bookblather (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bookblather) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2014-12-11 10:07 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2014-12-11 10:07 pm
White 2, Hills of Iowa 12: Independence
Author: Kat
Title: Independence
Story: In the Heart
Colors: White 2 (white picket fence), hills of Iowa 12 (God looks like a guidance counselor.)
Supplies and Materials: Pastels (this challenge, ruining the holiday dinner), bichromatic, stain ("Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." - Jung), brush (flapdoodle),
Word Count: 729
Rating: PG
Summary: A woman's place is nobody's business but her own.
Warnings: minor sexism.
Notes: So Joy has a lot more relatives than I thought.
It wasn't so much that Joy was the black sheep of her extended family as that her entire family was, mother and father and Joy herself. Which meant that family holidays could get... awkward.
"So, dear," Diane, her aunt-by-marriage-on-her-mother's-side asked, passing the potatoes down along the line. "When are you going to get a real job? Your looks won't last forever, you know."
"I have a real job," Joy replied, sweetly, and snagged a dinner roll off the plate before her second-uncle-on-her-father's-side could get it. The man had no sense of moderation and would eat literally any carbohydrates set before him.
Diane tsked, and looked at her husband. "Well, dear, modeling isn't really... hmm."
"Adult," supplied her uncle-on-her-mother's-side. His name was Joe, but Joy was fairly sure nobody had called him anything but Ratchet since he was five. Something about a disassembled radio. "It's a rather childish career."
If only they knew that she was primarily a stripper. Joy looked across the table and caught her mother smothering a laugh and her father looking strongly innocent. "It works for me," she said. "I'll just never grow up then."
"Attagirl," her father interrupted, before anyone else could speak up. "Growing up is more trouble than it's worth."
"Amen," muttered--surprisingly--her oldest-aunt-on-her-father's-side, Catherine. That aunt was a slightly crotchety old woman and Joy had been more used to criticism from her than anything else. Interesting.
Diane shook her head. "But, dear, what will you do when you want to have children?" Faux concern lit her face.
Joy fluttered her eyelashes and said, "Oh, I have any number of options, auntie. I can adopt, or go to a sperm bank, or just walk into a bar and--"
"Not at the table, Joyful," her mother said, calmly. "Diane, leave my daughter alone. Last I heard you weren't so keen on the white picket fence either."
That started a three-way argument between Diane, Joy's second-youngest-aunt-on-her-father's-side Lana, and her mother about the proper life path for a woman and third-wave feminism, while her father shamelessly egged on all sides. Joy didn't bother listening. She'd heard it every family dinner as far back as she could remember.
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" her aunt Catherine asked her, in an undertone. Joy blinked at her.
"It is, a bit," she replied, cautiously. Just because Catherine had agreed about something...
But evidently Catherine planned to surprise her today. "As if a woman's place is anybody's business but her own."
And God's, but Catherine wasn't very religious. Joy settled for, "Ain't that the truth."
Joy ate for a little bit, under cover of the ongoing argument, until Catherine asked, shrewdly, "Are you really a model?"
An honest question deserved an honest answer. "Yes," Joy said, "but only sometimes. Mostly I earn my keep dancing."
"That much is obvious," Catherine said, and surprisingly, patted her on the shoulder. "You go on and do your dancing, child. If anyone gives you trouble just step on them."
Joy hid a grin in her mashed potatoes. "Anything you say, Aunt Catherine."
Later on, at home, brushing her hair before bed, the whole conversation came back to her. Not the argument, but Diane, and Catherine.
Not the specifics of it-- her job, and children, and the white picket fence and all of that. That was just a means of expressing the real argument; "why aren't you doing things our way."
Joy was thankful that her parents had never made her do that. They'd let her pick her own path, from studies to extracurricular activities to significant others to religion, and they'd never judged her when her choices differed from their own. She knew they worried-- of course they did. She'd never been to college and had no plans to go, and dancing wasn't exactly a long-term career. But they trusted her to have her own plans. They trusted her with her own life.
And wasn't that the crux of it, that her family didn't trust her with her own life?
She sighed, and propped her chin on her hand. It wasn't that she didn't want to do things the same way, at least a little bit. She wanted to get married someday, to have children and a little house in the suburbs, white picket fence and all. Maybe she could teach, open up a little dance studio of her own, while her spouse did their own thing. But those were choices for the future.
It was like Aunt Catherine said, hypocritical as it might be considering some of the things she'd said in the past-- it was nobody's business but her own. She could trust in herself, and in God, and everything would turn out all right.
Diane could suck it. Joy had everything under control.
Title: Independence
Story: In the Heart
Colors: White 2 (white picket fence), hills of Iowa 12 (God looks like a guidance counselor.)
Supplies and Materials: Pastels (this challenge, ruining the holiday dinner), bichromatic, stain ("Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." - Jung), brush (flapdoodle),
Word Count: 729
Rating: PG
Summary: A woman's place is nobody's business but her own.
Warnings: minor sexism.
Notes: So Joy has a lot more relatives than I thought.
It wasn't so much that Joy was the black sheep of her extended family as that her entire family was, mother and father and Joy herself. Which meant that family holidays could get... awkward.
"So, dear," Diane, her aunt-by-marriage-on-her-mother's-side asked, passing the potatoes down along the line. "When are you going to get a real job? Your looks won't last forever, you know."
"I have a real job," Joy replied, sweetly, and snagged a dinner roll off the plate before her second-uncle-on-her-father's-side could get it. The man had no sense of moderation and would eat literally any carbohydrates set before him.
Diane tsked, and looked at her husband. "Well, dear, modeling isn't really... hmm."
"Adult," supplied her uncle-on-her-mother's-side. His name was Joe, but Joy was fairly sure nobody had called him anything but Ratchet since he was five. Something about a disassembled radio. "It's a rather childish career."
If only they knew that she was primarily a stripper. Joy looked across the table and caught her mother smothering a laugh and her father looking strongly innocent. "It works for me," she said. "I'll just never grow up then."
"Attagirl," her father interrupted, before anyone else could speak up. "Growing up is more trouble than it's worth."
"Amen," muttered--surprisingly--her oldest-aunt-on-her-father's-side, Catherine. That aunt was a slightly crotchety old woman and Joy had been more used to criticism from her than anything else. Interesting.
Diane shook her head. "But, dear, what will you do when you want to have children?" Faux concern lit her face.
Joy fluttered her eyelashes and said, "Oh, I have any number of options, auntie. I can adopt, or go to a sperm bank, or just walk into a bar and--"
"Not at the table, Joyful," her mother said, calmly. "Diane, leave my daughter alone. Last I heard you weren't so keen on the white picket fence either."
That started a three-way argument between Diane, Joy's second-youngest-aunt-on-her-father's-side Lana, and her mother about the proper life path for a woman and third-wave feminism, while her father shamelessly egged on all sides. Joy didn't bother listening. She'd heard it every family dinner as far back as she could remember.
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" her aunt Catherine asked her, in an undertone. Joy blinked at her.
"It is, a bit," she replied, cautiously. Just because Catherine had agreed about something...
But evidently Catherine planned to surprise her today. "As if a woman's place is anybody's business but her own."
And God's, but Catherine wasn't very religious. Joy settled for, "Ain't that the truth."
Joy ate for a little bit, under cover of the ongoing argument, until Catherine asked, shrewdly, "Are you really a model?"
An honest question deserved an honest answer. "Yes," Joy said, "but only sometimes. Mostly I earn my keep dancing."
"That much is obvious," Catherine said, and surprisingly, patted her on the shoulder. "You go on and do your dancing, child. If anyone gives you trouble just step on them."
Joy hid a grin in her mashed potatoes. "Anything you say, Aunt Catherine."
Later on, at home, brushing her hair before bed, the whole conversation came back to her. Not the argument, but Diane, and Catherine.
Not the specifics of it-- her job, and children, and the white picket fence and all of that. That was just a means of expressing the real argument; "why aren't you doing things our way."
Joy was thankful that her parents had never made her do that. They'd let her pick her own path, from studies to extracurricular activities to significant others to religion, and they'd never judged her when her choices differed from their own. She knew they worried-- of course they did. She'd never been to college and had no plans to go, and dancing wasn't exactly a long-term career. But they trusted her to have her own plans. They trusted her with her own life.
And wasn't that the crux of it, that her family didn't trust her with her own life?
She sighed, and propped her chin on her hand. It wasn't that she didn't want to do things the same way, at least a little bit. She wanted to get married someday, to have children and a little house in the suburbs, white picket fence and all. Maybe she could teach, open up a little dance studio of her own, while her spouse did their own thing. But those were choices for the future.
It was like Aunt Catherine said, hypocritical as it might be considering some of the things she'd said in the past-- it was nobody's business but her own. She could trust in herself, and in God, and everything would turn out all right.
Diane could suck it. Joy had everything under control.