Loglet - Jennie
Sep. 29th, 2005 04:08 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logs Jennie contemplates Forge's advice, and takes a trip down memory lane.
In Jennie’s earliest memory, she remembers sitting in her mother’s old caddy, parked at an old gas station on the freeay between Las Vegas and Reno. She couldn't remember how old she was, but she remembered feeling the heat of the Nevada sun on the leather seats, which her sweaty legs stuck to. She was sitting with her chin propped on the door, squinting behind blue plastic sunglasses. In the distance vultures circled lazily. She then heard the clack-clack of her mother’s sandals, and the clunk-skreetch of the door opening. Jennie could still even remember what her mother was wearing; cut-offs and a neon-pink tank-top with white plastic sunglasses, and her curly hair was neatly pinned. Her mother flopped herself down into the seat and handed Jennie a package of chocolate gem doughnuts, which Jennie tried to open with her tiny, clumsy fingers.
“Hold on.” Her mother said. Jennie remembered looking up at her mother imploringly. Her mother started the car and put it into gear. She then reached over and tore the package open with neat red fingernails. “Here baby.” She handed Jennie one and then popped one into her mouth, holding it there while she shifted and pulled the car back out onto the freeway. That’s how she always liked to remember her mother. Skinny, pretty, with a chocolate doughnut in her mouth.
It was better than her last memory of her mother. Blue bathrobe clutched tightly around her pudgy frame, frosted hair a mess, her once-pretty features wasted and bloated from years of drug abuse, twisted with anger.
“Get out of here, you little slut!” She was screaming at Jennie from the door of her trailer, and tossing a backpack at her. “If you want to go sluttin’ around with that Bixby boy, you go right ahead. But you can’t do it here any more.” Her accented voice echoed around the park in the early morning. Curious neighbors poked their heads out of their trailer doorways. Jennie just stood there, in their driveway, biting the inside of her cheek and trying not to cry. Her mother had caught her and her boyfriend fooling around in her room three days earlier. Penelope had said nothing, while Beau had jumped up, hastily apologized, pulled on his clothes and got out like the hounds of hell were after him. Jennie figured that her mother must have been coming down off of something, because Penelope had just shook her head and went straight to her room. Jennie didn’t see her again until early that morning, when she had barged into her room reeking of alcohol, screaming at her and calling her a whore and slapping her. Jennie ducked the blows, pulling on her pants and running into the hall. She could hear her mother opening and slamming drawers, and flinging things around the room, cursing.
After her mother finished destroying her room, she stormed out, bag in hand. She grabbed Jennie’s upper arm and forced her out the front door. Jennie stood there, barefoot and shivering on that cool early fall morning, listening to her mother call her every filthy name she knew, before switching to Greek and cursing her some more. Jennie tried to connect this alien, ugly woman with the pretty laughing woman in her memory, and failed. Jennie’s mother finished her tirade, and slammed the door shut on her trailer so hard that the windows rattled. Jennie gingerly picked up the bag that her mother had thrown at her. So that was it then. She had just been thrown out of her house. She was 14 years old.
Two years later Jennie was sitting in upstate New York staring at a computer screen. Forge’s words were rattling around her brain. Why should she try to talk to her? Just because Forge’s parents turned out to be decent didn't mean that her mother was, and why should she even care? But a teeny tiny part of Jennie still remembered her on that summer day, eating doughnuts in a gas station At one point in her life, Jennie’s mother must of loved her. Jennie sighed to herself. It was a shot in the dark, but what did she have to lose? She clicked SEND.
In Jennie’s earliest memory, she remembers sitting in her mother’s old caddy, parked at an old gas station on the freeay between Las Vegas and Reno. She couldn't remember how old she was, but she remembered feeling the heat of the Nevada sun on the leather seats, which her sweaty legs stuck to. She was sitting with her chin propped on the door, squinting behind blue plastic sunglasses. In the distance vultures circled lazily. She then heard the clack-clack of her mother’s sandals, and the clunk-skreetch of the door opening. Jennie could still even remember what her mother was wearing; cut-offs and a neon-pink tank-top with white plastic sunglasses, and her curly hair was neatly pinned. Her mother flopped herself down into the seat and handed Jennie a package of chocolate gem doughnuts, which Jennie tried to open with her tiny, clumsy fingers.
“Hold on.” Her mother said. Jennie remembered looking up at her mother imploringly. Her mother started the car and put it into gear. She then reached over and tore the package open with neat red fingernails. “Here baby.” She handed Jennie one and then popped one into her mouth, holding it there while she shifted and pulled the car back out onto the freeway. That’s how she always liked to remember her mother. Skinny, pretty, with a chocolate doughnut in her mouth.
It was better than her last memory of her mother. Blue bathrobe clutched tightly around her pudgy frame, frosted hair a mess, her once-pretty features wasted and bloated from years of drug abuse, twisted with anger.
“Get out of here, you little slut!” She was screaming at Jennie from the door of her trailer, and tossing a backpack at her. “If you want to go sluttin’ around with that Bixby boy, you go right ahead. But you can’t do it here any more.” Her accented voice echoed around the park in the early morning. Curious neighbors poked their heads out of their trailer doorways. Jennie just stood there, in their driveway, biting the inside of her cheek and trying not to cry. Her mother had caught her and her boyfriend fooling around in her room three days earlier. Penelope had said nothing, while Beau had jumped up, hastily apologized, pulled on his clothes and got out like the hounds of hell were after him. Jennie figured that her mother must have been coming down off of something, because Penelope had just shook her head and went straight to her room. Jennie didn’t see her again until early that morning, when she had barged into her room reeking of alcohol, screaming at her and calling her a whore and slapping her. Jennie ducked the blows, pulling on her pants and running into the hall. She could hear her mother opening and slamming drawers, and flinging things around the room, cursing.
After her mother finished destroying her room, she stormed out, bag in hand. She grabbed Jennie’s upper arm and forced her out the front door. Jennie stood there, barefoot and shivering on that cool early fall morning, listening to her mother call her every filthy name she knew, before switching to Greek and cursing her some more. Jennie tried to connect this alien, ugly woman with the pretty laughing woman in her memory, and failed. Jennie’s mother finished her tirade, and slammed the door shut on her trailer so hard that the windows rattled. Jennie gingerly picked up the bag that her mother had thrown at her. So that was it then. She had just been thrown out of her house. She was 14 years old.
Two years later Jennie was sitting in upstate New York staring at a computer screen. Forge’s words were rattling around her brain. Why should she try to talk to her? Just because Forge’s parents turned out to be decent didn't mean that her mother was, and why should she even care? But a teeny tiny part of Jennie still remembered her on that summer day, eating doughnuts in a gas station At one point in her life, Jennie’s mother must of loved her. Jennie sighed to herself. It was a shot in the dark, but what did she have to lose? She clicked SEND.
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