title: Mail Day, Brownies and Other Acts of God
codes: Judith & Joan at summer camp.
summary: Today is mail day.
notes: as a promised to wizenedcynic way back when. sparked by our recent deal making. does this count as part of my JoA !food thesis?
It's mail day, something that Judith has come to hate with the same practiced aloofness with which she does just about everything else.
Years of spending her summers at one crazy camp or another have taught her not to ever get her hopes up when it comes to things like mail call or visitation day.
Her name is very rarely called out by whichever counselor whose duty it is to distribute the letters and packages that pile up on the front table in the caff every Tuesday. And on the rare occasion that she does get something it's only ever a postcard of some far off European village with a little note addressed more to her doctors than to her scribbled across the back.
But today is different. Today Joan has a package from home.
If Judith has learned anything during these first few weeks at Mental Acers it's that the packages the Girardis send their daughter are always packed full of good things. Things like bags of chips and m&m's and homemade cookies, all of which are contraband (because, of course, the animals are not to be fed).
Judith's seen it all before, of course. Guilty parents trying to make up for shipping their kids off to an asylum for the summer by buttering them up with sugar and saturated fats. Usually she just sneers and shakes her head as the kids dig through their boxes and the counselors keep an eye out for the good stuff that's worth confiscating.
But there's something different about Joan's packages. The careful frosting flowers that dot the tops of homemade brownies and the roughly controlled strokes of her father's writing in his note about sending up some garlic in the next package (a joke, Joan assures her - just a stupid Italian joke) are different than the prepackaged apologies the other kids get. They feel heartfelt and real somehow, and, despite her best antisocial intentions, Judith can't help but perk up when she hears Joan's name called out on days like today.
Which is why she's all too ready to throw down when she spots one of the eating disorder counselors eyeing Joan's box. But he just nods in her direction and smiles, before returning his attention to the bulimic chick who's trying to hide a package of Mallomars in her bra. Judith shrugs it off and goes back to watching Joan, who is sullenly shifting through the contents of her box.
Today Joan is in one of her moods. She's doing the gloomy and snarky thing she does on days after nights full of dreams or nightmares or whatever it is that makes her wake up crying and shaking. When she gets like this, nothing, not even homemade junk food and calls from home can break her out of it. Not even Judith making an ass out of herself in front of Hot Lifeguard Chuck.
Judith is almost proud, except that she's also kind of pissed. Joan's parents actually care enough to send her stuff, the least she could do is get over whatever teenage angst is tearing her apart for just a moment and eat the damn brownies.
Joan looks up, and maybe she catches the anger in Judith's eyes or maybe she can read minds, cause she pushes the box toward Judith, mumbles a tired "Fuck you," and storms out the caff door.
Now Judith is proud - she's been waiting for weeks to see Joan break down and show some anger. But otherwise she kinda feels guilty, like maybe she should follow Joan and try and make it better. Though it's not enough to stop her from snagging up the box and starting in on the brownies. There's no reason perfectly good chocolate should go to waste just cause Joan's finally realized that it's okay to be pissed at the world.
And if the brownies taste a little less somehow, like they weren't made for her, well, that's something Judith can live with.
fin
