You'll Know When You Have Kids Of Your Own

Chapter 4

Nightfall

Rusty Michaelson pulled up to the little cottage, stepping off her rail just as the voltage dropped enough to be noticeable. Much better now; it had enough juice to make it over the crown of the hill, and she could pretty much coast all the way down the soft grade to the crappy neighborhood she called home. It wasn't that bad, and it was pretty close to where her part-time job was. It was dark, but if she kept an eye out it was pretty safe. She took off her helmet and switched off the LED marker lights she had attached to give her a little more confidence running in the street, away from the sidewalks.

At least they had a place. Robert Coleman, the old man that owned the run down house in front was okay, and pretty much kept to himself. Sometimes, it helped a lot that the guy was hard of hearing.

He had been a helicopter door gunner in 'Nam back in 1969, when NVA fire had taken out the engine of his Huey. They managed to autorotate but landed hard, and he had slammed his head on the doorframe, putting him out cold. Without a helmet he would have crushed his skull, but he was messed up enough. He didn't remember the firefight before they managed to evac them out, which was just as well. That had put him on a transport back to Hawaii, to Tripler Army General Hospital for a series of operations, and then a one-way ride stateside.

When her dad had run into Coleman, it was like an unexpected gift. Bob knew firsthand what it was like for someone to struggle with reintegrating into conventional society, which for the most part chose to remain ignorant of just what it was that made men and women like Les Michaelson different. To make it even harder, Michaelson was raising a daughter on his own. Bob hadn't heard from his own kids in over thirty years, since his wife had split with them.

Rusty knew that Coleman felt sorry for them, but she had to live with it. She and her dad had always got by on their own; if nothing else, he had his pride. And Rusty was proud of her old man, as hard as things could get from time to time. At least Bob's accommodation wasn't rooted in pity but in empathy. He'd agreed to rent them the little cottage for less than the usual market rate, and in exchange she and her dad tried to keep it from deteriorating even further. Sometimes Rusty would fix stuff around the main house; she was pretty good with mechanical things, something Bob sucked at. It was probably due to his lousy eyesight and arthritis.

She could hear her dad ripping on the old acoustic guitar. He played it hard, venting this anger that just could not be pulled up by the roots no matter what he tried. Sometimes it was like the only thing that helped him deal sometimes. She was glad that she had found it for him at a thrift store.

Rusty knew it was good for him because it worked for her as well. When her dad managed to get some work hours, she would pull the old no-name dreadnought out of its cardboard case, replace broken strings for him and practice what he had taught her. Like him, she played it hard, all snarl and buzz and rage, burning away the frustration and anger of being young and piss-poor, not even daring to dream so as not to have to see it inevitably slip out of reach.


Daria watched as Jane set the cup down in front of her. "I'm serious. I'm starting to worry. She has a lot of acquaintances, or what you might call followers, but not very many people that she considers friends."

"She has Emily," Jane smiled softly. "If I remember correctly, you and I had a fairly small circle of friends at that age. In fact we didn't even acknowledge some of them as friends, but they were."

"I know. But Ani's basically more sociable than I was, and I think she really needs more people around her." Daria took a sip of what Jane claimed was espresso. "What the hell is this stuff?"

Jane grinned. "Pretty strong, huh?"

"I'll say. Is it from plants growing on the ground or made directly from dirt?"

"Here, you wimp," Jane grinned, running a shot of hot water and cutting Daria's drink. "I'm not too sure I like it myself. I think Sally burnt the coffee beans and wanted to see if I would drink it."

"If you did, she'd sell it as 'Jane's Select' or something like that. She'd have them lining up out the door if you gave it the nod."

"Sheep."

"Kind of the problem Ani's got, even though she doesn't really understand it." Daria dropped a lump of Mexican sugar in her cup. "Better. Good, actually." She pushed it over to Jane.

"She doesn't follow trends, or care that much about what other people think about appearances, kinda like you." Tasting the brew, she shrugged her shoulders. "Eh." She pulled over a bottle of hot sauce, and splashed some into the cup.

Daria raised an eyebrow. "Emily says that she doesn't talk about it, but her classmates know all about us. Jacob and Nicky are gonna run into the same thing."

"Too late for private school, I guess." Picking up the cup, Jane sniffed cautiously.

Daria shook her head. "I want her in a public school. I think my parents did the right thing with Quinn and I, even though they could have put me into Grove Hill. But whether or not she wants it known, her family just isn't average."

Jane smiled. "She wants friends who like her for who she is, not for how rich and famous her parents are."

"We're not rich, but we aren't hurting. So in a way she's doing what Tom did with his shitty cars and hanging out with us weird poor loner chicks."

"I never thought we were poor, but I suppose to Tom's social circle we were total peasants," Jane smirked. "You always had more money than I did, but at least I tried to never mooch off you. I liked you for you."

"Exactly," Daria sighed. "Ani has kids trying to be her friend, for the wrong reasons, and she's smart enough to know it."

"Well, she's not Anti-Quinn like you. At least she has fun with her hair and actually has a range of looks." Jane pondered the questionable liquid in the coffee cup. "Hey, is Trent around?"

"She and Emily buy a lot of their clothes at thrift stores, but I think it's to annoy the fashion crowd. I think some other kids are kind of emulating that, and it probably makes the more fashion aware look a little self-involved. Quinn thinks it's funny now." Daria took the cup and walked over to the sink, dumping it out. "You're not poisoning my husband. It'll be too much work to housebreak another one."


Rusty put her math book away when she heard her dad stop playing; he usually felt a lot better after he'd had a chance to get the day's stresses out of his system. She had sat under the porch light to read ahead in the book, so that her dad wouldn't hold back. He sometimes got a little self-conscious if she walked in while he was playing, and she wanted him to vent.

Hopefully the takeout containers of lasagna hadn't spilled, but the plastic bag would have controlled that anyway. The restaurant owner was pretty cool about letting the employees take stuff that didn't sell out, and since everyone else did it from time to time, she didn't feel bad about it. It was a good thing that it wasn't fast food. God only knew that her dad didn't need any more health issues.

She stood up and stretched. Her ass was sore from sitting on the porch for so long. Maybe she'd see if Bob would be okay with her using one of his old chairs that were in his garage.

Math had been getting easier since Ani began helping her out when she got stuck, and it had at least opened her up to walking into the tutoring center. She had begun to understand that there was nothing wrong with asking for help from time to time, under the right circumstances. It didn't mean that you were weak, right? If a smart chick like Ani wasn't embarrassed about asking for clarification on something she wasn't sure about, why should she?

She quietly walked into the cottage, and set about reheating dinner for her father.