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December 16, 1963 – Part II
Ruth, Scott, and Ororo piled into Ruth's car.
"Seatbelts," Ruth reminded them.
Scott knew few people who insisted on seatbelt use, but did as Ruth said. A moment later he undid his seatbelt, leaned across Ororo, and buckled the seatbelt for her. Then he redid his own.
"When you want to get out, you push this button," he explained.
Ruth accelerated more swiftly than most would in snowy conditions, though slower than she usually would. It was still enough that Scott's eyebrows rose.
"Ruth, can we have the radio on?" Ororo asked.
Ruth turned on the radio.
"Aw, nice!"
Ororo looked sideways at Scott. "After three tones you know this song?"
"It's The Beatles," Scott said, like that was an explanation. He sighed at the uncomprehending look on Ororo's face. "Never mind." He would talk to Hank about it; Hank appreciated music properly.
They sat quietly for a while. Then Ororo said something in Arabic. From the way Ruth laughed, it was a joke.
"Good one," Ruth replied. "Do you know the one, what did the traffic light say to the car?"
Scott knew. "Don't look, I'm changing! What do you call it when you lend money to a bison?" Because no one answered, he supplied, "A buffa-loan. Get it?"
Ruth laughed.
"Buffa-loan," Scott repeated to Ororo. "Buffalo is another name for bison."
"Actually, they are different animals," Ruth replied. "It was something European settlers called American bison, but the name sticks, and now, we talk, both words mean the same. Have you ever seen one, jaamuus, Ororo?"
From the way she grinned and the tone in her voice as she replied, she had seen a buffalo. And she enjoyed it.
"What about you, Scott?"
Scott leaned his head against the window. "Nah," he murmured. There had been a field trip, once. He might have seen a likeness, or maybe a post-taxidermy bison, but you had to bring money for the bus and lunch. Maybe they had them in Riverview Park, but he had never been there, either. "Just pictures."
Everything always came down to money.
When Ruth parked, Scott unbuckled his seatbelt, then leaned over and unbuckled Ororo's.
Ruth turned around from the front seat. "Okay," she said. "You." She pointed at Scott. "Can I trust you on your own?"
"Rather wait in the car," Scott said.
"You can wait in the car," Ruth replied, "but if you do, I will shop for you. There will be new clothes. You will wear them. So, whether they fit, whether you like them, this is the question. Oh, and your jeans will freeze to the seat when I turn the heat off. So I think you should come inside. But, ultimately… you want to stay…" She shrugged. "You stay. Okay."
As he listened to all of this, Scott had pulled his head away from the window. He nodded. "I'll go."
"Good choice. Everything, understood?"
He nodded.
"What about me?" Ororo asked.
"You will be with me. There is a men's section and a women's section…"
The look on Ororo's face suggested she thought this was dumb. Scott had seen that look before and knew the vocabulary that accompanied it: confusing foreign American things that didn't make sense.
Ruth must have seen something else. "I'll show you," she said. "And they have a lunch counter. Be good and you can have cocoa. And M&Ms."
"Plain or peanut?" Scott asked.
"Huh?"
"Either," Ruth said. "Your choice. Some are plain, some have peanuts," she explained to Ororo.
"Can I have a Snickers instead?"
"Scott, you are on the naughty list. Earn a Snickers, you have a Snickers."
Scott stuck out his hand and Ruth shook.
"Pajamas, too."
"Aw, c'mon!"
"What, I know your traditions, you think you can come down on Christmas morning and open your presents in your boxers?"
"Why would my Christmas present be there?"
"What?" Ororo asked.
Ruth rolled her eyes.
"I don't get Christmas presents."
Ruth raised an eyebrow.
"I don't want Christmas presents, I don't like Christmas!"
"Hey—I don't want Christmas either!" Ororo leapt into the conversation. She did not really know what Christmas was or what it was about. She just knew she hadn't liked being shut out of the conversation. Besides, sometimes being a friend meant throwing your weight behind theirs.
"Oy," Ruth sighed. "Bribing you with chocolate is not enough? Fine. Get out of this car or I will drag you into the shop by the ears."
The kids traded glances and silently agreed that there was just enough chance Ruth might actually do it. They tumbled out of the car.
Inside, Scott peeled away. This was relatively simple for him. Growing up, he mostly wore clothes donated to the orphanage, but he still knew how shops worked.
Ororo inched closer to Ruth. She was used to wearing bits nicked from the shuq, whatever loose pieces she nabbed to wrap around herself. Like Scott, she had worn hand-me-downs and donations in her brief stint at an orphanage. This was foreign, though.
"Ruth?"
"You wanted blue jeans, like the boys wear?" Ruth asked. Ororo had asked specifically for jeans. She did not like wearing skirts all the time, but she had only skirts, sweatpants, and a pair of shorts. Ruth led her to a rack of jeans. "Let's see… you are…" She glanced at Ororo. "…tiny. Take these into the little room over there and try them on."
Ororo nodded. She took an armful of denim from Ruth and walked over to the fitting room. Pants were… complicated. Skirts were okay, but the jeans would give her better protection for climbing trees and make her look the slightest bit less different.
She stuck out like a broken middle finger. The others at the school were white, except Hank, who was blue. And Ororo had white hair! Straight white hair! No one had looked like her in Africa. Even in Cairo, and Cairo was a big city with a diverse population.
Light in Africa and dark in America. Ororo wasn't right anywhere.
She thought about this as she dumped the jeans in the fitting room and closed the door behind her. Then the lock clicked into place.
It sounded like something bigger. It echoed a thunder and crash and she felt the world collapsing around her, on top of her; she felt the world crumple and go away and pin her and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't—and rationally, she was in the fitting room, but her mind was back in Cairo and she was a little girl again—
Ororo's hands shook too badly for her to unlock the door. She fumbled with it—who designed these stupid rooms—who—the walls so high and close and the air went tight and full of whimpering noises that were not hers—
She dropped to the floor and squirmed under the fitting room door. Her knees and elbows rugburned as she went, and the moment she could, she climbed to her feet.
Ruth was only a few feet away. Ororo bolted into her arms.
"Shh." Ruth did not ask what was wrong. She just held Ororo and murmured soothing things until the girl stopped shaking.
"It was too little," Ororo explained. She sniffled. "It was too stupid small!"
"I know. They make these like rabbit cages."
Ororo nodded.
Ruth let her sulk for a while longer. Then, after a few minutes, said, "We are here and you do need new clothes—"
"No!"
"Trust me. Here. These are not ideal, but…" Ruth took a pair of overalls and held them against Ororo. "No." She tried another pair. "A little big, but this should do. Now come on. You can try on coats out here, and you need one."
Ororo refused to leave Ruth's side for the rest of the shopping expedition. At least until they reached the register, then Ruth told her, "Cover Scott's eyes."
"What?" both students asked.
"Cover his eyes. And you, please, do not tell me the amounts out loud," Ruth asked the cashier. "This one is uncomfortable about money."
"Oh, jeez," Scott moaned.
Ororo put her hands over Scott's glasses.
"That's not necessary."
"Ruth said so."
They knew Ruth was right. If Scott saw the numbers on the register, he wouldn't have been able to wear any of it, defeating the entire purpose. They would be back here in a week, or Ruth would anyway. Or Charles would take over Scott's mind and force him to wear his new clothes, but that felt excessive.
Hands still over Scott's eyes, Ororo asked, "Are we on the nice list?"
"Yes. You are both."
They had a deal and Ruth intended to keep it. Except the incident with the fitting room, which was too small anyway, the kids had been wonderful. She led them to the lunch counter.
"Hey, they got M&Ms!"
Scott went to investigate the candies.
"Plain and peanut."
Ororo would never understand why he cared so much. This boy barely batted an eyelash at things like extra homework or extra hours washing dishes. How could a person be so happy about little pieces of candy?
She was too busy wondering about Scott, at first, to notice that Ruth was holding a low, angry conversation with a waitress. Ororo looked around. The room was pointedly quiet and people were staring at her. This was more than the way people stared when a person looked exotic.
Scott slid beside her and squeezed her hand.
"What's going on?" she whispered.
Scott looked to Ruth.
Apparently Ruth was finished arguing. "Come on," she said, shepherding them towards the door.
"What happened?" Ororo asked.
Neither of them would tell her. She was used to Scott being bashful, but when Ruth refused to speak it was something serious. Then she hit the cold. The elements reached out to her. Outside, she knew. She remembered herself and she knew.
She howled.
The wind did, too.
"Ororo, stop it," Ruth said.
The wind flew at the doors. Since they opened outward, no one could leave if they wanted to. The temperature dropped and snow slammed against glass panes.
"Ororo!"
Overhead, her favorite, the lightning crackled.
The day had been cloudy ten minutes ago. They had not been asked to leave ten minutes ago.
Ruth wrapped an arm around her. The restraint brought a swell of indignity to Ororo, enough to make her fight Ruth. The wind and the hail died down. Ororo squirmed, futilely, tried using her martial arts moves but it was Ruth who taught that to her. As long as she needed to, Ruth held Ororo and waited.
"Ororo?" Scott asked, gently.
He was shaking. He was calm, but trembling, and…
"Scott, your eyes," Ruth said.
"I'll blow it up if you want me to."
People were in there. They could die, would die, and Scott knew that.
"Into the car," Ruth snapped, "now!"
Everyone was quiet. Ororo shoved Scott away when he tried to help with her seatbelt. After about a minute, after Ruth pulled away from the curb, Ororo tapped his wrist. Scott leaned over. Keeping one hand in his pocket, he leaned over and fastened Ororo's seatbelt.
She leaned against the window.
The worst part was that she knew people in this country cared about the color of someone's skin. In the orphanage, the nuns acted like coming from Africa was the same as having a watery brain, like Africa was a single city rather than a continent Ororo had only seen a tiny piece of.
She gritted her teeth. It was her fault for turning soft. She was too used to life at the Institute, where everyone cared about being mutant on the inside more than black or white on the outside.
"Um, Ruth?" Scott asked.
He had calmed down now.
"I…" he managed, looking at the yellow packet in his hand. "I stole M&M's."
The car went silent for a second. Then Ruth and Ororo burst out laughing and couldn't stop. Scott couldn't help joining in.
When everyone had finished snickering, Ruth asked, "Plain or peanut?"
"Alex?" Scott knocked again. "C'mon, Alex, I know you're in there!"
Alex opened the door.
"What's up?"
His bedroom was a mess. Even through the red, Scott saw that. The sheets needed changing on his bed, there were junk food wrappers, and the laundry was only vaguely in a pile. How could he live with that?
"Do you, uh... can I ask you… you know Hank said our power's the same?"
There had been more to it, but Alex nodded. "Yeah."
Ruth was telling the Professor now, if he hadn't already, about what happened. He had seen in their faces that something was wrong, but when he asked, Ruth simply said, "Scott stole M&Ms." She would tell him the truth, though. Sooner or later, the Professor would know that Scott had threatened to kill people.
Ororo didn't want to talk to anybody and had sulked the rest of the afternoon.
Scott had done likewise. Only, now, he needed to talk to someone else.
"What's it like when you lose control?"
Alex shrugged. "I just do."
"Do you glow?"
He was so screwed. He was supposed to be making progress and he had tried—he couldn't take the glasses off, but he was getting better with the visor. He used it all the time. Seeing someone treat his friend that way hurt. It was when Ororo looked ready to cry that Scott felt himself snap.
"Do I glow?" Alex repeated. He laughed. "No, Scotty, I don't glow."
"Oh."
Even Alex noticed the glumness in his brother. There was a reason he normally kept away from Scott when he was burned. Things were never simple with Scott, like he was afraid the stick would fall out of his—
But that was beside the point.
Alex straightened up. "Why? What happened?"
"Do you really not remember Alaska? Dad?"
"You glow?"
"No. Shut up. And clean your room! This place is a total embarrassment—the whole team's embarrassed of you!"
For a moment, Alex looked blank. Then he nodded. "Go Team Summers."
"Go Team Summers," Scott echoed.
They high-fived.
"Really, though. It's unsanitary in here. Do you know how to clean—"
"Isn't this past your bedtime?"
"Curfew!"
Alex laughed because whether Scott liked it or not, he had basically admitted to having a bedtime. Alex ruffled his hair and Scott headed away.
He only gained a few yards before Alex called, "Hey, twerp, nice jammies!"
Scott turned and held up three fingers. "Read between the lines, jerk!"
They smiled at each other, then Scott went on his way. It was after his curfew. He would go back to his room, really he would. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to wander, but since he was up, he might as well get a glass of water.
Everything about the day had him in knots and he wasn't thrilled to be more worried about his glowing eyes than what had happened to Ororo. Ruth described it as a white blaze around the edges of his glasses, something that had never happened before. His ability was supposed to be coming under his control!
He sighed. Like anything was ever so simple!
"Scott."
Oh, shit.
"Ummm… hi, Professor."
He and Ruth sat in the study, and while Scott supposed he should have guessed they would be there, he hadn't.
"You're not meant to be wandering around this late."
Scott nodded. He knew that. "I just…" What? Couldn't sleep? He had tried reading, but it didn't distract him the way it usually did. "…I was going to get some water."
"Go on, then."
Charles and Ruth sat in silence for a moment. Had Erik been there, the chess board between them would have been in use rather than a dusty prop. This would have been a very different place, had Erik been there—but he wasn't and Ruth was and Charles was quite content with that, despite the aggravating knowing look on her face.
He sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately."
Ruth laughed into the glass at her lips. It wasn't often someone blew bubbles in whiskey.
"If you have something to say…"
"He is testing you," she said.
Her lips glistened, damp, and he looked at the board to stop himself thinking what she would taste like.
"I've given him no reason to."
"No, not that—this is not to undermine you. Think, there are a dozen ways around this house, your people would have built it so they did not have to see the people who cleaned their messes and cooked their food."
Charles wanted to respond with indignation, but he knew Ruth was correct. His ancestors were clearly well off and there were indeed several passages. There was a small staircase called the servants' stairs. Those had been quite different times, of course. Very different. Very distant.
"But he walks past the study. He wants you to see him. He wants the attention, is part of it, and to know how long you will love him. He wants to know that even if he breaks the rules, you will love him. My son did this; all children do."
"Scott is not my son."
"But you do love him."
Charles raised an eyebrow and sipped his whiskey.
Ruth leaned forward and rested her hand on his. "It is hard," she said. "I know. To be responsible for people, it is hard."
"Something happened to him. Something changed him, got into him before he could fight—it's a part of the mind I cannot control or understand."
"They are good kids. They will be all right."
"Thank you for what you did today. I don't know that I could have handled things as well as you did—and I don't know what to tell her when she does want to talk," he admitted, finding himself leaning in toward her, too. "Hate is a heavy burden and she's so young."
"Let me. Ororo and I have a rapport."
"If you're sure… and I suppose you're right," Charles ceded. He moved his hand away from hers—what was he doing!—and downed the last of his drink. "You're sure you don't mind talking to her?"
"Not at all. There is little to be embarrassed of once you have taught someone about tampons."
The look his face made her laugh out loud.
Had he not been lost in his own thoughts, Charles might have noticed another mind nearby as he made his way to bed. It was the only way he could have noticed someone who moved silently. He certainly would not have heard her.
So that distraction proved lucky for the one-time thief. Ororo noticed Charles, though, and slipped back into the shadows until he passed by.
She went to Scott's bedroom and knocked.
The strange thing was that she kept thinking about it, but everything felt so… American. So foreign. She had never been this cold in Cairo and the calm, sharp feeling of snow no longer seemed fascinating. They had not invented it, that sort of stupidity, but she had never been forced out of a shop in Egypt because her skin was too light.
For stealing things, yes…
Scott opened the door.
"Ororo."
"It's cold."
Scott looked puzzled, but he nodded. "Yes, it is."
Ororo kicked at the floor. She didn't understand how Ruth could be so accepting when she wanted to wear jeans, but the store only had these stupid dresses for girls to sleep in. The cold forced her to pick something besides a t-shirt.
"I want to stay with you. Everything is so different!" she whined, making her eyes go wide. "It's cold, and everything is different here and it's not home and—"
"Ororo," he interrupted.
She briefly debated pouting and decided against it. She needn't have bothered: he stepped back so she could enter.
It was the greatest loneliness of America, sleep. It was even worse than not speaking the language, not looking like most of the people, not sharing their culture or values. It was the denial of a basic comfort even babies understood.
Even so brief a time in the cold and both of them needed a few moments.
"You surprise me," Ororo murmured.
He was awkward, that wasn't a surprise, but he had let her in and didn't push away when she cuddled against him. Among the Maasai, she had a friend, someone much softer. Scott was like a branch with a thin layer of skin stretched around it, cuddly as a tree.
"I grew up in an orphanage."
"You did?"
From the sound in the darkness, she guessed he nodded.
"What about Alex?"
"Nah," Scott murmured. "He was adopted."
"What's that?"
"Adopted? It means another family let him be their kid."
Ororo considered that. If it was true, she had been adopted, too. She had been adopted into a street family, others living rough who took her in when she was only a little girl. They never used those terms and her family was strict. Bringing in nothing meant going hungry. But they had each other, they were together, and it meant everything in the world.
Then again, that was before she needed a coat.
She yelped. "What's that!" Something had stepped on her feet.
"It's Artie," Scott said.
His cat. Ororo sighed. She did not completely understand the keeping of pets, but at least she knew Artie was no threat.
"Do you ever miss your home?"
It was not something she would ever ask, just six little words she would never say except in the dark. Except now.
"This is my home."
