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Apt Pupil
by Elena B.
email: elenabtvs@yahoo.ca
Website: http://bifictionalbedlam.slashcity.net/guests/elena.html
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Character: Lindsey
Improv: Stephen King Title Challenge Improv#49
Disclaimer: All characters not mine at all. They belong to ME, Fox,
etc. Sadly.
Feedback: Always welcome.
Distribution: Just ask me.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Minim Calibre for the sage advice.
***
In some ways I've always been in school; always been learning
something new. Not so much when I was young, grade school in rural
Oklahoma leaves much to be desired in the way of learning. Hell, so
does high school, for that matter. Where we learned was in Sunday
School. They took that appellation very seriously. Every Sunday we
were learning about Jesus, about the Bible. About sin and wickedness
and forgiveness and redemption.
Miz Chisley would tell us stories, parables and morality plays, and
then ask us what we'd learned from them. And we'd sit there,
snot-nosed little brats dressed in our pitifully ragged Sunday best,
and sing out answers in slow, thick drawls.
Jesus loves us. God kin see ev'ry thin' we do. Love thy
neighbour. Turn t'other cheek. The meek shall inher't the
earth – - bein' meek is like bein' poor, we're the
meek.
This is what we were taught, what we learned. They never bothered
much with reading or writing, as long as we could recite our weekly
Bible verse and colour Jesus healing the lepers inside the lines Miz
Chisley was satisfied.
I believed it, I trusted Miz Chisley, believed her word as if it were
Gospel. And I believed the Gospel, too. Believed that I'd
inherit the earth, or at least my Daddy's farm. But then they
came, men in neat suits, driving magnificent cars - - Hell, I just
now realise that their suits were just this side of shabby and their
cars beat to shit, but it was so much more than we had. Anyway, the
men came from the Bank and they foreclosed on the farm. They took
the house, the second-hand washing machine that was Momma's
treasure.
The only thing they left was the pickup, it was so dinged up that it
wasn't worth their while to claim.
I can still remember the look on Daddy's face, though it took me
years to recognise it. He was beyond despair, beyond sorrow; he was
defeated, and it showed in every line on his face, in the slump of
his shoulders, the way he seemed to shrink. He was diminished in my
eyes and in his own. I learned that a man who can't take care of
his family isn't any kind of man. Daddy taught me that.
He fell apart, drinking and beating on us and Momma. Momma
wouldn't hear a word against him. I run across her one
afternoon, she was sitting in her sister's kitchen, crying and
peeling taters. Her face was bruised, eyes all black and puffy. I
asked her what was the matter, and Aunt Cissy told me that my no-good
father had smacked her. Momma got all het up and told Cissy to shut
up. That he was a good man just fallen on hard times. I looked
around that cramped kitchen, thought about the shit-hole of an
apartment that now had four adults and seven kids living in a space
not large enough to hold two comfortably. I thought about skimpy
dinners and absent lunches. I thought about sharing a room with two
cousins who hated me. I thought about my sisters crying over their
shabby, outgrown dresses. So I asked Momma why God had forsaken our
family, why He had let Daddy fail us so badly. She slapped my face.
It was the first and only time Momma had ever struck me. It shocked
me more than it hurt; but I remember that single blow more clearly
than the hundreds of times Daddy took his fists or his belt to me. I
learned that cruelty that follows gentleness is more painful than
constant cruelty. Momma taught me that. I haven't forgotten it.
Momma started crying, again. She looked at her hand and said that
she would cut it off before she'd ever strike a child of hers
again. Oh, man, I'd forgotten that she'd said that! Fucking
irony.
Anyway, she keeps talking. Tells me that Daddy isn't a failure,
that God hasn't forsaken the McDonald's. She says that not a
one of us is ungodly; none of us cheat or lie or take the name of the
Lord in vain. That she prays each night for the souls of her
children, and none of us is bad, we don't run foul of the law or
the Church. According to her we'll get our reward in Heaven if
we're good. That all of the hardships we endure are blessing
from God, because they'll make us strong in our faith and
foremost in His eyes.
I learned that hunger is stronger than faith. God taught me that. I
learned that nothing is worse than poverty. Oklahoma taught me
that.
So I studied day and night. I ignored the taunts of my cousins and
other bullies at school. Every afternoon they tried to take my books
from me; every morning they tried to destroy my homework; every day I
fought them. And every day I lost. Every single fucking day for
six fucking years. I learned that might makes right and that the
meek get shafted. A thousand fists taught me that.
Got straight As, though. Not a grade lower than 95. I took the SATs
at fifteen; 800 verbal, 780 math. Highest score in the Southwest.
Didn't help me a fucking bit. Got a full ride at a decent school
and got tossed before Thanksgiving. Fighting was frowned upon, they
told me. Don't fit in with the other students, they said. Not
up to the challenge of higher education, they lied. They didn't care
that I was provoked into fighting. Didn't notice that I had the
shit beaten out of me. Didn't mention that the boys that beat me
were let off the hook. Why should they? I wasn't a subliterate
power forward or a Neanderthal fullback. I was just a redneck Okie
with ambition; a talking dog, a freakshow. I learned that no one was
going to help me but me. My entire life taught me that.
So I dug up some dirt on a local businessman. The local
businessman, family money and a nasty hooker habit. Got me though my
undergrad degree, but I wanted more than a useless degree from a
shitty State School. Had my eye on a career, one where I would wear
a fancy suit and drive an expensive car. I wanted to be the one
making the rules. No, not making them; I wanted to break them, to
trample them, to pull a Carthage on their fucking rules. I learned
that I wanted to be a lawyer. Television taught me that.
I squeezed everything I could out of Oklahoma Wayne. He ended up
broke, divorced and disgraced. I didn't spare him any pity, man
screwed up. You have secrets that can destroy you, you gotta learn
to bury them deep. I guess that I taught him that. Too late, but
any knowledge you gain is good.
It took me some doing, but I managed to find a couple of new
backers. You can find out a lot about rich folk by talking to the
help. Especially if they're disgruntled and need a little
spending money. Never piss off the people who clean up after you;
it'll end up costing you plenty. I learned to clean up my own
mess. It's safer.
So I got my tuition paid for, and housing, too. It wasn't enough;
you need books in law school, and clothes. Shit, you'd think you
were back in high school, the importance they place on designer
clothes and the right shoes; but I'd learned that it mattered. I
learned that people are easily impressed by an expensive suit and a
good haircut; that people are superficial. I learned that people are
easy to fool. You look the part and play it right and they'll
believe that you came from the right city and school and family. They
won't dig too deep if you carry an important briefcase and talk
impressive. Image is everything; and image is expensive.
I found alternate sources of money and clothing and accessories. I
learned that there are lots of people who like having a nice-looking
boy who talks pretty. I learned the feel of sweaty flesh against
mine. The softness of pampered skin and the hardness of sculpted
muscle. I learned when to fight and when to flirt; when to swallow
my pride – and other things. I learned the smell of fear and
desire; the taste of blood and passion. I learned that sometimes you
make things happen and sometimes you let things happen. I learned
the limits I would go to in order to escape my past. I only wish
that I was surprised at how far gone those limits were.
And then Wolfram and Hart came knocking at my door, and I learned
that there was so much more to learn.
I can't rightly say that I regret a thing. Any knowledge is good,
right?
Right?
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