//Weren't they all the best at one point?//
TITLE: Days of Amber
AUTHOR: Leni
DISCLAIMER: Erm, I'd say no. If JW says the opposite I'll
accept them.
Improv #:3 (70): blister -- blame -- amber -- stroke
DISTRIBUTION: Ask.
SUMMARY: Joyce, counting amber beads.
RATING: G-PG.
FEEDBACK: Please?
AN: I've never written Joyce before.
***
It was an ankle bracelet, something a woman her age really
shouldn't wear anymore.
Joyce stared at the amber beads, carefully linked by a golden
thread. They blinked at her playfully. If you looked closer
you would notice small embossing on them: once a heart, once a
star, one a moon and then the heart again.
She didn't even know why she still wore this bracelet.
It was a beautiful artwork, and Joyce had fallen in love with
it as soon as she saw it in that little shop in Venice. Hank
had laughed aloud, commenting that only his wife would choose
something so simple when he had offered her anything from
Tiffany's only minutes ago. "Aren't I the luckiest man on
Earth?" he'd said as he counted the bills. Joyce had ignored
him, instead focusing on the light sparkles which adorned her
ankle. She had smiled brightly and searched Hank's eyes,
mouthing "You are the best" as their gazes connected.
Joyce shook her head at the memory, she still couldn't blame
the old shop-owner for laughing when her crazy husband has
knelt before her and respectfully kissed the bracelet. Oh, how
she had giggled and blushed like a silly schoolgirl! Even more
when she noticed the old man smiling benignly at the
honeymooners' antics.
She smiled now too, her fingers grazing the bracelet's
surface. It still reflected the light as brightly as that
first day, but Hank wasn't the best anymore.
Her fingers went slowly over the beads. Eighteen, always
eighteen. She sighed, she had loved to pass her fingertips
over the amber, guessing the engraving's shape with only a
touch.
One, it was a star. Its five pointy ends tugging softly
against her skin.
Two, a waning moon. Two pointy ends and a curve in-between.
Three should be a heart then. Four, five and six. Seven, eight
and nine. And so on until, by the last bead, Joyce felt a
heart again.
It was a tad ironic, she felt, there were eighteen beads, each
one representing a year of marriage. Since the divorce she had
often wondered if the ankle bracelet had foretold her future.
Joyce liked to think that the six hearts signalled the happy
years she spent with Hank, right until having two little kids
at home became too demanding and, added to his stressful work
and her always postponed artful inspirations, strained their
relationship little by little. Maybe the six stars were the
six years they clang to each other, reaching compromises which
managed to last months before the next storm invaded the
Summers' household. And the six moons... Joyce sighed, why did
she have to choose waning moons as part of her jewellery?
One morning before moving to Sunnydale she had found the tiny
bracelet practically hidden at the bottom of her jewellery
case. She had stared at it for hours, just held it in her hand
remembering that travel to Italy, lifetimes (Buffy's and
Dawn's, she had thought with a wry chuckle) ago. She had cried
then, much more than eighteen tears making their quiet way
down her cheeks. Then she had noticed the little moons, six
waning moons metaphorically disappearing into nothing... just
like her last six years with Hank: Letting it go, avoiding
little fights just to explode in bitter arguments when the
pressure got too uncomfortable... trying desperately to get
along, even if only for the girls' sake, and utterly failing
in that too.
Joyce sighed again and let her fingers count the beads. Again
and again. They were always eighteen.
She hadn't wanted to believe that after eighteen years
everything could be gone. With a single stroke of a pen her
life with Hank had been pronounced finished, he with the L.A.
house and she with their daughters' custody and enough money
to begin a new life.
It had been a turning point for Joyce. After the audience she
had sincerely thanked her lawyer, shook hands with her new ex
husband and left the jury without a sense of direction, both
metaphorical and realistic.
She had wandered for hours that day, probably seen many L.A.
sights she had never seen before... probably, she didn't
really remember. She had walked and walked until the sun went
down until she remembered that the girls were alone at home
now. No Hank in the little study downstairs to check on them.
That little fact had triggered a new bout of tears,
nonetheless she had resolutely returned to the house.
That day, after checking that Buffy was actually sleeping and
not chattering on the phone (though the bill had dramatically
dropped in the last months), she had discovered blisters on
her feet. One near each big toe, and bigger ones where the
shoe had unmercifully rubbed against her skin. She had had to
use soft slippers for days, until the high heels didn't
torture her and the last blister had healed back into smooth
skin.
That had thankfully happened in time for the lengthy and
boring process of straightening everything up, deciding which
would go to Sunnydale and which would stay. That's when she
had found the amber bracelet.
She had finally calmed down and touched up her make-up so the
girls wouldn't worry when they saw her. And then she had
slipped the tiny jewel around her ankle, a reminder that
Venice had not been a dream and that there had been a time
when she was happy with Hank.
Passing by her grounded older daughter's room, she heard soft
sounds coming from within. She approached the door and heard
Buffy's half of the conversation.
"Yes, he came... through the window." Pause. "Don't ask what
you don't want to know, Wills!... No! You and your dirty
mind!" Laughs. "We just talked and stuff. Yes, through the
window... Because I'm grounded, duh!"
Joyce smiled. She really should go in and berate her daughter
for breaking the rules. But the truth was, Buffy was scaring
her with her erratic behaviour and escapades. To hear her
talking about a teenage crush with calm, nice, down-to-earth
Willow was a real relief.
She heard quiet giggles from inside the room and caught an
unbelievable happy whisper. "Isn't he the best, Willow?"
Joyce smiled for the last time. Weren't they all the best at
one point?, she thought, still feeling a light weight on her
ankle.
She only hoped that Buffy would never count amber beads, too.
The End.
15/08/03
Comments, corrections and death-threats happily welcomed. Leni.
TITLE: Days of Amber
AUTHOR: Leni
DISCLAIMER: Erm, I'd say no. If JW says the opposite I'll
accept them.
Improv #:3 (70): blister -- blame -- amber -- stroke
DISTRIBUTION: Ask.
SUMMARY: Joyce, counting amber beads.
RATING: G-PG.
FEEDBACK: Please?
AN: I've never written Joyce before.
***
It was an ankle bracelet, something a woman her age really
shouldn't wear anymore.
Joyce stared at the amber beads, carefully linked by a golden
thread. They blinked at her playfully. If you looked closer
you would notice small embossing on them: once a heart, once a
star, one a moon and then the heart again.
She didn't even know why she still wore this bracelet.
It was a beautiful artwork, and Joyce had fallen in love with
it as soon as she saw it in that little shop in Venice. Hank
had laughed aloud, commenting that only his wife would choose
something so simple when he had offered her anything from
Tiffany's only minutes ago. "Aren't I the luckiest man on
Earth?" he'd said as he counted the bills. Joyce had ignored
him, instead focusing on the light sparkles which adorned her
ankle. She had smiled brightly and searched Hank's eyes,
mouthing "You are the best" as their gazes connected.
Joyce shook her head at the memory, she still couldn't blame
the old shop-owner for laughing when her crazy husband has
knelt before her and respectfully kissed the bracelet. Oh, how
she had giggled and blushed like a silly schoolgirl! Even more
when she noticed the old man smiling benignly at the
honeymooners' antics.
She smiled now too, her fingers grazing the bracelet's
surface. It still reflected the light as brightly as that
first day, but Hank wasn't the best anymore.
Her fingers went slowly over the beads. Eighteen, always
eighteen. She sighed, she had loved to pass her fingertips
over the amber, guessing the engraving's shape with only a
touch.
One, it was a star. Its five pointy ends tugging softly
against her skin.
Two, a waning moon. Two pointy ends and a curve in-between.
Three should be a heart then. Four, five and six. Seven, eight
and nine. And so on until, by the last bead, Joyce felt a
heart again.
It was a tad ironic, she felt, there were eighteen beads, each
one representing a year of marriage. Since the divorce she had
often wondered if the ankle bracelet had foretold her future.
Joyce liked to think that the six hearts signalled the happy
years she spent with Hank, right until having two little kids
at home became too demanding and, added to his stressful work
and her always postponed artful inspirations, strained their
relationship little by little. Maybe the six stars were the
six years they clang to each other, reaching compromises which
managed to last months before the next storm invaded the
Summers' household. And the six moons... Joyce sighed, why did
she have to choose waning moons as part of her jewellery?
One morning before moving to Sunnydale she had found the tiny
bracelet practically hidden at the bottom of her jewellery
case. She had stared at it for hours, just held it in her hand
remembering that travel to Italy, lifetimes (Buffy's and
Dawn's, she had thought with a wry chuckle) ago. She had cried
then, much more than eighteen tears making their quiet way
down her cheeks. Then she had noticed the little moons, six
waning moons metaphorically disappearing into nothing... just
like her last six years with Hank: Letting it go, avoiding
little fights just to explode in bitter arguments when the
pressure got too uncomfortable... trying desperately to get
along, even if only for the girls' sake, and utterly failing
in that too.
Joyce sighed again and let her fingers count the beads. Again
and again. They were always eighteen.
She hadn't wanted to believe that after eighteen years
everything could be gone. With a single stroke of a pen her
life with Hank had been pronounced finished, he with the L.A.
house and she with their daughters' custody and enough money
to begin a new life.
It had been a turning point for Joyce. After the audience she
had sincerely thanked her lawyer, shook hands with her new ex
husband and left the jury without a sense of direction, both
metaphorical and realistic.
She had wandered for hours that day, probably seen many L.A.
sights she had never seen before... probably, she didn't
really remember. She had walked and walked until the sun went
down until she remembered that the girls were alone at home
now. No Hank in the little study downstairs to check on them.
That little fact had triggered a new bout of tears,
nonetheless she had resolutely returned to the house.
That day, after checking that Buffy was actually sleeping and
not chattering on the phone (though the bill had dramatically
dropped in the last months), she had discovered blisters on
her feet. One near each big toe, and bigger ones where the
shoe had unmercifully rubbed against her skin. She had had to
use soft slippers for days, until the high heels didn't
torture her and the last blister had healed back into smooth
skin.
That had thankfully happened in time for the lengthy and
boring process of straightening everything up, deciding which
would go to Sunnydale and which would stay. That's when she
had found the amber bracelet.
She had finally calmed down and touched up her make-up so the
girls wouldn't worry when they saw her. And then she had
slipped the tiny jewel around her ankle, a reminder that
Venice had not been a dream and that there had been a time
when she was happy with Hank.
Passing by her grounded older daughter's room, she heard soft
sounds coming from within. She approached the door and heard
Buffy's half of the conversation.
"Yes, he came... through the window." Pause. "Don't ask what
you don't want to know, Wills!... No! You and your dirty
mind!" Laughs. "We just talked and stuff. Yes, through the
window... Because I'm grounded, duh!"
Joyce smiled. She really should go in and berate her daughter
for breaking the rules. But the truth was, Buffy was scaring
her with her erratic behaviour and escapades. To hear her
talking about a teenage crush with calm, nice, down-to-earth
Willow was a real relief.
She heard quiet giggles from inside the room and caught an
unbelievable happy whisper. "Isn't he the best, Willow?"
Joyce smiled for the last time. Weren't they all the best at
one point?, she thought, still feeling a light weight on her
ankle.
She only hoped that Buffy would never count amber beads, too.
The End.
15/08/03
Comments, corrections and death-threats happily welcomed. Leni.