Postcards From The EdgeIn the Belly of a Fisherman's Ship
Willow's Diary: October 1, 1999
I looked it up in the dictionary: IGNORE. It's a verb. There's action going on, for sure, but its too subtle to really put my finger on it. Meaning: To refrain from noticing or recognizing, or to reject, to overlook, etc.
My parents are masters of this verb. They can perform it on the drop of a hat. Can't say for certain why their absence all of sudden irks me to know end. I suppose, being away from home now, I expected them to be a little less obtuse and at least be curious about their only daughter's life. I guess I had expected them to regard me, I don't know, maybe a little differently, but their indifference is unfaltering. I guess it's my own fault for having these expectations. I shouldn't have expected them to change just because their only daughter IS ALL GROWN UP AND KICKING ASS AT UNIVERSITY!
Sorry about that, diary.
I'd talk to Xander about this. I usually do, but he has his own family problems right now. I suppose finding out that you've been relocated to the basement of the house you grew in up all your life... without any say in the matter... and having to pay rent... Jeesh! I'd be miffed. And running around trying to find a job, which is what Xand is doing as I write this. In fact, I haven't seen much of him, except for the occasional surprise visit to the campus.
I missed him this summer. It was different without him hanging around Buffy and me. The Bronze just wasn't the same without his ritual Snoopy dance. This summer seemed different somehow... There was just an uncanny feel about it, knowing that we had left high school behind, and not just metaphorically. We couldn't return to Sunnydale High even if we wanted to. The old school ground is a condemned lot now and City Hall doesn't seem interested in rebuilding.
And Buffy. She sure knows how to pick the loves of her life. If you ask me, her immediate fascination with Parker was one of rebound and wanting something exactly like Angel. She said so herself, that sometimes at the Bronze, she sees the back of a "tall, dark, and mysterious" man and a certain thrill charges through her. Parker may not be Angel, but he's got the dark hair, the dark eyes, and a seeming broodiness. Of course, the brood factor was all an act, and Buffy's still reeling from the effects of his 'love her and leave her' routine. Parker's such a schmuck! I'm Jewish. I can say that.
So Buffy's not in a state to listen to my family complaints. She's still lamenting the loss of Id Boy, and wondering what she did to push him away. Meanwhile, Giles is preoccupied with his new girl friend, Olivia. She just appeared out of the blue one day. No one knows why, except perhaps Giles. Apparently they knew each other in the good old Ripper days, and you know what, I just don't want to go there. Suffice it to say, Giles is preoccupied doing his impression of a swinging bachelor.
Which leaves Oz. He always knows how to make me feel better, and not necessarily just by talking. Did you know tongues are good for doing stuff other than talking! My favourite is Tongue Wrestlemania. Oops, I'm digressing...
I don't know what it is, but Oz seems more withdrawn than usual. No, not withdrawn... detached. I wanted to talk to him earlier today, but he kept going on about this new band he heard at the Bronze. He's been spending so much time with Dingoes doing band practice, and they've been jamming with this new band, that I just didn't want to hear any more. I don't know why, but standing around feeling left out due to my weak vocabulary of music jargon, just didn't turn my crank.
I actually lied to Oz. Well, kind of lied. Told him I was camping out at my parent's place this weekend to work on two short papers and some assignments, which is only partly true. Only one needs to be written, and neither are due for another couple of weeks. Truth is, I just wasn't in the mood to be ignored by the one person who matters to me the most. I figure if I'm not on anyone's mind, then they won't notice that I'm not around this weekend.
So, I'm laden down with school books and the appropriate munchies for power writing, all ready to retreat into the comfort of my bedroom for the weekend, when I unlock the front door to the house and step onto a week's mess of mail. After accidentally kicking a magazine and some flyers halfway down the hallway, I spotted the corner of a postcard.
Instinctively, out of a need to know, I plucked it from the mess of letters and bills and flipped it over. It was signed S and then that's when the dread hit me. I flipped it back over and stared unblinkingly at the harbour of sail ships. I remember the weight of my backpack made my shoulders ache, but I couldn't move. I knew who it was from, and that's all I wanted to know. Nothing else. Nought.
Just when I think nobody's thinking of me...
Willow Rosenburg, 1213 Elm Street, Sunnydale CA
postmarked September 22 1999 - Belem, BrazilLying in the belly of a fisherman's ship, I dreamt of you. The green of your eyes dull & vacant, the porcelain of your skin flawless, your expression blank. Like one of Dru's discarded dolls, someone had tossed you aside where you lay crumpled & twisted. It made me sad. I laid you out naked. Entwined tiny white flowers in the thick of your auburn grotto. Planted kisses on the pale of your lips, your nipples, and the tender flesh in between. I cried even. I wanted to be the one. Such a waste of a death. I would've left marks. A grimace of fear. Perhaps a grin. --S
If you ask me, we're all guilty. Of ignoring, that is. Excluding certain undead vampire demons with an uncanny ability for fixating on the living.
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