Decisions, Decisions
My sunglasses were now residing on the table. I'd placed them unfolded around the pile of Formica making a semi moat. I shut my eyes and cleared my mind, ignoring the last whispers of my migraine. I visualized my eyes as they were now sculpting them in the black velvety emptiness I'd created inside my mind. I imagined the red on black fading away revealing the white on blue that I had been born with. My real eyes pricked and tingled as they gradually reflected the change to their replicas. When in my mind's eye my eyes were normal I opened my physical ones. The room looked dull without the crispness that accompanied my other eyes.
I tilted my head back and gazed at the brown water spotted ceiling. I certainly was relieved that Anthony Harris wasn't my father, though in truth I had stopped thinking of him in that way long ago. Biology just severed the final tie for me. Still all I knew about the real guy who'd given me life was second hand knowledge that I wasn't positive I could trust. I knew I was being harsh but- 17 years is a long time. I snorted. ^That and the fact that till a couple days ago my mother talked to fairies while sipping from a bottle.^
My mother had never gotten angry while out on her vacations from reality. She was prone to hallucinations though. I still to wonder sometimes, especially since I found out what goes on in our lovely little burg, if the things she'd talk about might actually be real. As a kid I didn't know they weren't. Part of my clown/loser label was earned because I got confused regarding simple everyday things that kids with normal parents already 'knew'. I don't know what makes it so easy for me to forgive her and not Anthony Harris. By today's standards, and my own, she was a lousy parent. But I loved her. I always did. She hurt me in plenty of ways but nothing she'd done had ripped away my trust and feelings of security. When I thought of the guy who'd filled the father role in my life all I was a mass of dark emotions; black, purple, and yellow-green surrounded thoughts of him, like the bruises he'd hand out when ever he could get his fist up, along with an angry red that pulsated with hate and fear. I never wanted to touch him or for him to touch me. It always felt like he was cutting me and numbing me at the same time whenever our skin met. The man held no place in my heart except for the hole he'd punched through it taking my innocence with him. My mother on the other hand was the faded pink of regret and the pale blue of dreaminess mixed with the lime green I always thought of as sickness.
I looked back down at the table and all of its litter and sighed. Spending so much time with a mother on drugs as a child had definitely taught me some rather strange ways to rationalize my world. ^I think of feelings as colors, as if I could actually see them. How crazy is that?^
My questionable sanity aside I wasn't sure if I wanted to find this Remy Lebeau. My mother obviously thought well of him, but she wasn't too good a judge of people. I'd just gotten rid of one bastard. Did I really want another? In my experience parents weren't good for much. Jesse's had basically been a mirror image of my own while Willow's treated her like a case study. Even Buffy's mother was too wrapped up in her own life to notice the danger her daughter was in and her father was about as absentee a parent as my own had turned out to be. Therefore if I did track down this Remy character, what good would it do me? I was too old for catch.
^Maybe I should just forget about him. Leave well enough alone?^ My mom flashed through my mind. Not the stoned apathetic person she'd been for so long but the cheerful sober woman who'd left me stunned. For the first time things were looking up. So what if I had a army veteran's memories floating around in my already problematic head, so what if half of my genes were from some guy I didn't even know, so friggin' what if Buffy was too obsessed with Deadboy to realize she was going to get staked in the back. I'd looked at my mother and saw my mom, a woman I'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of all my life. ^Maybe I should take what I can get.^
My sunglasses were now residing on the table. I'd placed them unfolded around the pile of Formica making a semi moat. I shut my eyes and cleared my mind, ignoring the last whispers of my migraine. I visualized my eyes as they were now sculpting them in the black velvety emptiness I'd created inside my mind. I imagined the red on black fading away revealing the white on blue that I had been born with. My real eyes pricked and tingled as they gradually reflected the change to their replicas. When in my mind's eye my eyes were normal I opened my physical ones. The room looked dull without the crispness that accompanied my other eyes.
I tilted my head back and gazed at the brown water spotted ceiling. I certainly was relieved that Anthony Harris wasn't my father, though in truth I had stopped thinking of him in that way long ago. Biology just severed the final tie for me. Still all I knew about the real guy who'd given me life was second hand knowledge that I wasn't positive I could trust. I knew I was being harsh but- 17 years is a long time. I snorted. ^That and the fact that till a couple days ago my mother talked to fairies while sipping from a bottle.^
My mother had never gotten angry while out on her vacations from reality. She was prone to hallucinations though. I still to wonder sometimes, especially since I found out what goes on in our lovely little burg, if the things she'd talk about might actually be real. As a kid I didn't know they weren't. Part of my clown/loser label was earned because I got confused regarding simple everyday things that kids with normal parents already 'knew'. I don't know what makes it so easy for me to forgive her and not Anthony Harris. By today's standards, and my own, she was a lousy parent. But I loved her. I always did. She hurt me in plenty of ways but nothing she'd done had ripped away my trust and feelings of security. When I thought of the guy who'd filled the father role in my life all I was a mass of dark emotions; black, purple, and yellow-green surrounded thoughts of him, like the bruises he'd hand out when ever he could get his fist up, along with an angry red that pulsated with hate and fear. I never wanted to touch him or for him to touch me. It always felt like he was cutting me and numbing me at the same time whenever our skin met. The man held no place in my heart except for the hole he'd punched through it taking my innocence with him. My mother on the other hand was the faded pink of regret and the pale blue of dreaminess mixed with the lime green I always thought of as sickness.
I looked back down at the table and all of its litter and sighed. Spending so much time with a mother on drugs as a child had definitely taught me some rather strange ways to rationalize my world. ^I think of feelings as colors, as if I could actually see them. How crazy is that?^
My questionable sanity aside I wasn't sure if I wanted to find this Remy Lebeau. My mother obviously thought well of him, but she wasn't too good a judge of people. I'd just gotten rid of one bastard. Did I really want another? In my experience parents weren't good for much. Jesse's had basically been a mirror image of my own while Willow's treated her like a case study. Even Buffy's mother was too wrapped up in her own life to notice the danger her daughter was in and her father was about as absentee a parent as my own had turned out to be. Therefore if I did track down this Remy character, what good would it do me? I was too old for catch.
^Maybe I should just forget about him. Leave well enough alone?^ My mom flashed through my mind. Not the stoned apathetic person she'd been for so long but the cheerful sober woman who'd left me stunned. For the first time things were looking up. So what if I had a army veteran's memories floating around in my already problematic head, so what if half of my genes were from some guy I didn't even know, so friggin' what if Buffy was too obsessed with Deadboy to realize she was going to get staked in the back. I'd looked at my mother and saw my mom, a woman I'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of all my life. ^Maybe I should take what I can get.^