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She woke up with the taste of dust and mothballs in her mouth. Mothballs, mothballs everywhere. Her mother had been addicted to them and used to stuff them in the pockets of all her clothes. Remembered how he would wrinkle his nose and remark loudly on it, hoping to embarrass her to death. Geez Louise, Summers! You smell like someone's grandmother just died. Have some consideration for those of us who have to be around you. And Xander and Angel would join him in making gagging noises, making a big show of holding their noses. That is, until she'd punched them. She rolled her head, trying to will away the crick in her neck. She'd fallen asleep in the chair. In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the vanity mirror. Could almost hear her mother's disapproving voice telling her that ladies did not fall asleep without washing off their makeup first. She thought she looked pretty good though. All things considering. Her hair was still a rich light brown with blonde highlights. It was shorter than when she was a girl. She touched it and wondered if he would like it. Stupid, he wouldn't be able to see it. Oh, how she wanted to see him. Would his hair still be silvery gold and fine as cornsilk? Would his eyes still be as brightly blue as the colored snow cones they used to buy at Willy's Soda Shoppe? She washed her face carefully and reapplied her makeup. She was okay until she noticed her mother's toothbrush sitting on the sink. Fought back a dark wave of despair. She was the last of her family now. She left the bathroom quickly and went back into her bedroom. Looked through the window at his. The blinds were still shuttered even though it was a beautiful, sunny morning in July. She went through her drawers. Her mother had even left her old clothes inside. Still lying rumpled and unfolded. In the back of the bottom drawer, she found her old swimsuit. Pink with large white polka-dots. Her mother had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday. She had been so disappointed at the time. He had gotten a car for his Sweet Sixteenth from his parents. All she'd received was a bikini from her poor mother who must have scrimped and pinched to afford it. At the time, the bitterness had been sharp and deep. I'm sorry dear. But you know we don't have that kind of money. And besides, girls shouldn't drive cars, it's just not proper. Come on, try it on. You'll look so lovely. The saleslady told me it was the latest style. She pulled on the bikini now, not expecting that it would fit. It did. She had stayed in shape and the separation had thinned her down even more. The guilt and Riley's anguish making her loathe the taste of food. What did I do wrong sweetheart? I thought we were so happy. Why do you want to leave me? She couldn't have told him. How could she tell him she loved another man? Had loved another man the whole time and had only married him because he was completely different. Had imagined her summer boy's arms around her every time Riley held her. I'm in love with a boy I haven't seen in almost twenty years. A boy I wasn't there to see grow into a man. I want a ghost; an idea. I'm a ghost myself. No, she couldn't have told him that. He wouldn't have understood. She grabbed a towel, an ancient radio she'd found in the kitchen, and her sunglasses. If she couldn't see him, at least she could be as close to him as possible. Outside in the backyard, she spread her towel directly beside the low fence underneath his bedroom window. Come outside. Come outside Will and play. I'm waiting for you. Turned the radio up as loud as it would go and laid down on the towel, her back facing the sun. She reached back and unfastened her bikini top for good measure. Let the witch get an eyeful of this. Even if he couldn't see. The radio station was playing one of those new pop songs that made her think of him. Every love song made her think of him.
Within minutes, she heard the screen door bang open. When she looked up, Mrs. James was standing at the fence. "Good morning, Ms. Summers. Could you please turn the music down?" She grinned innocently. "Oh but Mrs. James, don't you love this song? I love it. And it sounds so much better turned up. And please call me Buffy. No need to be so formal, you've known me since I was in diapers." Mrs. James frowned but said nothing. She turned down the radio the barest bit, not enough to be considered a concession. "I would like to have lunch with Will today. We have so much catching up to do." The woman laughed dryly as if she had said the most absurd thing ever. "Oh, dear. William doesn't like to go out." She tried to will away a desperate longing look. "Or maybe I could just pop in and say hello. I'd only stay for a little while." All she got in response was a firm shake of the head and a condescending smile. "Buffy, I'm sorry to disappoint you but William isn't feeling well today. He's not up for visitors. In fact, he's probably sleeping right now. Poor thing, he sleeps so badly. I'm sure you have other old friends to catch up with?" Oh, she could strike her, she really could. But she remembered her mother's words one time when she had asked her why Mrs. James hated everyone. She doesn't hate everyone. She's just sad. She wanted to leave this town, you know. She was such a beauty when she was younger. Everybody thought she would be the one to get out, make something of herself. She could have been Miss America or a fashion model. But then she met William's father and she wasn't going anywhere. That's what women do for love, Buffy. They give up everything for their men. And when she had rolled her eyes and declared she was never going to fall in love, her mother had just shrugged. Wait and see. When you get older, you'll understand what it means to be a woman. To love, to give, to forgive their men. She had learned that lesson pretty quickly. She was her mother's daughter after all. "Well, thanks for letting me know Mrs. James. Perhaps tomorrow when he's feeling better?" The woman just smiled and looked at her with those pale, hard eyes. "Perhaps, dear. Enjoy the sun." And she walked back inside the white house, shutting the door quietly as if closing up a tomb. She turned the radio back up in defiance and started to drift off, the sunlight warm and sweet on her back. Imagining it was his lips. ********************************************* It was the day after her sixteenth birthday. She was lying in the backyard wearing her new bikini, bored out of her mind. He had not been home all day. Probably cruising around town in his new car with the tramp. Fine, she didn't care. She could entertain herself. All he did was say stupid things that made her want to hit him. Suddenly a shadow blocked the sun. "Hey! I'm trying to get a tan here!" She looked up and he was looming above her, his face red and angry. What was his problem now? He always seemed to have some sort of problem with her. He kicked over her can of Coca-Cola and she shrieked when some stray icy drops hit her stomach. His chest was heaving up and down in outrage. "You call this getting a tan? You're practically nude. Jesus Christ, idiot girl! Put some clothes on. You're giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show. Why don't you take that down to the docks and shake it for some sailors!" She was sitting up in a flash, whipping off her sunglasses and glaring at him. "Maybe I will! What's it to you? I was bored and you were gone All. Day. What were you doing? Or who were you doing? Is it still Dru or maybe now it's her tramp friends Cecily and Harmony? SOME people in glass houses, shouldn't throw boulders." "It's STONES, you degenerate! People in glass houses, shouldn't throw stones. Sweet Mary Mother of God! Could you be any more stupid?" Now she felt as if she was going to cry. She hated when he called her stupid and used big words that she didn't understand. She didn't get it. He was always cutting class but that didn't seem to matter. He always knew what to say to make her feel awful. And what the hell did degenerate mean anyway? It probably wasn't a synonym for beautiful. She turned her head away not wanting him to see the tears forming. When she looked back at him he wasn't looking at her face laughing because she was going to cry like a sissy baby. His eyes were glued on the juncture between her legs. She looked down as well. Oh God in Heaven! Stray wisps of the hair she had *down there* were curling out the sides of her bikini bottom. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her face flaming. His eyes were traveling up to her breasts, small but high and pert. He had the strangest expression on his face. Was it...awe? And hunger? When their eyes caught, he flushed even more, the blush extending from his hairline to his neck, staining his summer tan a dull red. Quickly he jerked off his white tee shirt and tossed it on her. "Put this on. You look like a whore." And then he whirled angrily on his heel and stalked off. She watched him jump the low fence separating their backyards, her mind a muddle of feelings. Desire, astonishment, embarrassment, and most of all anger. "Your girlfriend's the one who's a whore! I hate you! I hope you fall on your big fat head and die!" she hollered at his back. He gave her the middle finger without turning around and went into his house, slamming the backdoor screen so hard, it almost came unhinged. She rubbed his tee shirt full of grass stains and threw it into his backyard where it landed on the tree swing, blowing in the wind crazily. Gathering her things, she ran inside. Two days later she had been working the afterschool shift at the DoubleMeat Palace when he had roared up in his ugly new car, Dru at his side. They hadn't spoken since that afternoon in her backyard and as much as she hated it, she missed him. Missed watching American Bandstand together, missed going to the half-price matinees at the Sun Theater and punching him in the arm when he made fun of Lana Turner or Cary Grant, who she was going to marry when she grew older and prettier. She swallowed back the bile when he slung his arm around the tramp as she took their order. She felt so ridiculous in her little uniform and paper hat. When she carried out their order, she ducked behind the trashcans in back and spit into the tramp's strawberry milkshake. And then she spit into his hamburger with the works, for good measure. It was disgusting and mean-spirited but she really didn't care. He had started it by showing up to her workplace with the tramp to make a fool of her. Just because his parents had enough money to buy him a car for his birthday and give him an allowance so he didn't have to work didn't mean that everyone could be so lucky or hateful. Her mother and her were barely getting by, with her waitressing after school and her mother working double shifts at the plastics factory just to keep the house. Oh, she hated, hated, hated him. Because he had a father who loved him and hadn't run off with his secretary. Because he was beautiful and everyone wanted him and no one had asked her to the Spring Formal. She carried their tray of food out, a smile as plastic as the things her mother slaved over every day at the factory. When she reached his ugly gasoline-guzzler, she had been surprised to see Dru missing. Then she noticed the look of ecstasy on his stupid face and the top of a shiny, dark head *down there*. Oh Holy Christ. She felt the macaroni she'd had for lunch in the cafeteria forcing its way back up her throat. And then he'd turned to look at her, their eyes meeting and holding through the glass of the car window. And he'd smiled slowly. Her mind completely shut down. She threw the tray of food at his car and ran back into the restaraunt. When she peeked out the window five minutes later, his car was gone. Ms. Walsh, the manager, had seen what she'd done and fired her right then and there. She refused to talk to him for three weeks. She ignored his telephone calls. Of course, it was him. No one else ever called her. She avoided him at school and begged Mr. Pryce to move her to a different seat in History class, so she didn't have to sit near him. Of course, all of a sudden he started coming to History every day, probably out of spite. God, she hated him so much it choked her. She hid up in her room when he came by one day and told her mother to tell him to die. Then she listened to their conversation, hidden behind the banister. "I'm sorry William, but Buffy's not feeling well right now." "She looked fine in History class. Can I just talk to her for a minute or two?" "I don't think that would be a good idea. She's a bit upset." She cringed behind the banister at her mother's words. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what she was feeling. She felt nothing. Well, except for deep and abiding hatred. She'd prayed for his painful death every night before going to sleep since she'd been fired from DoubleMeat. "I know you're up there! I can see your Bride of Frankenstein hair through the banister slats!" he hollered up in her direction. She gasped and scurried back into the dark corner of the upstairs hallway. He turned towards her mother, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. She snorted. Good, he should feel uncomfortable. How dare he show his disgusting face here again? And insult her hair? She reached up a hand and touched it self-consciously. It was nowhere near as awful as his. His could make a person blind if they looked at it too long. "Has she...has she told you anything? Has she said anything about me?" She balled her hands into fists. Right. She would never tell her mother what she had seen him *doing* with that tramp. Even though everyone in town should know what a disgusting, depraved, dirty...nasty person he really was. But she hadn't wanted to send her mother into an early grave with the details. She was pretty sure decent people didn't do such *things* or even know about them. Trust him to taint her for life so that she never wanted a boy to ever touch her. Not that any boy ever would. Because if they ever tried to get her to do *that*, she would kick them where it hurt. Ha! And he prayed every night and went to church every Sunday morning, dressed in his best suit, sitting with his parents in the pew in front of her and her mother. Hypocrite. If his parents knew what their saintly son was doing behind their backs, they would die of shame. She was dying of shame just thinking about what she had seen. Thank the Lord he and his parents sat in front of her at church so she couldn't see his face or last Sunday she would surely have vomited all over the statue of Jesus nailed to the cross. "William, perhaps you should go home. Your parents are waiting for you for dinner." "What did she say about me?" he demanded. "Um, she requested that you die. But...but of course, she didn't mean it. You know how she gets when she's in one of her moods. I'm sure by tomorrow, she'll have forgotten everything and you two will be thick as thieves again." Oh, she wanted to strangle her mother! She would never forgive him. Never! She would remember *that* for the rest of her life. She would rather be eaten alive by Mrs. Rosenberg's Pomeranian than ever speak to him again. She would rather be put through the hamburger grinder at the DoubleMeat than be around him again. She would rather date Angel and let him go to third base. She would rather knit five million socks. She would do it all gladly if he just died. She peeked downstairs again. He was pacing in the living room like a caged tiger and touching her collection of ceramic figurines. Christ on a crutch! She was going to have to disinfect everything! He looked up and saw her. "I hope you die first!" he shouted and stormed out, her mother wringing her hands after him. She flew to her bedroom window and watched him stomp to his backdoor, cursing the whole way. He stopped below her window and she gasped and retreated behind the curtains, peeking through a tiny slit in them. He sneered up at her window. "I know you're there. And this is all I have to say to you." he hollered and gave her the middle finger. She shut her curtains and kicked Mr. Gordo across the room, imagining it was his big fat disgusting head. And to think he'd called her a 'degenerate.' She'd looked that word up in the dictionary last night and if anyone was a degenerate, it was most definitely him. She curled under her covers and pulled the pillow over her head. Three days later she had come home from her piano lesson in a white-hot temper. Ms. Calander had actually yelled at her for pounding on the keys too hard and messing up The Moonlight Sonata. 'Buffy, I know your mother works very hard to pay for these lessons. I also know it's hard to make ends meet but that your mother gets so much joy from you learning an instrument and becoming more cultured. So please! Try to concentrate and not bang on my piano as if you were smashing rocks. This is an art, not a tool of destruction!' God! She was so sick of everyone telling her she was too unladylike, too uncultured, too boyish. This was All. His. Fault. She'd seen him at lunch sitting next to Dru and her stomach heaved so much, she had to run to the ladies to vomit up her breakfast. Not only was he wrecking her entire life but now she couldn't even keep down solid food. She trudged up to her bedroom, her mother wasn't home from work yet and she had the whole house to herself. Thank goodness. Finally some peace without her mother nagging at her to make up with him. When she opened her bedroom door, she screamed in horror and disgust. He was sprawled on her bed swinging Mr. Gordo nonchalantly by the tail. She ran up and slapped his hands away. Wonderful, now she would have to burn her most prized possession. And her bed too. Probably everything in her room. Oh dear Lord. What if he had pawed through her underwear, or seen her diary? He'd been in her room plenty of times before. But that was before. Before she knew him for what he truly was. A...a depraved, sickening degenerate who was not fit for human society. Let alone fit to be in her bedroom. "How did you get in? Never mind. Get out! Get out now! Before I call the police!" she was panting with rage. He merely raised his eyebrows, the thin white scar on one standing out. She had accidentally pushed him from his tree house when they were eight and he'd scratched his eyebrow deeply on a branch on the way down. He was stupid and clumsy and awful even then. She'd just not realized it until now. "You dimwit. You can't have me arrested. My father is the police chief, remember?" He picked up a copy of Life magazine and started flipping through it casually even though she was standing in front of him, vibrating in anger. She ripped the magazine from his hands and accidentally tore it in two. He wrecked everything! That was his fault too. "I don't care if your father is the Pope, Ed Sullivan, Fabian, and Cary Grant all rolled into one! If you don't get out of my room right now, I'll throw you out the window head first." He made a disgusted face. "Fabian! Geez Louise Summers! Don't insult my blood that way." At her hate-filled glare, he held his hands palms-up in a sign of surrender. "Sorry, sorry." "Get. Out. Now." she growled and held up her fist. His shoulders slumped and he raked his hands through his hair. "Look, I'm really, really sorry. What I did..." "It was disgusting! I can't believe I wasn't struck blind!" she shouted. He sighed. "Alright, alright. And I really am sorry. Sorrier than that time I choked at the bat and we lost to Hemery. And look! I brought you something to show you how truly sorry I am. It's See's toffees, your favorite. I got the biggest box I could find. It cost me my whole week's worth of allowance." Oh, she hated him so, so much. Not only was he a depraved degenerate, he was an evil, depraved degenerate. He KNEW how much she adored those toffees. They were so expensive and she only got them for Christmas and even then it was the tiniest box because it was so frivolous and money was so tight. He was holding the huge box of candy he'd taken out from underneath her pillow. She took it grudgingly. "You just want to make me fat, so other boys will think I'm ugly just as much as you do." He blinked slowly at her. Stupid, long golden eyelashes that belonged on a girl. "What boys?" She smirked around the piece of toffee already in her mouth. Oh, heaven. "Angel and Xander. They were both looking at me in the hallway yesterday. And Angel told me I looked really pretty and called me 'legs.' Oh, and Xander whistled." She neglected to tell him that she'd responded by stomping on Angel's foot and punching Xander in his side. Why go into unnecessary detail? He frowned and cracked his knuckles. He knew how much that annoyed her. "Trust me darling, that's nothing to boast about." She batted her eyelashes and chewed loudly with her mouth open so he could see the candy rolling around. So it was disgusting and juvenile but she knew how much he hated that. "People in glass houses shouldn't throw STONES. I've heard at school that you don't have much to boast about either." She watched in satisfaction as he balled his fists and looked like he was going to strangle her. Good. If he swung at her first, she could claim self-defense after she broke open his fat, arrogant, empty head. To her dismay, he relaxed and laid back on her bed acting like it was his own. Disgusting. Just because his parents had more money than her mother, he thought he could lord it over her. Suddenly, the toffee tasted bitter and nauseating in her mouth. She threw the box against the headboard, barely missing his head. Pity. A shower of toffees rained on his shocked face. "Holy Mary Mother of God, Summers! With a temper like that, no man's going to want to marry you." That did it. She socked him across one high cheekbone, snapping his head back with the impact. He grunted in pain and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her. She struggled in his grasp, howling and kicking at his shins. He shook her by the shoulders until her teeth chattered. "Get ahold of yourself Buffy! I was just making a joke! I didn't mean it!" He dropped her arms and looked down at her. Traitorous tears had sprung to her eyes and were rolling down her face. She snuffled and wiped at her dripping nose, embarrassed beyond belief, wishing for death. Terrific. Now he would laugh at her and call her a dumb baby. Her mouth fell open when he gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. The only other time he had touched her like that was when they were ten and Mrs. Rosenberg's Pomeranian, Mr. Puppy Fantastico had bit her on the ankle. He had wiped away her tears then and carried her home, complaining the whole way about how she weighed two tons and no man was ever going to want such a heavy wife. And she had sobbed in pain and embarrassment against his chest, getting her snot all over his favorite Beatles tee shirt. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "You're really ugly when you smile Summers. But you're even uglier when you don't, so smile already. Have some consideration for those of us who have to look at you." She managed a weak grin and smacked his arm. He handed her a piece of candy. "Now, eat up. You're already so heavy, it won't make much of a difference." ****************************************** She woke up with tears on her cheeks. Her back stung from being in the sun too long. She looked at her angry red skin and sighed. Lobster Buffy. Glanced up at his bedroom window, imagining that he was sitting in there thinking of her, feeling her presence. He must know that she was back and that she was going to see him. No matter what his mother did or said. She gave a small wave to the window and watched it intently. This time she was positive that the blinds had moved a bit. He could feel her, she knew it. The certainty was like a fierce fireline in her belly. I know you're out there. I can almost feel the softness of your cheek against my hand. I am waiting for you. You will come. I am more certain of it than I am of anything. I will wait here in my room for you. Time means nothing. You are so beautiful. I cannot see your beauty but I know it's there. You were a beautiful girl then. You must be a beautiful woman now. I used to dream of you in that pink bikini with the white polka dots. I still dream of your soft brown hair, your meadow-green eyes, your smile. I don't ever go outside anymore. But when I dream of your smile, it's like the sun on my face. I am waiting here. |