Jogging was not my idea of fun, but it was useful for getting me out of the house and for having my mind work on other things, just like Mr. Rieper had suggested.
But there I was, armored in sweats, an old shirt, a pair of good shoes and my hair pulled back into a ponytail (a messy one, my curly hair didn't really like being tied up this way. It knotted easily).
I kept to the blocks near my home, now that I was home that was (during the stay at the apartment) I had kept to the well-traveled streets. Dad hadn't liked me jogging at first, but he had gotten over it.
Somewhat.
I still had the can of pepper spray with me, the kind you use to ward off bears.
Yeah, dad really didn't want to take any chances.
Dad had called Arcadia, telling them that I was going to be out for a few days and we had spent them going through moms' stuff in the basement. By a nearly unspoken agreement, some of the stuff had ended up straight back into boxes to be used as donations; it didn't really make much sense for us to keep old bras, shoes, and clothes of someone that had passed on two years ago.
Not that everything went, dad kept a dress or two, and not that we just carelessly tossed everything like jewelry, but really, it wasn't like either of us would be wearing the stuff.
(I didn't ask dad about the dresses, maybe they had a memory attached to them? Or maybe he figured that we could get them fitted to me to pass them on… I didn't quite know how to feel about that)
Other things needed a bit more thought, like the pictures. In the end, we kept a few of them, some of her favorites.
It helped liven back up the house.
Well… me and dad going back to actually talking helped too.
Our searching also had brought up plenty of old memories, as well as forming new ones between me and dad. It also brought about revelations about mom.
She had a few 'journals,' most of which were anything but. Some were notebooks, half-filled with old school notes, random quotes, a few song lyrics, a handful of drawings; so there were only a select number that fit into the 'journal' category, as in, they had my mother's personal thoughts in them.
There was also the matter of the gun and combat/survival knife we found in the disaster kit/box.
It was just a nine-mil, the kind commonly found in the hands of cops, or anyone that wanted 'a gun' in the most general sense. Dad had no idea why she had one, and while it was registered, the only hint that we had about it was that the papers (it had the papers in the same box) stated that it had been registered just a few weeks after I was born.
The box of ammo spare that was missing two of its four magazines was also very concerning.
In the end, me and dad had agreed that mom had brought one in a protective streak after she had me and just didn't tell dad. Why it was missing ammo was something we didn't really try to figure out, she wasn't around anymore to tell us what it was all about. And the knife was just an expensive wilderness type of one, so we figured that it was something extra she'd placed into the disaster kit just in case we needed it.
Neither of us knew if she had actually knew how to use the gun, or was just giving it a shot (no pun intended), but dad had admitted that some of the other college students she had hung out with would have likely been in the 'knows how to use a gun' group, same as some of his friends.
Dad kept it though. Said that it made no sense to get rid of it.
As I rounded a corner, I slowed down enough to fish out the phone that Dragon had mailed me to check the time. It wasn't anything fancy, as without a Tinker on hand, any Tinker-Tech would break down after a while, and it wasn't even a high-tech phone, just a bare-bones basic flip-phone.
Consider it a gift to Brockton Bay's newest Rogue, and a way for you to stay safe.
The text message had an obvious sender, as the box had Dragons symbol (a dragon, go figure) on the front. Still, having a basic way of communication available to me, even if it was limited and I needed to pay for if I went over the minutes (unless it was related to an emergency of some kind, which I viewed as something of a subtle hint towards joining the Wards, as I would only be using it like that if I went out and used my powers), it was… I didn't quite know how to feel about it.
On one hand, it was very useful, and my dad was happy about me having a way to contact him easily, even if his… enthusiasm, was lacking (he did go out and get one for him a few days later though).
On the other hand, having a stranger, even if it was Dragon, gift me a phone felt weird. I was thankful that it was something simple, lacking in a social life as I was meant that I only added my home and dads' number into it. They joined the pre-installed ones, the PRT's number, and Dragons.
But that was all going to change, I needed it to change. I knew that I couldn't keep acting like I had back in Winslow,
… it was a consistent thought, the need to change.
Mr. Rieper had pointed out the obvious, that who I was in Winslow couldn't be who I was going forward, that way had problems. The hardest part, however, was getting over the fear.
I knew what I needed to do to at least start on the path of really moving on.
Make a friend.
But given that I had had only one real friend, who in turn spun around and burned me hard (even if the reason was… out of the ordinary), I found that… hard, to do.
Sure, I had a few other classmates and kids that we hung out with, but in reality… Emma was my sister in all but blood, and as the years went by, she was the sole one I kept in consistent touch with.
That, plus two years of bullying would leave anyone wary of meeting someone new. But I had my whole life ahead of myself, and I couldn't -wouldn't, live it as a hermit.
Easier said than done, as the saying went. I wasn't even sure I knew how to socialize anymore. Logically, I knew that I didn't need to make a new 'BFF,' but just finding someone I could eat lunch with would be a good start.
I didn't need to find someone that could replace Emma, what we had was long gone, buried deep into the ground and never coming back. I just needed to watch myself, and not get caught up in High School Drama. Maybe join a club, Arcadia actually had the money for those.
Book club? I had had plenty of time to read during Winslow; there wasn't much else to do at the house.
Music? I would have to get another flute, but I should still remember how to play; though if I was good enough to join would be a whole other thing. I doubted I was still good enough to join Band on the spot after not playing for so long.
Bah, so much for the jogging taking my mind off things. Maybe I need to go for a longer run?
What was the distance that you should start to get tired at a steady jog anyway? An hour and a half of consistent movement, and I was barely winded.
My jogging route circled several blocks near my house, keeping me close to home and away from places like the Winslow Quarantine and the 'bad' parts of the Docks area we lived near.
If I had started this activity earlier in the year, I could have easily jogged to school. As it was now, I needed to take the bus to get to Arcadia, as it was further into the city, rather than sitting outside the urban or dock industry areas.
Being this early in the morning meant that my only companions were the occasional car passing me by, someone leaving their home (for the day, most likely), and a few other random morning walkers or joggers; something that was surprisingly common for the area that I lived in.
With how long I'd lived in the city, I knew most of the bus routes to get to most places, so I knew that I could somewhat continue my runs given that the stop I needed to take to get to Arcadia was the upcoming one, just a few blocks from home.
The issue was the timing for it, as if I wanted to keep doing my runs, I would need to learn when to leave the house to both make it and get the running in.
A problem for another time, I reflected as jogged down the road and made the next turn, for when I could get my hands on the bus schedules for the area.
This particular street I was on held only me, the bus stop I needed to take to Arcadia, and a single woman waiting at it. I kept up my pace, not needing to wait for the bus nor expecting anything from yet another morning person; I had passed by enough of them to know that at the most I would get a wave and a 'good morning.'
"Excuse me."
I paused for a moment, glancing at the black-suited woman standing at the bus stop.
"Do you have the time?" she asked with a small smile, holding a phone up. Its screen was clearly cracked in a way that made me wince; I had just gotten a phone, and even if was a cheap thing, the thought of it breaking like that was something that unsettled me.
"Uh, yeah," I half panted half replied. It only took a moment to fish out my phone again and check it, but during that, I eyed the woman. She stood out in a way that I couldn't place.
Her suit was immaculate and had to be tailored, but it didn't seem like one of the expensive ones, so she wasn't too far out of place for the area. She was white with shoulder-length dark hair that seemed to be split between curvy and wavy and, was pretty in the way that most women, including me, wishes that they could be; not super-model like, but the look could be pulled off with makeup. The fedora was weird, but this was Brockton Bay, so in the end, I figured that she was some type of manager that liked to dress to impress.
Still… something was bugging me about her.
"8:32."
"Ah," the women's eyes drifted to the bus sign and the times on it, half-covered in tags. "Then it seems I've missed the bus... Thank you anyway… This bus does go into downtown, correct?"
There went my idea of her being a local. "More or less," I replied. "Really depends on what section you're trying to get to."
The woman hummed for a moment. "Through if I end up traveling more East than South, that might be a problem."
Well yeah, someone like her might only seem a little out of place in my neighborhood, but in the Docks area, the parts not by the Boardwalk? She'd last only a few minutes at best.
"You won't happen to know of the bus routes for downtown, would you?" the woman asked with a smile.
"… not really." And I didn't. I knew of a few, but those were to places, like the Bank, or the PRT building, not of the others.
"That's all right, I'm sure I can figure it out. It will be hard to get lost with both the ocean, the downtown buildings and that guiding me," she finished with a gesture upwards.
"That" was the ice-tree and she was right. If you just kept in mind where the ocean was and could see the tall buildings of downtown, or the hints of mountains in the distant inland, it would be hard to get lost in Brockton Bay.
The ice-tree was just a bonus landmark.
I nodded not knowing what more to say. She found the words I couldn't.
"Have a good day," she said with a soft wave. "And thank you for your help."
It was so simple, so normal, and yet it stuck out at me. Most people around here would give it, most having been around long enough that we were bound by the hardship that helped define Brockton Bay.
And yet coming from this woman, dressed like she was, was strange. And the fact that I found it strange was something.
But whoever she was, I couldn't interject myself into her life; not only because it was strange to do so, but also because I didn't know who she was.
Still, what was happening was unsettling me, and I couldn't place what it was.
As I turned to leave, I paused, however, thinking…
"… you don't exactly fit in around here."
The woman stared at me, wide-eyed.
I cursed at myself. Well done Taylor, you opened your mouth to say quite possibly the strangest thing you could.
"I mean… you don't seem like the type of person that lives in the area," was what I tried to recover with. "In that… I could imagine seeing you downtown, or… somewhere else. Just not here."
There were several seconds where we just looked at one another, and I was internally panicking and was debiting on just running away when…
"…My job brought me here" the woman said slowly. "Not exactly my first choice, but… it was something I had to do."
Ah, that made more sense… a little. There was a story there, one that I knew I shouldn't be prying into.
"… The bus drivers tend to keep a few schedules on them. The holders are often empty for the buses out here, the city isn't going to waste its money on things like that. But the drivers… they should help you stay away from the bad parts of town."
"Thank you," said the woman who I was sure was faking the smile now.
I nodded and called out, "Have a good day!" over my shoulder as I jogged (not ran! I didn't run!) from the area.
So much for a simple morning.
The final stretch to my home gave me time to reflect on what just happened.
It was impulsive, unlike me, but that was a good thing. It was a start, signaling that maybe, just maybe… I could do this.
I wanted to change myself, to force myself out of my comfort zone, the one that I had fallen into during the bullying. And while it didn't seem like much, talking to that woman, choosing to talk to her about something, felt great.
…god, even in my thoughts that sarcasm was thick.
I didn't know if the uneasiness in my gut was from my running, or the awkward conversation I left behind. Truth was, I was panicking more than a bit over what I'd just done; it was one thing to start talking to people again, it was a whole other to stuff your foot into your face when talking to someone. But I knew why I did it.
It was an old part of me that had reached out, a part of that held ties to my mother.
She would have helped that woman out, not in the sense that mom was naïve (she was plenty street smart), but in the sense that she would have gotten more out of that conversion than I ever could have. Mom would have been able to figure out if there was something wrong with that woman; like if she was bait for something, was running away from something (or someone), or was just genuinely lost.
Me? I had no idea.
Maybe that was why I had stopped and opened my mouth, rather poorly, however.
I had lost so much of myself over the last few years. I had tucked myself away into a little ball, draping myself in shadows to try and avoid the Trio, trying my best to remain unseen, never knowing if or when the next attack would come.
My pride and identity had been targeted, both physically and emotionally, and everything was just compounded further by the fact that it was Emma that was breaking me down.
… broke me down, really, while I personally view the fact that I never fought back as a win (as did Dad, but Mr. Rieper was on the fence), in the end, the Trio did manage to force me to disappear in a way. Who I was before, the girl that existed back with I was still friends with Emma? At some point… she died, and she was never coming back.
Mr. Rieper had assured me, that I mostly wasn't unique in this regard. Mostly, being the keyword.
Everyone changed, it was part of growing up. Even if I hadn't gotten bullied, it was unlikely that who I was now, would still enjoy the things of five years ago.
Didn't mean that it still hurt, or that I was happy about how it had happened. But it did, and now I was left with trust issues, a wariness of people, and fear of it happening again.
But now? … now I had a chance to get some of it back. The old me of years ago would have told the woman about the routes I did know, about the Boardwalk route, or the one that passed right by the Bank.
The me of now however, just wanted to get out of there.
And that was the real problem, that after everything that had happened to me, I couldn't just tuck myself into bed for the rest of my life. No matter how much I wanted to. If I wanted to life anything resembling a normal life, I was going to have to put myself back out there, to start trusting people again.
No matter how badly it made my palms sweat, and my heart pound.
So, in the end, I made a choice, to push past my comfort zone. Mr. Rieper had said that recovering from my ordeal would take a while, but it would begin with small steps. With him saying that, I couldn't help but be reminded of a quote mom had liked, one that I'm sure plenty of others liked as well given how common it was.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
That one and so many more filled some of my mothers' journals, so maybe that was the link that caused me to speak up. She had dozens of them, most seemed to be a cross between school notebooks and filled random thoughts, like foods she'd tastes, music she seeming had written, dates and times to remember, that kind of thing.
They were a glimpse into a part of mom's life, one or two of them even had things about me in them.
And I was sure that my actions with that woman, no matter how little they were, fit well with that quote.
As I approached my home, I resolved to look into those journals more. Maybe reading about her experiences would help me out in my situation; I knew that she'd joined Lustrum when she was younger, perhaps she had written about why. The memories I had about her didn't fit in with what I'd heard about a Lustrum follower, but things apparently did change near the end.
The journals helped a bit, made me feel closer to mom, despite the ache that formed as I read them.
I stepped over the broken step (we still needed to fix that) and opened the door. The faint smell of breakfast greeted me, not uncommon. Dad had taken it upon himself to cook breakfast every morning now, given that we both got up early enough to eat before heading out. It was nice, to do something together. Still, there was a bit of gap between us, born from the distance we'd gained from Moms death, as well as the bullying.
But we were working on it, and I had hope that we'd be a family again, especially after the morning when we started going through moms' things.
This being said, it was with confidence that I walked into my house, knowing that we both were making amends, and we both had agreed to stop drifting by one another.
At least some things were looking up, it was harder to stick my foot in my mouth with dad after all.
I made it three steps into my living room when I noticed the smiling girl sitting on my couch.
She was relaxed, as if she belonged there, her legs crossed, and her fingers intertwined at the knee; her raised leg bouncing to some unheard beat. Her hair was dark blond, and pulled back into a ponytail like mine, but better. Strands of hair dangled off the side of her head where they had gotten free from the ponytail. Green eyes eyed me, the sharp color offset by the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
"Huh," she said with a tilt of her head. "Figured I'd be waiting longer than that."
… What?
