Disclaimer: I don't own any BtVS characters or situations. That honour is
Mutant Enemy's alone.
"Yes, yes, I understand, Mrs. Kendall. I'm sure Willow will forgive her and Cordelia." Although I'm not sure they deserve it. "Bye now."
Sheila Rosenberg hung up the phone of her home office. It had been a long day. First the mess with her editor, and then she came home to a weeping Willow. Unfortunately not of the leafy variety. Her sensitive daughter had given her a story about two girls at school, the usual aggressors, Harmony and Cordelia, telling the whole class she wore diapers, and then attempting to lift her skirt in front of the entire playground. Sheila had made the customary calls to the girls' parents, receiving the customary, and subsequently meaningless, apologies. It just ate her up inside to see what kids were capable of, especially toward her daughter. And for all her supposed expertise in the area, she never knew what to do.
The crying seemed to have abated, so Sheila crept forward, and opened Willow's bedroom door a crack to check if she was asleep. Obviously awake, Willow was on the floor, playing with her dolls. Not Barbies, like the other girls had. Sheila was against such gender stereotyped toys in general, but Willow had wanted dolls so badly that on her last trip to Europe, she bought her a few handmade Russian dolls, their round bodies swathed in the appropriate outerwear, rather than hot pink bikinis. Her husband sometimes said perhaps they were part of the problem, reinforcing Willow's "otherness" with these distinctly different toys. But Sheila usually silenced him with little more than a look. After all, she was the expert in such matters. But on days like these she couldn't help but have the same fears.
Willow seemed to enjoy these dolls, though, and was playing intently, muttering something under her breath. Sheila leaned forward to see if she could catch what she was saying, hoping it wasn't more of that "Let's go to the mall" garbage she had overheard last week.
"Willow, do you have anything to say to Harmony and Cordelia?" she whispered, in an unmistakable teacher voice.
Sheila smiled. Role-playing, conflict resolution: these were the kinds of solutions she was trying to teach her daughter, and it looked like it was working.
"Why yes, Ms. Trealman, I do." With these words, Willow brought the little red-headed doll down from above her head to smash down upon the brunette and the blonde. She hit them again and again, until she finally grabbed the blonde with her hands and ripped its head right off, stuffing flying everywhere. She then picked up the brunette, and jabbed a pair of scissors right through its middle. "That'll teach you to mess with me, bitches!" she cried, her seven-year-old face shocked at her own gall in using such a word. But even the shock couldn't completely eliminate the viciousness that had distorted her tiny features not a moment ago.
Sheila was shocked. She had never seen such ferocity in her child's eyes before, and it scared her. She made a move to back out of the doorway, but hit her ankle on the doorframe, causing Willow to look back towards her.
"Oh, Mommy. I, um, I accidentally broke my dolls. Are you mad?" she asked, a touch of fear in her eye.
"Uh, no, sweetie. I'm sure it was an accident. Are you, are you going to play a little longer?"
"No. I think I'll go to bed. Bored now."
"Okay, well, goodnight." Sheila tried to close the door as quickly as possibly, silently scoffing at herself for her fear of her own daughter.
"Aren't you going to tuck me in?"
"Oh, yes, of course." Willow got into bed, looking up in anticipation at her mom. Sheila suddenly couldn't remember if her eyes had always been this dark. She shivered.
"Come on, Mommy."
Sheila sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, bringing the blanket up to Willow's shoulders, without actually touching her daughter at all. "Goodnight then." She immediately got up, and went to turn the light off.
"Mommy, I was so sad earlier. I cried for so long," said Willow quickly, obviously wanting to talk.
"There's nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal sort of outburst for a girl in your age-group. No need to worry." Sheila turned the light off, and closed the door before Willow could interject with whatever else she obviously wanted to say.
As the door closed, leaving the tiny girl in the dark, she gulped back the tears she knew would come anyway and vowed to herself that one day, when she was bigger, they would all answer to her.
"Yes, yes, I understand, Mrs. Kendall. I'm sure Willow will forgive her and Cordelia." Although I'm not sure they deserve it. "Bye now."
Sheila Rosenberg hung up the phone of her home office. It had been a long day. First the mess with her editor, and then she came home to a weeping Willow. Unfortunately not of the leafy variety. Her sensitive daughter had given her a story about two girls at school, the usual aggressors, Harmony and Cordelia, telling the whole class she wore diapers, and then attempting to lift her skirt in front of the entire playground. Sheila had made the customary calls to the girls' parents, receiving the customary, and subsequently meaningless, apologies. It just ate her up inside to see what kids were capable of, especially toward her daughter. And for all her supposed expertise in the area, she never knew what to do.
The crying seemed to have abated, so Sheila crept forward, and opened Willow's bedroom door a crack to check if she was asleep. Obviously awake, Willow was on the floor, playing with her dolls. Not Barbies, like the other girls had. Sheila was against such gender stereotyped toys in general, but Willow had wanted dolls so badly that on her last trip to Europe, she bought her a few handmade Russian dolls, their round bodies swathed in the appropriate outerwear, rather than hot pink bikinis. Her husband sometimes said perhaps they were part of the problem, reinforcing Willow's "otherness" with these distinctly different toys. But Sheila usually silenced him with little more than a look. After all, she was the expert in such matters. But on days like these she couldn't help but have the same fears.
Willow seemed to enjoy these dolls, though, and was playing intently, muttering something under her breath. Sheila leaned forward to see if she could catch what she was saying, hoping it wasn't more of that "Let's go to the mall" garbage she had overheard last week.
"Willow, do you have anything to say to Harmony and Cordelia?" she whispered, in an unmistakable teacher voice.
Sheila smiled. Role-playing, conflict resolution: these were the kinds of solutions she was trying to teach her daughter, and it looked like it was working.
"Why yes, Ms. Trealman, I do." With these words, Willow brought the little red-headed doll down from above her head to smash down upon the brunette and the blonde. She hit them again and again, until she finally grabbed the blonde with her hands and ripped its head right off, stuffing flying everywhere. She then picked up the brunette, and jabbed a pair of scissors right through its middle. "That'll teach you to mess with me, bitches!" she cried, her seven-year-old face shocked at her own gall in using such a word. But even the shock couldn't completely eliminate the viciousness that had distorted her tiny features not a moment ago.
Sheila was shocked. She had never seen such ferocity in her child's eyes before, and it scared her. She made a move to back out of the doorway, but hit her ankle on the doorframe, causing Willow to look back towards her.
"Oh, Mommy. I, um, I accidentally broke my dolls. Are you mad?" she asked, a touch of fear in her eye.
"Uh, no, sweetie. I'm sure it was an accident. Are you, are you going to play a little longer?"
"No. I think I'll go to bed. Bored now."
"Okay, well, goodnight." Sheila tried to close the door as quickly as possibly, silently scoffing at herself for her fear of her own daughter.
"Aren't you going to tuck me in?"
"Oh, yes, of course." Willow got into bed, looking up in anticipation at her mom. Sheila suddenly couldn't remember if her eyes had always been this dark. She shivered.
"Come on, Mommy."
Sheila sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, bringing the blanket up to Willow's shoulders, without actually touching her daughter at all. "Goodnight then." She immediately got up, and went to turn the light off.
"Mommy, I was so sad earlier. I cried for so long," said Willow quickly, obviously wanting to talk.
"There's nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal sort of outburst for a girl in your age-group. No need to worry." Sheila turned the light off, and closed the door before Willow could interject with whatever else she obviously wanted to say.
As the door closed, leaving the tiny girl in the dark, she gulped back the tears she knew would come anyway and vowed to herself that one day, when she was bigger, they would all answer to her.