Cadaverous Pallor
04-12-2008, 08:21 PM
“I love your necklace. Where’d you get it?”
Jane automatically reached for her throat, fingering the glass beads.
“My mom made it.”
“Really? Wow, you’re lucky.” Amy’s grin turned into a snort. “My mom can barely dress herself, never mind actually create the accessories.”
Jane looked away. Dealing with praise for her mother was as hard for her as any other teenager. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ve made a few myself.”
“Ooh, I want to see. Bring them to school.” Amy snapped a photo with her smartphone before Jane could move a hand to block the shot. “I’ll take pictures of them, we’ll put them on Etsy, you could totally make money...”
Jane rolled her eyes and took a bite of aged cheddar on a sesame cracker. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m an artist or anything. I just did it with my mom, you know, she wants to do stuff with me. You always get carried away.”
Amy munched her school lunch taco. “Yeah, well, I think you’re probably talented. God knows your parents are cooler than everyone else’s. Maybe you should talk about them more – you’d be more popular. Not everyone has a dad who wrote a book that actually began a social movement. Have you checked his MySpace lately? It’s through the roof.”
“You’re stalking my family. Delightful. Can we change the subject? Damn, it’s cold out here. Maybe we shouldn’t have sat on the quad today.” Jane pulled her black short-cropped jacket closer and managed to wrap her long legs Indian style.
Amy’s brow furrowed. “I just love that your parents are so interesting, that’s all. My mom is always busy, and she’s all I got. She doesn’t have friends, doesn’t go out. I think it makes her less….smart, you know? If you never go to an art museum you never think about truth and beauty.”
Jane sipped her Trader Joe’s Unfiltered Apple Juice. “Yeah, I know. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what I have. It’s more that I’m just glad that I like what they like…for the most part.”
Amy gestured to Jane’s Tumi messenger bag, covered in scrawls and patches. “Most kids didn’t grow up with Bauhaus and Dead Can Dance. I only know this stuff because you do. It’s the real thing, though, today’s crap can suck it.”
“True that.”
“Can I get a bite of your cheese? These school lunches taste like sh1t.” Jane placed some cheddar on a cracker and handed it over. Amy munched slowly, making it last. “Who makes your lunch?”
“I do,” said Jane. “My dad used to always make it, but when I hit Junior High they said I needed to do it myself. It’s not hard to put this stuff in a bag. Dad always keeps the house stocked.”
“I should try it sometime. I think I’ll throw up if I finish that taco.”
“Please don’t. I just polished my Docs.” Jane crumpled up her paper bag, then pulled a small makeup bag out of her backpack. She stared into a compact mirror and applied nearly-black lipstick. “You know, you’re cool, don’t even worry about it. You don’t need to have my parents. Actually, I’m jealous of you, in a way, since you can actually be different from your mom.”
“You could be different, too. You could listen to Beyonce or Justin Timberlake.” Jane made a nasty face. “You could wear tie-dyed clothes and bleach your hair blonde.” Jane made a gagging noise. “I’m just saying, you know, you could be totally different if you wanted to.” Amy’s phone chirped, pulling her attention away.
Jane’s eyes unfocused as Amy thumbed her device. “There are forces that pull, and those that push; that attract or repel; Eros and Thanatos; love and death,” she muttered softly.
“What?” Amy hit send and looked up.
“Nothing,” said Jane quickly. “Look, you’re right, I could rebel by being lame, and seriously, I looked around. It’s not like I accept everything handed to me. I listen to all kinds of stuff. I tried Top 40, and it sucks. And there’s definitely stuff my parents like that I can’t stand.”
The bell rang. Jane gave her bag a zip. “Oh, and you can totally come over for movie night tonight, as usual. Dad wanted to watch a flick called “Harold and Maude”. As always, I can’t guarantee there won’t be boobs or something seriously embarrassing in it.”
Amy grabbed her backpack, stood up and grinned. “Got it. As long as we can watch the Frug again, right?”
Jane rolled her eyes, stood as well and hit Amy’s arm in exaggerated dramatics while Amy giggled. “No! If they do that dance in front of anyone ever again I think I’ll die, and that includes you.” Amy bobbed her head and twirled her arms in imitation of Fosse choreography, while Jane rained blows on her from all sides, laughing. “Stop! Someone will see! You look like an idiot!”
Amy ran, and Jane chased her to class.
Jane automatically reached for her throat, fingering the glass beads.
“My mom made it.”
“Really? Wow, you’re lucky.” Amy’s grin turned into a snort. “My mom can barely dress herself, never mind actually create the accessories.”
Jane looked away. Dealing with praise for her mother was as hard for her as any other teenager. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ve made a few myself.”
“Ooh, I want to see. Bring them to school.” Amy snapped a photo with her smartphone before Jane could move a hand to block the shot. “I’ll take pictures of them, we’ll put them on Etsy, you could totally make money...”
Jane rolled her eyes and took a bite of aged cheddar on a sesame cracker. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m an artist or anything. I just did it with my mom, you know, she wants to do stuff with me. You always get carried away.”
Amy munched her school lunch taco. “Yeah, well, I think you’re probably talented. God knows your parents are cooler than everyone else’s. Maybe you should talk about them more – you’d be more popular. Not everyone has a dad who wrote a book that actually began a social movement. Have you checked his MySpace lately? It’s through the roof.”
“You’re stalking my family. Delightful. Can we change the subject? Damn, it’s cold out here. Maybe we shouldn’t have sat on the quad today.” Jane pulled her black short-cropped jacket closer and managed to wrap her long legs Indian style.
Amy’s brow furrowed. “I just love that your parents are so interesting, that’s all. My mom is always busy, and she’s all I got. She doesn’t have friends, doesn’t go out. I think it makes her less….smart, you know? If you never go to an art museum you never think about truth and beauty.”
Jane sipped her Trader Joe’s Unfiltered Apple Juice. “Yeah, I know. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what I have. It’s more that I’m just glad that I like what they like…for the most part.”
Amy gestured to Jane’s Tumi messenger bag, covered in scrawls and patches. “Most kids didn’t grow up with Bauhaus and Dead Can Dance. I only know this stuff because you do. It’s the real thing, though, today’s crap can suck it.”
“True that.”
“Can I get a bite of your cheese? These school lunches taste like sh1t.” Jane placed some cheddar on a cracker and handed it over. Amy munched slowly, making it last. “Who makes your lunch?”
“I do,” said Jane. “My dad used to always make it, but when I hit Junior High they said I needed to do it myself. It’s not hard to put this stuff in a bag. Dad always keeps the house stocked.”
“I should try it sometime. I think I’ll throw up if I finish that taco.”
“Please don’t. I just polished my Docs.” Jane crumpled up her paper bag, then pulled a small makeup bag out of her backpack. She stared into a compact mirror and applied nearly-black lipstick. “You know, you’re cool, don’t even worry about it. You don’t need to have my parents. Actually, I’m jealous of you, in a way, since you can actually be different from your mom.”
“You could be different, too. You could listen to Beyonce or Justin Timberlake.” Jane made a nasty face. “You could wear tie-dyed clothes and bleach your hair blonde.” Jane made a gagging noise. “I’m just saying, you know, you could be totally different if you wanted to.” Amy’s phone chirped, pulling her attention away.
Jane’s eyes unfocused as Amy thumbed her device. “There are forces that pull, and those that push; that attract or repel; Eros and Thanatos; love and death,” she muttered softly.
“What?” Amy hit send and looked up.
“Nothing,” said Jane quickly. “Look, you’re right, I could rebel by being lame, and seriously, I looked around. It’s not like I accept everything handed to me. I listen to all kinds of stuff. I tried Top 40, and it sucks. And there’s definitely stuff my parents like that I can’t stand.”
The bell rang. Jane gave her bag a zip. “Oh, and you can totally come over for movie night tonight, as usual. Dad wanted to watch a flick called “Harold and Maude”. As always, I can’t guarantee there won’t be boobs or something seriously embarrassing in it.”
Amy grabbed her backpack, stood up and grinned. “Got it. As long as we can watch the Frug again, right?”
Jane rolled her eyes, stood as well and hit Amy’s arm in exaggerated dramatics while Amy giggled. “No! If they do that dance in front of anyone ever again I think I’ll die, and that includes you.” Amy bobbed her head and twirled her arms in imitation of Fosse choreography, while Jane rained blows on her from all sides, laughing. “Stop! Someone will see! You look like an idiot!”
Amy ran, and Jane chased her to class.