Re: Fic: Remembered Liaison (1/1)

[Nathan Campbell <NathanCampbell@xxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Great fic! I gotta admit I saw it coming, but that's not a problem. I
can't wait to see more of your work!

Nathan Campbell
NathanCampbell@xxxxxxxxxxxx

When sun sprays the earth
with straight-falling flames,
a cricket rubs his wings,
scraping up thin sweet song.
-Sappho




  I've never been here before.
  My sister is right about that of course. In my head I know she's 
right. But then, in my head I know she's not even my sister.
  Its my heart that tells me she is. And me heart tells me I spent 
the happiest few months of my life right here on this street. It 
still looks the same today as it did when I left two years ago. I'm 
gonna cry now, aren't I?
  So who do I listen to? My head or my heart? If I listen to my head, 
I've got nothing. Nobody. I'm a freak. I'm less than human, made by 
monks. But my sister doesn't listen to *her* head. My friends don't. 
They love me and I love them. So the heart wins! So there. 
  And my heart knew the way, didn't it? I got off the Amtrak and 
hopped on the Orange Line without even thinking about it. Changed to 
the #54 and got off at Charles. Just like I was coming home from the 
mall. Now I'm walking South, just another block and... there it is. 
Oh, wow. 
  Our old house. It's after six, so dad's car should be in the 
driveway. 
  I've never met my Dad. I don't even have a Dad. How far did the 
monk's spell stretch?
  Anya said that no spell could be powerful enough to encompass the 
whole of reality. Just an isolated pocket.
  Will the spell fade and die?
  Score one for the head: There's no car here. Who are these kids 
playing in my yard? What's with the stupid football junk in my 
bedroom window? Where's my bird feeder? Why is the paint all peeling 
and blue? My Dad re-painted the whole thing white. I remember... He 
made it nice. This place is falling apart. 
"Why are you crying?" A young boy wanders over to me. 
"I used to live here with my Dad." 
  The kid just stares at me. I head off down the street. 
  I could go see the school. That would bring back memories. Not too 
many good ones, though. And that's not why I came back. 
  I came to say goodbye.
  So I head down the street, just like I used to about a million 
times after school. My Dad would have killed me if he knew how far it 
was. He thought it was only a few blocks walk to visit my friend. A 
few? Try about forty.
  There's the bench. How many hours did I spend sitting right there, 
waiting for the #22 to take me to her? More time than I spent with 
her. At least that's how it felt. But don't get me wrong. Just 
sitting and waiting to go to her felt great. 
  I sit and watch the customers at the video arcade across the 
street. It's a chain now, not the same store, but the people going in 
and out look the same as they did back then. My hand falls on 
something carved into the wood bench. 
  Oh, God! I'm shaking, aren't I? I know what it is before I even 
look. A heart and our initials. I run my fingers through the grooves 
she carved. She loved knives even then. Deep breath. I have to get a 
grip. 
  I should call Buffy. She'll be *so* pissed. But I've been 
travelling for days, and I don't want her to worry her any more than 
I must have already. We had a pretty bad fight. She refused to let me 
to come here. First of all, too dangerous. Second, too expensive. 
Third, I've never been here before anyway. She sounded like a broken 
record with that one. But she does *remember* us being together here. 
I went with Dad when I was almost twelve and my parents split up. 
Buffy and Mom moved to Sunnydale, and we came here. Or so those made-
up memories the Monks gave me say. Why give me these memories? Just 
to hurt me? 
  God, how I missed my Mom that first year! I didn't miss Buffy quite 
so much. We never did get along too great in L.A. But we grew closer 
whenever I flew in for a visit that once or twice each year. After a 
few years, I joined Mom and Buffy and we became a real family again. 
Dad never wanted me anyway. After Mom died, Dad called Buffy. He had 
no idea who I was. Mom had memories of me, but Dad never got any. Why 
should he? He was only a part of my life *before* I was real. Major 
mind-fuck.
  Since I came to Sunnydale, my sister's been my best friend. She 
even died for me. I was gonna die for her, for everybody, but she 
wouldn't have it. I feel kinda bad running away from her like this. 
But Buffy doesn't know why I had to come. Nobody knows. Nobody but me 
knows about... *her*. 
  I look down at the bench where I carved the heart. There's no other 
way to beat these shakes. Of course, the carving isn't mine. Not my 
initials, and not hers. I have never been here before. I've never sat 
on this bench. Its all just screwy memories locked in my head. Is 
there anything about me that's real?
  Shut up, head! My heart tells me the #22 is coming to take me to 
her. And guess what? There it is. 
  The other end of Charles Avenue is not such a nice neighbourhood. 
You wouldn't even think it's the same street. So many stops to get 
there! It takes an hour each way, sometimes more. I used get back 
home pretty late sometimes. But I always walked the last block or 
two. No *way* was my Dad going to find out where my 'friend' really 
lived! 
  It makes me laugh a little to think how we all worshipped her. I 
was in seventh grade and she was in eighth. She should have been in 
tenth but she'd been held back. Twice. That had to suck majorly. So 
she was only a grade over us seventh graders, but she seemed like a 
goddess. She gave the teachers lip, raised hell, skipped school. All 
the stuff we all wanted to do. Got into fights all the time, too. But 
she always stood up for "the little kids." That's what she called us. 
Not just the fifth and sixth graders, but us too. If anybody older 
picked on somebody younger, she'd make them *sorry*. She'd talk to 
us, too, like we were real people. I guess if you're set back two 
grades you get used to talking to younger kids. So we all looked up 
to her. 
  And she was mysterious. She had a look in her eye like she knew 
something nobody else did. Something not even our teachers or parents 
knew. 
  She was nice to everybody, but she didn't have any special friends. 
The girls her own age wanted nothing to do with her. And even though 
she was friendly with most people in her own class, she was always 
kinda distant. Except with me. 
  It's coming up. Ring the bell when we pass the church. How can I 
know this?
  I get off the bus. I have the sense to be a little scared. A girl 
really shouldn't be alone here. Broken bottles, broken windows. A man 
across the street is kicking a little dog and yelling. The dog looks 
like it's been dead for days. He's drunk. I should probably jump 
right back on the bus, but my heart is pounding with anticipation. 
This is the place from my dreams. Its exactly as I remember it, too. 
Her building is still there. Rust-stained brown brick. 
  Only she never lived there, did she? And I never went there to see 
her. She never existed. 
  And that's why I'm here. I told Buffy I had to get it out of head, 
living with Dad and everything. I had to see for myself that it was 
never real. But *she* is the real reason. She's the one I can't get 
out of my head. The demon I have to exorcise.
  I wish I could just hold on to the memory. Believe that it was 
real, like I believe I'm Buffy's sister. But it's not the same... You 
see, I still *have* Buffy, but I don't have *her*. There's the Buffy 
I remember from my whole life, but there's also a *real* Buffy, and 
she remembers me, too. So what if it's all fake, who cares? It works. 
It feels right. 
  But *she* isn't real. Just like my nice white-painted house isn't 
real. My head knows it, but my heart just can't let go. Lately I've 
been dreaming of her. I almost forgot her for a time in Sunnydale, 
but now I can hardly believe that some days went by without any 
thoughts of her at all. 
  *I miss her so bad.* I need to see her again, if only to say 
goodbye. But she's not real. So here I am, willing to make my peace 
with reality. To say goodbye to someone I've never met. 
  It all started when she got held back *again*. And we were 
classmates! Both in eighth grade. She learned my name. She was nice 
to me. I got my first big-time crush and started following her around 
everywhere. And what's so amazing is, she *wanted* me around. 
  She knew I loved her. She knew I was afraid to show it. So she took 
the risk herself. She told me she loved me first. That's how great 
she was. 
  So what exactly did we have in common? Well, our parents were split 
up but at least my Mom still loved me. She didn't even know who her 
father was. We were both misfits though, not knowing how to deal with 
life. My Dad didn't care all that much about me, and her Mom cared 
even less about her. Most of all, I didn't mind her secret. She told 
me what everyone guessed: there was a big secret that she was 
keeping. She didn't tell me what it was, but that was OK. She 
promised that one day she would tell me. One day.
  I've thought so much about that secret over the last three years, 
trying to guess what it could have been. Once I imagined that she 
*did* know her Dad, and he was a secret agent. Another time I 
imagined that she had seen some big crime and could never tell or 
they'd come after her next. Sometimes I thought it'd be something to 
do with the woman who picked her up after school some days. The woman 
seemed nice, a lot nicer than her Mom. It was weird that she never 
introduced us. So maybe that woman was part of the secret. But I'll 
never figure it out, and she'll never tell me... 'cause the mystery's 
all in my head. There *is* no secret 'cause there is no *her*. 
  She wasn't often happy. She was just good at keeping the pain 
inside, same as I was. When she got mad, though, she was *scary*. She 
never got mad at me, but she got mad *for* me sometimes. Like that 
one time my math teacher yelled at me for something the boy behind me 
did. Everybody knew I was telling the truth, but nobody would tell 
the teacher. Except her. She came in and faced off and got into one 
of her famous shouting matches. She got detention; Nothing new for 
her, and I felt bad. 
  I still love her. 
"Dawnie!" she would shout, just as eager to see me as I was to see 
her. We'd hang out and watch TV, laugh, make cookies. Or we'd hold 
each other and not say a thing. If her Mom was home, we'd go up on 
the roof. Just my secret girlfriend and I. But her Mom was usually at 
some bar, or sleeping the night through with somebody she barely 
knew. And when it was time for me to go home, she'd walk me to the 
bus stop and wait until I got on, making sure I was safe. Even after 
dark I wasn't afraid with her around me. Of course, she was just a 
few years older than me. She shouldn't have been out at night either. 
  We didn't hide our pain when we were alone. I'd tell her my 
troubles and she'd tell me hers, and sometimes we'd just cry 'cause 
we were sick of pretending to be OK. Her troubles were always a *lot* 
worse than mine. Plus, her big secret. Sometimes it seemed to be a 
good secret. Other times it seemed terrible. Like it was killing her 
and she was protecting me from it. 
  Sometimes I think I hear her voice in a crowd. Her laugh. Every now 
and then Buffy or one of my friends will mention somebody they used 
to know with the same name, and I'll jump. But its impossible that 
they ever knew her. She was my secret.
  Now I'm at her building. No lock on the main door; anybody can get 
in. Inside, every stain and crack is familiar. My breath echoes on 
the concrete as I climb to the fourth floor. What if whoever *really* 
lives here isn't home? Then I'll have to wait. I have to see inside. 
I have to see with my own two eyes that she never lived. That she 
never loved me. Because even *I* didn't exist. 
  My heart is pounding and I'm out of breath from the climb. I'm even 
a little dizzy. Here we go... Number 412! The door knocker is 
missing. She pulled it off herself, by accident, I remember it 
clearly. That was the year before I was created. 
  I still have nightmares about the night I lost her. Something 
terrible happened. Something to do with her secret, but I don't know 
what. She came to my house in the middle of the night, the only time 
she ever came there. She found my window and threw sticks, and 
eventually I woke up. I knew something was wrong. I ran down to let 
her in. I didn't even think about being quiet, but I don't think Dad 
woke up. 
  There was blood on her shirt and she was crying. Not crying just to 
let it out, like we always did. Really crying like she couldn't 
hardly breathe. And she was scared. I'd never saw her so scared 
before that moment. 
  She said she had to go, right then, someplace far away. She didn't 
know if she'd ever see me again. She told me she loved me. And she 
kissed me on the mouth. That's the only time we ever kissed. Then she 
cried, "Goodbye, Dawn" and ran off down the street. I never 
said "goodbye" back. I never even said anything at all. 
  That was three years ago. I knew her for less than a school year. I 
never saw her again. Her Mom wouldn't even open the door when I tried 
to find out where she was. 
  That was one of the worst nights of my life. Why do I have to have 
that memory? After she left, the next years were really bad. I 
usually get good grades, but not in ninth grade. Eventually I stood 
up to my Dad, for once, and said I wanted to go and live with Mom and 
Buffy. Getting out of here helped me get over her. Or so I thought. 
Maybe coming back will get me over her for good. 
  I take a deep breath and knock with my fist, wondering who really 
lives here. A family with kids, like the ones that lived in the house 
I remember being mine? Maybe a drug dealer or a criminal who will try 
to hurt me. I'm scared, for sure. But I've come this far. I have to 
see for myself that she was never here. 
  Her mother opens the door, looking years older than I remember and 
smelling of wine. "What the hell do you want?" 
  Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God. I'm on the floor. Can't 
breathe. Oh my god! Sit up. It can't be her mother. Get a hold of 
yourself. 
"Dawn? It's Dawn Summers, isn't it?" 
  She knows my name. How can she know my name!? It's her. My God, 
it's her mother. 
  My head is swimming, No way can I stand up. Gross sticky floor. I 
don't understand. *"I've never been here before!"* 
  I scream. 
  The woman shrinks back, alarmed. She wants nothing more to do with 
me. "Why don't you just run on home, young lady?" 
  I shake my head, tears running down my face. This can't be! She 
never even existed! "Where is she?" I ask, barely above a whisper. 
  The old lady starts to yell, drunkenly. "Look, she's not here! 
She's been gone for years, and good riddance! I don't know where she 
went, and I don't give a shit!" 
  I can barely make my mouth form the question,
"Her name! Tell me her name! Who is your daughter?" 
  And with a sneer she spits out her daughter's name, before slamming 
the door in my face. The name on my lips each morning when I awaken. 
The girl I loved and who loved me... In the memories I thought were 
lies.
*"Faith."* 





Community email addresses:
  Post message: buffywantswillow@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
  Subscribe:    buffywantswillow-subscribe@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
  Unsubscribe:  buffywantswillow-unsubscribe@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
  List owner:   buffywantswillow-owner@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shortcut URL to this page:
  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/buffywantswillow

Official archive for the list:
  http://www.geocities.com/exquisitecoalescence/

Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service.