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rainbowfic2016-10-17 04:03 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2016-10-17 04:03 pm
Color Party 35, Azul 24: Follow Your Arrow
Author: Kat
Title: Follow Your Arrow
Story: In the Heart
Colors: Color party 35 (Albicant), azul 24 (Against one's own nature) with shipwreck_light's paint-by-numbers (Clara takes "quit it" as a challenge.)
Supplies and Materials: Canvas, yarn (a rocket blasting off), acrylic (urgent), watercolors (That Is So Him, Dude!), oils (a wrestling match)
Word Count: 1014
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Clara and two conversations about her career.
Warnings: parental death, death from cancer
Notes: LAST AZUL HAHAHAHAHA. Anyone wanna give me a new PBN?
When Clara was five years old, Grandma Isabelle asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up.
Clara wasn't surprised. Grandma Isabelle had asked Ethan that when he was five, too, and Daddy said she'd asked him and Gwen when they were five, and she'd always been disappointed in the answers. Grandma Isabelle was disappointed a lot, Clara thought, but she was determined that Grandma Isabelle would not be disappointed in her. So she thought very hard about it, and when her turn came, she beamed up at Grandma Isabelle and said, "I want to be a mommy!"
Grandma Isabelle smiled-- actually smiled!-- at her, and for a moment Clara thought she'd said the right thing, except then Grandma Isabelle said, "Well, yes, darling, but I mean what do you want to do. For a living. A woman can't just be her children."
This was kind of strange, because Grandma Isabelle hadn't worked until after Grandpa Miles divorced her, but Clara thought for a while longer, and said, "Maybe I can be a person who works with kids. Like Miss Anderson at daycare."
This time Grandma Isabelle frowned. Clara's stomach sank.
"Are you sure, darling?" she asked. "Working with children isn't very rewarding." She looked at the picture over the mantle, which was Daddy with his teaching degree and Aunt Gwen in her military uniform, and sighed. "They never seem to make the right choices."
"No," Clara said. "I'm not sure."
Grandma Isabelle leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Well, you think about it, and tell me when you visit me next what you want to do. Maybe you could be a doctor, or a lawyer, even. Or a journalist, like your mother! There's all sorts of wonderful things a woman can do these days."
"Okay," Clara said, doubtfully.
She did as Grandma Isabelle asked, and thought about it very hard, and when she came back for the next visit, she said she wanted to be a scientist. Grandma Isabelle smiled at her again and told her she was a good, smart girl, and would go very far in life.
Clara beamed up at her, and felt all her doubts melt away.
--
Grandma Isabelle died when she was nine, but Clara didn't change her mind. She would be a scientist. Scientist was a good job, a smart job, for a clever girl like she was, and she kind of liked science. She did. She got good grades in it, anyway. English and history came easier and she sometimes thought she had more fun in those classes, but they weren't the kind of thing you could do for a living. Science was.
Then her mother got sick.
So many things happened so fast after her mother got sick. Clara took a leave of absence from freshman year and went home to help her father. Ethan quit his job and took a couple of EMS courses, just in case. They both moved back in to their childhood rooms and did everything they could. Clara even thought about switching to premed when she went back to school, to help people like her mother get better.
Because her mother would get better. The doctors would help her and everything would be all right. Clara stubbornly clung to this thought, long after it became clear that it wasn't true.
The conversation she remembered took place about a week before her mother died. The doctors had finally admitted defeat, and Mom had come home, refusing point-blank to die in the hospital. Dad had a friend who was a nurse and she came in to help out, show Ethan how to put in the IVs and measure the doses of painkillers.
Clara had been reading aloud, some Dave Barry book her mother loved. She remembered that she kept having to blink back tears because they were making the page blurry. Mom was listening with her eyes closed, and laughing every so often, which was nice; Mom hadn't laughed in a while.
She'd stopped for a glass of water, when Mom spoke, the first thing she'd said in almost an hour. "Honey, you're not happy studying science."
Clara sputtered into her water, and put it down quickly. "Mom, what? Of course I am!"
"You're not, though," Mom said. She still hadn't opened her eyes. "I know my daughter. You don't like science, so why are you doing it?"
Clara was quiet for a moment, studying her mother's face. There were new lines there, pain lines, but they weren't very deep right now. Mom looked almost serene. "I... it's fine. It's good. There aren't enough girls in STEM research."
"No, there aren't," Mom said. "That doesn't mean you should sacrifice yourself if it's not what you want to do."
"It is, though," Clara said. "I want to make a difference."
"Close your eyes," Mom said, and Clara did. "Don't think, just answer. As yourself. If you, you, could do or be anything in the world right now, what would it be?"
Clara blurted the first thing that came to mind. "A mother."
Mom laughed. "Good, I want grandchildren, but unfortunately that doesn't pay. You could work with children, though. Be a teacher or a social worker."
"That does sound nice," Clara said, a little wistfully. "But it's so... stereotypical, don't you think?"
"So?" Mom asked. "If it's what makes you happy, what does that matter? You deserve to be happy, my darling girl." She was quiet for a moment. "I've been happy. I've always done exactly what I wanted. Journalism, your father, you and your brother, you were all what I wanted. I might have disappointed some people along the way, but I don't regret my life. I don't want you to regret anything either."
Clara bit her lip hard, to keep from crying. After a moment she cleared her throat and said, "Shall I go on?"
"Please," Mom said. Clara picked the book up and opened it to where she'd left off.
--
Six months after her mother died, she went back to school, to earn her BS in human services.
Title: Follow Your Arrow
Story: In the Heart
Colors: Color party 35 (Albicant), azul 24 (Against one's own nature) with shipwreck_light's paint-by-numbers (Clara takes "quit it" as a challenge.)
Supplies and Materials: Canvas, yarn (a rocket blasting off), acrylic (urgent), watercolors (That Is So Him, Dude!), oils (a wrestling match)
Word Count: 1014
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Clara and two conversations about her career.
Warnings: parental death, death from cancer
Notes: LAST AZUL HAHAHAHAHA. Anyone wanna give me a new PBN?
When Clara was five years old, Grandma Isabelle asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up.
Clara wasn't surprised. Grandma Isabelle had asked Ethan that when he was five, too, and Daddy said she'd asked him and Gwen when they were five, and she'd always been disappointed in the answers. Grandma Isabelle was disappointed a lot, Clara thought, but she was determined that Grandma Isabelle would not be disappointed in her. So she thought very hard about it, and when her turn came, she beamed up at Grandma Isabelle and said, "I want to be a mommy!"
Grandma Isabelle smiled-- actually smiled!-- at her, and for a moment Clara thought she'd said the right thing, except then Grandma Isabelle said, "Well, yes, darling, but I mean what do you want to do. For a living. A woman can't just be her children."
This was kind of strange, because Grandma Isabelle hadn't worked until after Grandpa Miles divorced her, but Clara thought for a while longer, and said, "Maybe I can be a person who works with kids. Like Miss Anderson at daycare."
This time Grandma Isabelle frowned. Clara's stomach sank.
"Are you sure, darling?" she asked. "Working with children isn't very rewarding." She looked at the picture over the mantle, which was Daddy with his teaching degree and Aunt Gwen in her military uniform, and sighed. "They never seem to make the right choices."
"No," Clara said. "I'm not sure."
Grandma Isabelle leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Well, you think about it, and tell me when you visit me next what you want to do. Maybe you could be a doctor, or a lawyer, even. Or a journalist, like your mother! There's all sorts of wonderful things a woman can do these days."
"Okay," Clara said, doubtfully.
She did as Grandma Isabelle asked, and thought about it very hard, and when she came back for the next visit, she said she wanted to be a scientist. Grandma Isabelle smiled at her again and told her she was a good, smart girl, and would go very far in life.
Clara beamed up at her, and felt all her doubts melt away.
--
Grandma Isabelle died when she was nine, but Clara didn't change her mind. She would be a scientist. Scientist was a good job, a smart job, for a clever girl like she was, and she kind of liked science. She did. She got good grades in it, anyway. English and history came easier and she sometimes thought she had more fun in those classes, but they weren't the kind of thing you could do for a living. Science was.
Then her mother got sick.
So many things happened so fast after her mother got sick. Clara took a leave of absence from freshman year and went home to help her father. Ethan quit his job and took a couple of EMS courses, just in case. They both moved back in to their childhood rooms and did everything they could. Clara even thought about switching to premed when she went back to school, to help people like her mother get better.
Because her mother would get better. The doctors would help her and everything would be all right. Clara stubbornly clung to this thought, long after it became clear that it wasn't true.
The conversation she remembered took place about a week before her mother died. The doctors had finally admitted defeat, and Mom had come home, refusing point-blank to die in the hospital. Dad had a friend who was a nurse and she came in to help out, show Ethan how to put in the IVs and measure the doses of painkillers.
Clara had been reading aloud, some Dave Barry book her mother loved. She remembered that she kept having to blink back tears because they were making the page blurry. Mom was listening with her eyes closed, and laughing every so often, which was nice; Mom hadn't laughed in a while.
She'd stopped for a glass of water, when Mom spoke, the first thing she'd said in almost an hour. "Honey, you're not happy studying science."
Clara sputtered into her water, and put it down quickly. "Mom, what? Of course I am!"
"You're not, though," Mom said. She still hadn't opened her eyes. "I know my daughter. You don't like science, so why are you doing it?"
Clara was quiet for a moment, studying her mother's face. There were new lines there, pain lines, but they weren't very deep right now. Mom looked almost serene. "I... it's fine. It's good. There aren't enough girls in STEM research."
"No, there aren't," Mom said. "That doesn't mean you should sacrifice yourself if it's not what you want to do."
"It is, though," Clara said. "I want to make a difference."
"Close your eyes," Mom said, and Clara did. "Don't think, just answer. As yourself. If you, you, could do or be anything in the world right now, what would it be?"
Clara blurted the first thing that came to mind. "A mother."
Mom laughed. "Good, I want grandchildren, but unfortunately that doesn't pay. You could work with children, though. Be a teacher or a social worker."
"That does sound nice," Clara said, a little wistfully. "But it's so... stereotypical, don't you think?"
"So?" Mom asked. "If it's what makes you happy, what does that matter? You deserve to be happy, my darling girl." She was quiet for a moment. "I've been happy. I've always done exactly what I wanted. Journalism, your father, you and your brother, you were all what I wanted. I might have disappointed some people along the way, but I don't regret my life. I don't want you to regret anything either."
Clara bit her lip hard, to keep from crying. After a moment she cleared her throat and said, "Shall I go on?"
"Please," Mom said. Clara picked the book up and opened it to where she'd left off.
--
Six months after her mother died, she went back to school, to earn her BS in human services.