Before we get to the fun with our favorite Cardiff Kid, a side track into my life, and how crazy I can get at times.
Last night, after work, I went out for a nice, thirty minute drive, to see a wonderful lady who proceeded to shoot electricity into my face. Yes, I started on electrolysis last night, and it was an experience, having your facial hairs shocked out of your body one at a time. Actually, more like shocked until they are dead, and then plucked away.
I was in the chair for two hours, and there was pain. I spent most of the time tense and clutching an armrest in one hand and a grounding bar in the other. (Yeah, you gotta let that juice flow through you, baby.) And when the two hours were over, most of the left side of my face and parts of my chin were swollen and numb, and stayed that way for a while–like, for the rest of the night–and I looked like I was attacked by bees.
I mean, it wasn’t that bad . . .
I’m going back for my next session next Monday after letting everything grow out for two days, which will make getting all the gray hairs easier.
So then the right side of my face will look like this.
There’s a lot of redness and just a bit of puffiness this morning, but as Cosima Niehaus once told one of her clone sisters, “Thank god for concealer.” And it will be getting a workout today.
The personal horror show is over, let’s get back to the one starting up in my story.
Kerry is starting to get a bit of shit from him folks–and, yes, I did write after all the stuff I’ve shown you above. Almost a thousand words of stuff, actually. Kerry’s parents–well, his mother mostly, it seems–find it a little hard to believe their baby we-still-don’t-know-he’s-a-witch boy would have friends who are girls instead of hanging with the boys. And that gets addressed.
(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)
Kerry slowly turned towards his mother, unsure if he’d heard her question. “What?”
“Do you have any friends at school who are boys?”
“Well, there’s a guy in the advanced class I’m taking who we hang with a little after class, and a couple of others we know in other classes, but—” He looked down at his fish and chips while clearing this throat. “Not really.”
His mother’s fingers lightly tapped against the table top. “Not really what?”
“I mean, I don’t really hang out with them.” He shrugged. “Not like, you know, close friends.”
His father decided to join the conversation. “So almost all your friends are girls?”
Kerry half-turned his head in his father’s direction. “Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
Louise wrapped her hand around her glass of mineral water. “It might not be a bad idea if you had some male friends—” She looked across the table at her husband. “And not just this Girl Who Writes.”
Kerry heard the capital letters on each of the last three works, and he did his best to push any nasty comebacks aside. “I don’t know why it’s a big deal I don’t have any close friends who are guys—”
There’s that slam again, and this time, as I point out, Kerry’s hearing Mom capitalizing those words. Again, wait for what happens there, and you’ll find out Mom is using some of Kerry’s geekness against him.
His mother shook her head. “You did when you were at school here.”
“No, I didn’t, Mom.” He scoffed loudly. “I didn’t have any friends here; everyone thought I was a strange American kid with a funny accent—remember? The only reason you think I had friends is ‘cause I told you the moment people found out you worked for the BBC, they wanted to know if I could get them tee shirts and stuff.” He pushed his half-eaten wrapper of food away. “Jeez.”
Kerry’s usually pretty calm and cool–when he’s not crying, yeah–but now he’s getting a bit flustered. And kids from California have a funny accent? Dude . . .
“I agree with your mother—” Davyn seemed to lean a little further forward, if that were possible. “Having some boys your age as friends—”
“Is boring.” Kerry couldn’t understand what the big deal was about his choice of friends. They were never like this when I was going to school here. “Besides, Salem is mostly girls anyway—it used to be an all-girls school, you know.” He turned from his father to his mother, and back. “Since it’s mostly girls, it makes sense that I’d make friends with them, right?”
“All the more reason I’d think you’d want to hang out with some boys.” He father sat back, chuckling. “There’s safety in numbers, isn’t there?”
Yeah, watch out, Kerry! Those girls have cooties, and if you’re not careful, before you know it they’ll wanna do stuff like hold hands and kiss and sleep with you, and tell you all about how they’re going to marry you and . . .
Oops. Too late.
Kerry starts asking his own questions, and . . .
“Only if you think the girls are out to get you.” Kerry decided to try and push the conversation back on his parent. “Didn’t you have any girls as friends, Dad?”
Davyn’s response was immediate. “No.”
Kerry needed a few seconds to comprehend his father’s answer. “You’re kidding.”
“He’s not.” Louise smiled at her husband. “Your father was quite popular with the women before we met.”
His father smiled back. “The women I knew loved the accent.”
Kerry stared straight ahead through half-closed eyes. “I don’t want to know.” He turned back to his mother. “What about you, Mom? Didn’t you have any guys who you were just friends with?”
Unlike with his father, his mother didn’t answer for almost ten seconds. “Well, yes, there were a couple—”
Kerry raised his right hand as if he were celebrating a victory. “There you go—”
“They were gay.”
“Oh.” Kerry pursed his lips and blew out a raspberry. “I see.”
As I was told yesterday, the implications that his parents could be forming are (1) Kerry is a playa, or (2) Kerry is gay. How do his parents get those ideas? Well . . . they pretty much were that before they found each other and got married. Makes you wonder if Louise figured she was getting the Bay Catch of the Day when she landed Davyn, because he’s got that Richard Burton accent thing going. As Kerry says, I don’t want to know.
But, you know, moms being moms, she wants to know all about these . . . girls. And now the uncomfort level is about to get cranked, and if you pay close attention, Kerry sort of gives away a little of the game in the process before–
His mother wanted to know more about Kerry’s choice of friends. “So, how do you know these girls?”
He looked up and nearly rolled his eyes. “Mom.”
“Mom, what? Don’t I have a right to know about your friends?”
Kerry wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but figured he would tell his parent as much of the truth as they wanted to know, then head for his room. “Nadine’s in the advanced class we’re in—”
“Annie and I: we’re in an advanced class together, and Nadine’s there.”
“I see. Go on.”
He cleared his throat. “Nadine is also my keyboard tutor—”
“Wait?” Davyn cocked his head to one say. “A keyboard tutor?”
“Yeah. First day of school I found the school’s collection of keyboards, and the head of the Arts and Music Department, Professor Ellison, and I started talking. He found out I like a lot of old music, and asked me if I wanted to learn how to play better.” He nodded slowly, turning back to his mother. “He got Nadine to tutor me on different technologies and things like that, on top of learning to be a better player.”
For the first time during the conversation Louise seemed impressed. “I didn’t know that.”
Kerry shrugged. “All you had to do was ask about some of the stuff I do there.”
His mother didn’t care for the implication that she was uninterested in her son. “And Emma?”
“We’re in almost all the same classes, and she likes racing.” There’s a few other things that you don’t need to know about her, though . . . “Also, there aren’t a lot of Americans in our level, and she still sort of thinks of me as one.”
Davyn almost laughed. “Must be strange being an ex-pat in your own country.”
Kerry chuckled. “There’s so many kids from everywhere that you start thinking at times like we’re in our own little country.”
His mother snorted. “I can imagine—” She wasn’t interested in all the students at Kerry’s school—just one more in particular. “Now about The Girl Who Writes—”
Kerry had finally reached the point where he wasn’t about to take any more of his mother’s passive-aggressive attacks. “She’s not a Doctor Who episode, Mom. She has a name: it’s Annie. Okay?” It was only after he uttered the last word that he realized he had started breathing hard due to his anger.
–He starts to lose it on his mother. You’re picking on the woman he loves, Louise–not that she knows that, or, as you will discover, she’d give much of a shit about.
Louise is referencing the Doctor Who episode The Girl Who Waited, which dealt with Amy being split into two parts, with one of them living alone through just over thirty years. Given what his parents do at the BeeBee, it’s possible his father probably managed some of the sound effects processes for the episode, and his mother may have help on the visual effects. Needless to say, the episode doesn’t end on a completely happy note, and Louise is likely jerking her son around a little, playing on his love of the show while at the same time kinda pointing out, without really knowing, that they both are waiting for this summer to end. This was what Kerry meant when he said to Annie in London, “Better than The Girl Who Waits,” though Annie replied she does wait, and that eventually led to a tear running down her cheek . . .
Yeah: Mother of the Year here. I wonder what she’d say if she knew her son could blast her across the room?
Hey, how about a look at my novel so we end on a happy note?