![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eisoj5Eh.
Maybe (and this is serious wishful thinking on my part, especially if I get Makin' Magic today) I'll have a couple of really productive days coming up to make up for it.
"Look, it's already hard enough just as their daughter to talk to them. If I can't even begin to relate to them on a Track basis--" Maria tosses the remaining stems away with a violent jerking motion. "Your parents are normal, at least. I don't think they'd yell at you if you turned out Trackless--I'm not saying you are, just that if you were, they wouldn't care so much."
I squint at her in the dimness. "Maybe."
"This sucks." Her black hair falls forward into her face when she looks down.
"Is Jason coming over?" I ask, trying to get her to stop thinking about it.
"Yeah, maybe. If he doesn't break up with me first."
"He's not going to break up with you, dumbass," I tell her, feeling a little exasperated, not an uncommon feeling when it comes to Maria. "He likes you." God. Sometimes I feel like a girl when I talk to her.
"What if he does? What if he doesn't want to be with somebody who's nobody?" Maria swings her legs under the branch, kicking her heels against it.
"Look, this is stupid, Maria. If he doesn't want to go out with you anymore, then he's as stupid as a--as fucking Lindsey Russell, okay? Don't worry about it." I get into a climbing position. "I gotta go."
"Are you going to tell your parents?" Maria touches my leg, holding me back.
"I don't think they'll care," I say slowly. "It's not such a big deal."
She compresses her lips together and nods. "Okay. You're right." She doesn't sound convinced, but I let her sit out there with her thoughts and crawl back into my room. Which is when I remember her present. Crap. I run downstairs and spot the small, crudely wrapped box on the kitchen counter.
"If you're going next door, tell Maria happy birthday from us," Mom calls from the study.
"I will," I yell back. Will they call it a happy birthday on Monday if I'm Trackless?
The side door slams shut behind me when I run out to the tree. She's still up there; I can see one of her legs hanging down. Her toenails have sparkly crap on them.
"Hey, Maria."
"Hey what?"
"I forgot to give you your present." I grip the little box tightly and put my other hand on the rope. "I'm coming back up."
She arches an eyebrow at the box when I hand it to her. "Nice job on the wrapping," she comments. "Did you use up the whole roll of tape?"
"Shut up and just open it."
"If I can," she laughs, wedging a finger under the most accessible fold. Eventually she rips enough paper apart to get to the box itself, and lifts the lid off.
"Aw, thanks," she says, taking one of the earrings out and examining it as best she can in the twilight. They're silver crescent moons, and kind of dangly. I don't really get jewelry, but she seems to like them. "I'd hug you, but I think I'd fall out of the tree," Maria continues, laying it back in the box and smiling at me.
"I wanted to find little bare-assed earrings, actually," I admit. "My mom helped me pick those."
Maria laughs.
"She also says--" I hesitate, then go ahead and say it, it can't really make things any worse--"uh, happy birthday, too."
A grimace crosses her face. "See. That's normal."
Okay, yeah, the Pengs are a little weird about Tracks. Not that anyone can really be considered the norm, when it comes to how they deal with Tracks, but if there was a norm, the Pengs wouldn't be it.
They do the multiple personality route; there's been times when I actually had to have conversations with Mr. Peng's "dictator of a small South American country" Track. Like, I get it if you're going to change your name to that of one of your Tracks. That's not unheard of. And if there's more than one dominant expression of your neural energy, that's all well and good, too. Two heads are better than one, I guess. But to actively engage all three of your known Tracks in conversation with each other at breakfast? That's just not right.
Maria tries to explain that her parents consider this the fullest realization of their lives, but I don't think she buys it, either. There's really only so much of a Track that Memories can give you. The rest is usually bullshit.
Usually. I should qualify that. It's usually bullshit.
Maybe (and this is serious wishful thinking on my part, especially if I get Makin' Magic today) I'll have a couple of really productive days coming up to make up for it.
"Look, it's already hard enough just as their daughter to talk to them. If I can't even begin to relate to them on a Track basis--" Maria tosses the remaining stems away with a violent jerking motion. "Your parents are normal, at least. I don't think they'd yell at you if you turned out Trackless--I'm not saying you are, just that if you were, they wouldn't care so much."
I squint at her in the dimness. "Maybe."
"This sucks." Her black hair falls forward into her face when she looks down.
"Is Jason coming over?" I ask, trying to get her to stop thinking about it.
"Yeah, maybe. If he doesn't break up with me first."
"He's not going to break up with you, dumbass," I tell her, feeling a little exasperated, not an uncommon feeling when it comes to Maria. "He likes you." God. Sometimes I feel like a girl when I talk to her.
"What if he does? What if he doesn't want to be with somebody who's nobody?" Maria swings her legs under the branch, kicking her heels against it.
"Look, this is stupid, Maria. If he doesn't want to go out with you anymore, then he's as stupid as a--as fucking Lindsey Russell, okay? Don't worry about it." I get into a climbing position. "I gotta go."
"Are you going to tell your parents?" Maria touches my leg, holding me back.
"I don't think they'll care," I say slowly. "It's not such a big deal."
She compresses her lips together and nods. "Okay. You're right." She doesn't sound convinced, but I let her sit out there with her thoughts and crawl back into my room. Which is when I remember her present. Crap. I run downstairs and spot the small, crudely wrapped box on the kitchen counter.
"If you're going next door, tell Maria happy birthday from us," Mom calls from the study.
"I will," I yell back. Will they call it a happy birthday on Monday if I'm Trackless?
The side door slams shut behind me when I run out to the tree. She's still up there; I can see one of her legs hanging down. Her toenails have sparkly crap on them.
"Hey, Maria."
"Hey what?"
"I forgot to give you your present." I grip the little box tightly and put my other hand on the rope. "I'm coming back up."
She arches an eyebrow at the box when I hand it to her. "Nice job on the wrapping," she comments. "Did you use up the whole roll of tape?"
"Shut up and just open it."
"If I can," she laughs, wedging a finger under the most accessible fold. Eventually she rips enough paper apart to get to the box itself, and lifts the lid off.
"Aw, thanks," she says, taking one of the earrings out and examining it as best she can in the twilight. They're silver crescent moons, and kind of dangly. I don't really get jewelry, but she seems to like them. "I'd hug you, but I think I'd fall out of the tree," Maria continues, laying it back in the box and smiling at me.
"I wanted to find little bare-assed earrings, actually," I admit. "My mom helped me pick those."
Maria laughs.
"She also says--" I hesitate, then go ahead and say it, it can't really make things any worse--"uh, happy birthday, too."
A grimace crosses her face. "See. That's normal."
Okay, yeah, the Pengs are a little weird about Tracks. Not that anyone can really be considered the norm, when it comes to how they deal with Tracks, but if there was a norm, the Pengs wouldn't be it.
They do the multiple personality route; there's been times when I actually had to have conversations with Mr. Peng's "dictator of a small South American country" Track. Like, I get it if you're going to change your name to that of one of your Tracks. That's not unheard of. And if there's more than one dominant expression of your neural energy, that's all well and good, too. Two heads are better than one, I guess. But to actively engage all three of your known Tracks in conversation with each other at breakfast? That's just not right.
Maria tries to explain that her parents consider this the fullest realization of their lives, but I don't think she buys it, either. There's really only so much of a Track that Memories can give you. The rest is usually bullshit.
Usually. I should qualify that. It's usually bullshit.
