Ten Months

Chapter Two
May, 2004
Detroit, Michigan

A Mr. John Hartley calls me two days after my interview at the middle school and asks me to come in and go through an orientation and drug/alcohol testing. I guess that means I got the job, but I can’t say that I feel any excitement about that after everything that has gone on for the past few days between Faith and I.

I have no idea why they hired me; I was so out of it that I don’t even know who John Hartley is. He could be the superintendent or he could just as easily be the janitor and I wouldn’t even have a clue. Was it like this when I got the job as guidance counselor in Sunnydale? Was it like this when I was pulled out of heaven? Like my life was a butterfly but now it’s a cockroach, wishing that some great exterminator would happen along to just put all of us cockroaches out of our misery. I should have gone to Cleveland with Willow and the girls. I should have gone to L.A. to stay with Wesley and Angel. I should have gone anywhere except here, and gone there with anyone except Faith. But no, we were all swept up in falling in love with each other and acting as though we were Mike and Carol Brady, sharing a toothbrush and cuddling to watch movies in our underwear so we couldn’t stand the idea of g apg apart for more than ten seconds. Stupid me, should have seen it coming.

I have one clean outfit that makes me look not-trampy and I put that on. It’s probably a Tuesday, or a Thursday. All I know is that I’m scheduled to meet with the superintendent at eight o’clock, and Faith is at work so I’ll have to take the bus. I asked her before she left if she could get off early to give me a ride, and she said “sure” then went out and picked me up a bus pass instead, not even offering an explanation. Probably just as well since we haven’t said more than three words together since we got in that fight over… I don’t remember what it was about.

Check myself out in the mirror. I may have survived an apocalypse but that didn’t stop me from gaining twenty pounds after the fact. Ok maybe it’s only ten. I still think that I look like shit, and this skirt never used to fit so tight around my ass and hips before. Too late to do anything about that now, I have a bus to catch.

**
“…and this is our counseling center; or guidance center, if you will. At the front desk we mainly handle schedule changes and fulfillment of academic requirements, while those back two offices are reserved for student’s personal counseling needs.”

The walls are slate gray with black and blue trim. The deare are the same colors. Mr. John Hartley (who turned out to be the Principal of Gerald Ford Middle School) is wearing a black suit with a blue tie. It’s a good thing that I’ve been wearing their school colors since the day I became a slayer, cause I know black and blue looks good on me. Ha, I’m hilarious.

“Would you like to see your new office, Ms. Summers?” Hartley asks with an enormous smile that hasn’t left his face since I walked in.

“That would be great.” I return the smile and wonder if his is any less a total fake than my own.

He opens the door to reveal another room exactly like every room I’ve seen so far in this building. So sterile it almost appears two-dimensional, same colors, no patterns, just solid lines. One cornflower blue chair sits at a right angle to the wall beside a small desk topped with gray Formica, and a matching blue couch opposite them both. The only nice thing about this room in contrast to the halls is that it at least has carpet instead of frighteningly well-waxed tile, but it matches the walls so well that the comfortable feeling that carpeting typically gives to a room is washed out and replaced by overbearing creepiness.

“Looks… clean.” I observe. Hey, I practice honesty as a rule.

“We try to maintain a neat appearance here at GFMS, which I’m sure that you’ve noticed. We feel that by not cluttering our hallways and classrooms we not only keep students free of distractions, but we also remain distinguished in comparison to other middle schools.” His beady eyes lit up the more he chattered, and I just kept on listening, trying not to stare at the fat under his chin that jiggled every time his mouth opened. “Every parent in the district who has sent their child to a junior high school knows that this is a no-nonsense institution for education, and we hold strongly to those standards. I’m sure that we can expect the same attitude and enthusiasm from you while you are working here with us, Ms. Summers.” He paused and wet his lips. Jiggle jiggle went the double chin. “Well I’ve shown you everything so you are free to settle in to your new office while I attend to some paperwork. We won’t be sending any students your way this afternoon unless Cheryl needs an extra hand, but I suspect things will be quiet around here. Go ahead and take the day to get to know the other faculty, then around one o’clock when Mr. Fryer is in he will take you through your final paperwork.”

“Sounds great.” Actually it didn’t, it sounded painfully excruciating, but I threw that whole rule of honesty out the window to become a slave to the working world of guidance counselors. It felt just like old times, only this school didn’t have a hellmouth resting beneath it and I don’t think they hired me because the Principal’s mom used to be a slayer. Welcome to some-wharmalrmal.

Hartley and his plastic smile said farewell for the time-being and I stepped into my new all-official office to sit in my cornflower blue chair and contemplate just how many things I won’t be bringing in to decorate the place and make it seem more like home. The drawers of my desk are empty all but one, which holds a spiral bound notebook complete with dividers and a ball point pen. I suppose this is so I can take notes. I used to have a notebook just like this one that I took to school, and wrote down everything I was feeling like a diary, but I threw it away after Faith came to Sunnydale.



November 1998
Sunnydale, California

“Hey Buffster, whatcha’ writing?”

“Nothing, hey. Xander.” I quickly opened the top of my desk and threw the notebook inside.

This only sparked his interest. “Ooh, got a secret book there of your secret things? Let me guess, little hearts that say Rupert in them?”

“Rupert? Who’s Ru… oh EW! Xander that’s disgusting! Please keep your personal fantasies about middle aged Englishmen between yourself and yourself only. And try not to let them involve me, if you can help it.”

“All right I can see that prying will get me nowhere, but I am a clever man full of tricky knowledge and the power to see many things, and I can see right now that Buffy is crushing on someone. I do believe the answers lies in a certain notebook.”

He would have probably continued the rambling for hours if class had not started. I could feel how flushed my face was and hoped that no one had noticed, but it was pointless, I was red up to my ears. Xander WAS right about the little hearts with a name in them, only it wasn’t Rupert (obviously), it was Faith. I’m not even sure why I was thinking about her, much less doodling about her during school, we had sex once, end of story. I wasn’t even sure if it counted as real sex, because with girls it’s not real, right? Just glorified making out. So why couldn’t I get the night before out of my head?

After that period I got rid of the notebook, I don’t remember how. I think I threw it in a dumpster or burned it… it wasn’t significant. Faith wasn’t significant, at least, I wouldn’t allow her to be in my mind.



May 2004
Gerald Ford Middle School, Detroit, Michigan

“Hey Buffy, how is everything going?”

A voice from the doorway brought me back to reality. What had I been thinking about? I looked down to see what was in my hands… oh yeah, that’s right. Memories of notebooks passed. I closed the drawer to the desk and tried like hell to remember the name of the woman who had just stepped in.

“Hey… it’s good. This office is fantastic, what a view.” I replied. What was her name? I thought it should be Laura but then I realized that I was only thinking that because she looked like Dr. Laura, that bitchy radio advice lady. Ugh, how unfortunate.

“I’m glad to hear you’re comfortable. Did Principal Hartley tell you about the school colors?”

Oh, we have school colors? No shit, I didn’t notice! Someone should make them more apparent, don’t you think? “He may have, refresh my memory.”

“Well as you can see, the colors are blue, black and gray. Everyone on staff wears them just to keep in the school spirit of things, and I think it allows for a subtle, clean-looking atmosphere. You probably didn’t even realize that we were wearing them, most people don’t! But when you see a teacher in something like red or orange, it really catches your eye and seems out of place.”

God, by the way she talked about it I could tell that this whole issue was something that she believed pretty firmly in. She and Hartley both were pissing themselves with delight over the orderly state of this “educational institution”, and she was smiling so hard over it I was positive that a new wrinkle was about to show up. Maybe that was the resemblance to Dr. Laura that I was seeing.

“So wear the school colors, gotcha.” I said while hoping they would pay me enough to allow for me to buy new clothes.

“Good. Do you think you’ll be ready to start seeing a few students today? We have a bit more activity than usual for some reason, and there are two girls waiting in the front if you wanted to get busy. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.” For the first time all day, I wasn’t lying through my teeth. I honestly looked forward to sitting and talking with students, helping them, knowing that I might be able to offer some advice. I loved being a guidance counselor in Sunnydale, it was not just a day job, it was kind of like a day purpose. Something that made me feel worthwhile other than slaying (which contrary to popular belief does not really offer tangible emotional benefits or a lasting notion of accomplishment for the individual slayer). I did wonder why they were handing over young impressionable minds to me after just two conversations and a résumé, but that was their choice and I wasn’t going to point out to them that I could potentially be a psychotic killer or harbor ulterior Michael Jackson-ish motives towards 10 year olds. Ew.

Dr. Laura went into a different room for a moment and returned with a (go figure) blue folder, then set it in front of me on the desk. I glanced at the tab which read “Pierce, Sandy G”. Dr. Laura gave me instructions on what was in the folder and what kind of things I should consider public and private. Basically she was saying “don’t tell everyone in school if a kid claims to be pregnant”, well no shit Sherlock. Then she made up a few hypothetical situations that served the purpose of allowing her to speak and me to listen before I said for the eighth time that yes, I understood, and in came Sandy G.

I had forgotten just how small junior highers were. When she sat down the couch seemed to swallow her which is a great mystery since the cushions were formed from plywood I’m certain. She reminded me of Dawn, only a little tiny Dawn with stick-straight blonde hair, having that look of confused innocence about her. I smiled and it was genuine, I was so happy to see someone unbiased by social politics that I had an impulse to jump up and gratefully hug Sandy G. Pierce. Of course I didn’t, that would undoubtedly arouse Michael Jackson-ish suspicions.

However I did get up to shake her hand and introduce myself. She looked surprised by it. No, wait, she just looked surprised by everything.

After Sandy G. Pierce told me the story of how her toddler brother was constantly using her homework as a coloring pad, I met Jamie L. Thompson who didn’t know how to adjust to his parents becoming caretakers of a girl with down syndrome. Then before lunch I talked to Dr. Laura (or rather Cheryl as she is supposed to be called), who had the urge to fil in in on her husband’s job as a prosecuting attorney for no apparent reason. God knows I didn’t ask.

The day came to an end faster than I had thought it would. In fact it seemed to go by faster than any day had in the past six months that I could remember. Well except for paperwork hour with Mr. Fryer which somehow gave me flashbacks of the first time I restlessly watched ‘Titanic’ and begged for the ship to fucking sink already. When 3:30 came I locked up my desk (another mysterious policy) and walked out into the hallway, not even noticing Faith standing just outside the counseling center. Of course with her dark blue garage jacket and black Dickies slacks, she fit right in.

“Hey slayer.”

I stopped in surprise. If she hadn’t said anything I would have walked right on by. “Faith, what are you doing here?”

“It’s raining. I came to pick you up.”

Neither one of us said anything for a long moment, and that familiar feeling of awkwardness set in. I had been so busy enjoying my day that I had forgotten just how painful it felt to be around her, and now I wondered if this was the way she felt after work every morning when she came home to me.

“You can take the bus if you want.” Faith muttered quietly.

“No, sorry, I was just thinking. I’ll ride with you, let’s go.”

As we walked out to the car I realized something for the very first time. Instead of thinking about how much happier I might be without Faith, I thought about how much happier she might be without me, and that hurt ten times more than debating my own satisfaction with our relationship. When we got in the car I couldn’t even look at her, I just stared out the window until it felt like my eyes and throat burned from holding back tears. She didn’t drag me into her miserable life. She had every right to white picket fences as Buffy Summers did, and maybe even more so, but I wouldn’t be the one to decide that for her. For the first time I wondered why she was staying with me, and not why I was staying with her. But I knew why I was staying with her, even if I didn’t admit it, even to myself. I couldn’t live without her. She could hate me and believing that she did hurt like a thousand swords inside my soul, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being without her there in our bed, in our apartment, in my life.

She could leave anytime. She could pack her things and be gone forever, and I didn’t want that. I wanted my white picket fences and my Carol Brady wife and to never grow tired of just holding my lover’s hand, and I wanted it all with Faith.

We got back to the apartment without saying a word to each other. While she took a shower I let myself break down and cry, curling up tightly on the bed and sobbing until my muscles ached. I didn’t hear the water turn off and I didn’t hear her open the bathroom door. I don’t know how long she was standing there, watching me, before I heard her voice behind me.

“It’s that terrible to be with me isn’t it.”

At first I didn’t hear her, but as I forced myself to stop crying, wiped the tears, and rolled over to look at her, I knew what she had said. And she just stood next to the bed staring at me, the broken expression covering her, etched deep in her brown eyes. I’d seen it so many times but it never seemed any less painful when I knew I was the one that caused her to look that way.

“It… it isn’t that…” I whispered, wiping my eyes again.

“I thought things would get better after a while. And it is that. You cry every night in your sleep because of me.” Her voice cracked but she held back the emotion. “It’s not getting better it’s only getting worse.”

“No, Faith.” I could barely speak, the tears were welling up inside of me and making it impossible to swallow, difficult to breathe. Neither one of us could look at each other.

She forced a conclusive sigh as though she had just decided on something lasting and final, or maybe it was really just her way of shoving down her emotion, I couldn’t tell. “You don’t need me anymore, now that you’ve got this job. You can take care of yourself. You should.”

“No, Faith… no…” it was all I could say. I didn’t want to take care of myself, but the words wouldn’t come out.

She stopped for a moment but then continued with a deep breath. “You, you know you aren’t happy anymore. I know you aren’t. It might not be what both of us think is all right but it will be better in the long run if I… if I leave.”

“Faith,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. I looked into her eyes and she looked right back. “Faith, please don’t leave me.” I wanted to tell her that I would make her happy, if she only gave me a second chance. I knew I didn’t love her anymore, if I ever truly did, but at least we could be there for each other. All I needed was to understand what she was feeling and I wanted to be a part of her life again, the way I used to be. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself say it all.