“Well,
you’re not sure if they are dying when they go poof,” Dani said, “It’s not like
stabbing someone or anything.”
“Dani, we both know you’ve never stabbed
anyone,” Bren said, “I’d like to joke with you about it, but killing people
isn’t fun. But I recognize that, in most situations… Well, it’s a primal thing.
You don’t let yourself get wrapped up in it too much or else it destroys you.”
“That’s ok,” Asta said, “You’re just a
soldier. A veteran.” They rounded the corner. Bren sighted where Frank’s car
was, and saw her own. She saw the Memorial Center too, but the lights were out.
Nobody home, probably. No telling who might be inside, though.
“I guess that’s accurate,” Bren said, “I don’t
feel like one.”
“That’s cool though,” Asta said, “I get the
feeling you’re better for it.”
“I don’t feel better for it,” Bren said,
“But thanks… There’s my car.” She extended a lazy hand in the general direction
of where it was parked. “And hey, I trust you won’t go telling people about
this. I told it to you because, at this point, we’re going to be partners in
this. Got it?”
Asta nodded.
They kept quiet in the car ride, except for
the occasional hey turn left here from
Asta to guide them towards her house. When they got there, Asta got out first,
said “Thanks for the ride, maybe we can meet again?” and even managed to get
Bren’s phone number. Dani said she could get Asta’s from Neil and that she’d
text Asta as soon as she could.
Asta stepped inside her house and greeted
her parents, both of which were standing by the kitchen table, their arms
crossed, “Hey,” Asta said, “Did he—”
“Yes he did,” Asta’s dad said, “We’re not
very happy about it. It didn’t sound like this was his choice.”
“It sounds like you threatened him,” Asta’s
mom said, “Forced him somehow.”
“He said your friends were involved,” Asta’s
dad said, “Did you threaten him?”
“This is getting out of hand, Astrid, we
can’t have you threatening psychiatrists!”
The above was spoken in rapid fire, one
after the other. Asta opened her mouth a few times but was never given a chance
to get anything in edgewise. (How rude!
Have you figured it out yet, that Asta’s parents are jerks? (Yeah I guess you
did, probably.))
“Astrid, I think what we will have to do is…
ground you… indefinitely.” It wasn’t really important at this point which
parent was talking. They acted as a unit.
“Really?” Asta said, “I’m already grounded.
You never let me leave my room.”
“You think that’s what being grounded is?”
One of her parents said.
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m pretty sure that’s
exactly what it is. I don’t know why you think otherwise. It’s ridiculous.
Whenever anyone else at school says they get grounded, I go, oh that’s how it
always is for me, but they don’t believe me. They think I’m trying to make fun
of them or something. It’s part of the reason I don’t have any friends.”
“Oh,” a parent said.
“The other part is that you never let me go
anywhere, ever,” she said, “I mean there has to be someone I can hang out with. I think I just met someone too.
Someone who understands me. I think I’ll hang out with them from now on.”
“Who?” A parent asked.
“I don’t think I should have to tell you,”
Asta said, “But they’re a responsible adult and that’s all that really matters,
ok?”
“Oh no,” her father said to her mother,
“She’s found a boy.”
“This is what happened,” her mother said,
“You’ve gotten some boy to come in and threaten your psychiatrist! This is
absurd!”
“We forbid you from treating with this...
What is his name?”
“No,” Asta said, “It’s not a boy, it’s a
girl, Brenda. She’s a soldier and probably kicks so much ass it would just be
like overwhelming to be around her! But just for you!”
Asta’s parents had never heard her shout
before. It was a squealing kind of noise, but it was full of rage, anger, and
justification, a lawyer making the final verdict to put an arsonist behind bars
or a president delivering a speech that would put her in office.
Unfortunately for Asta, her parents had
drawn up a draft of what would happen if she were to actually raise her voice
above mildly irritated. The plan of action had several copies; one for each of
her parents, and one they kept in their bedroom. There was another copy,
somewhere, but they’d misplaced it.
“If you’re going to act like a child,” her
father said, “We will have to treat you like one.” It was a line that Asta’s
parents thought was perfect. It instructed Asta why they disapproved, and what
they would do in retaliation.
Unfortunately for Asta’s parents, the fourth
copy of the draft had found its way into Asta’s room. Asta had put it there
when she’d found it on the kitchen table. She’d seen that line, and had years
of preparation to come up with a sufficient counter. All of that time spent
drafting a response was forgotten in the heat of the moment, so a barely
muttered, “I’m not a kid”, was all she mustered.
It was a poor defense. Her parents marched
her straight to her room, and her father placed the bookshelf in front of the
door once more. Asta looked out the window for a while before turning to her
computer. She replied to Friday’s message.
No comments:
Post a Comment