zed up. She had raised her daughter the best way she could despite the circumstances, thank you for asking. She didn't want a strange to tell her how she had miserably failed, and the big mistake she had done when she decided to cut Abra's dad off their life, and how great they would be right now if she hadn't done that.
"Well, she does know who her dad is, ma'am, and that's why she drew this man. My… her father was a soldier. He died in the Iraq War." Lies after lies kept leaving Zed's mouth. "I showed her a picture of him, that's probably why she's drawing him." Not because she's seeing her in our future, please, God.
Diane seemed ashamed. Americans always had a soft spot for wars.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear about this, miss Hodkin… It's just that you never mentioned him before. Abra said his name is John Constantine? I'll put his name in my prayers."
Zed's insides twisted with the name. She managed to smile somehow.
"Thanks. I appreciate it. No matter how long it's been, I still feel like he's with me, you know?" She glared to the drawing. The truest thing she had ever spoken so far.
"Sure, sure. To be honest, this is pretty recently. Must be hard for you. You were never married, right?"
"No."
"Well, it doesn't make things less hard, right?"
"No. Now, if you're done, I need to go home." Zed got up. Diane walked her to the door. Abra was on the aisle, embraced with her doll, waiting for her mother. She quickly hugged Zed with a smile on her face, like it had been years since the last time they spoke.
"See you tomorrow, Mrs. Diane!" Abra waved.
Zed was happy to have her on her arms, but she couldn't stop thinking, while they walked back home: She knows. She knows his face. She knows his name. Every time she sees herself in the mirror she'll remember from where these blonde curls come.
She knows her father is John Constantine.
