While stepping out of my car into the snowy Panera parking lot about twenty minutes ago a crow flew directly over me and cawed several times, as if to welcome me back after missing last Sunday, and in general to give me a good blessing. I gave the bird a wave, then cawed back–yeah, I do that–then headed inside.
We’ve a little snow falling this morning, but after a week of being stuck in the apartment I needed out. What these people here call, “Oh my gawd, it’s snowing again!” I call “Saturday”, and I’m damned if I’m gonna stay holded up for another morning. I need my time out, even if all I do is sit in a corner and write my blog.
With last night came the start of one more scene, one more closer to the end. After the happiness of flying around the school with Kerry, I was back in Deanna the Seer’s office, with her spilling to Annie what she knew of The Foundation report compiled on her said main squeeze. Now, one might question why she’s doing this, why she’d taking confidential information and telling it to an eleven year old girl. It’s because these people are different. It’s because you’re dealing with children who are all of above-average intelligence with varying degrees of emotional maturity, but who are ultimately carrying a power that, if turned lose without the proper training, could probably smack around with little or no difficulty–or even level a shopping mall if sufficiently provoked. You know, like being told to turn down their iPod.
Deanna treats Annie not as if she’s a child, but rather a maturing girl on the verge of womanhood who is facing a particularly difficult moment in her two-week old relationship with someone she claims to have known all her life. A girl who’s report says she’d been practicing sorcery spell since she was eight, and who was labeled in that same report as “emotionally immature”.
Now lets tell her that her boyfriend is suffering from depression, has spent years isolating himself from the world, and can be considered detached from any emotions that might bring about a modicum of happiness. What could go wrong?
I’d actually dreaded writing the scene, but once I was into it, I found the going a lot easier that I’d imagined. But then, I remembered something: the Kerry that people had seen in the last week wasn’t the same as the Kerry in the report–and their must be a reason for that, yeah? There are changes in his behavior, and it’s not that he’s really that detached from his emotions, it’s that he doesn’t know what to do with them. He needed a new environment, one where he’d find himself pushed and given the opportunity to challenge himself–
To be made to grow as a person.
Though now comes an even bigger reveal, one that won’t see a conclusion until about mid-way through Act Three.
How can I keep all these secrets to myself?