Panic Room. I know, right, like THAT'S a fandom.
I wrote this... a really long time ago. And I'm not sure if I actually did post it somewhere already? But I don't think so.
It's kind of missing an ending, which is why it never got posted, and I kind of have a vague idea of where I want it to go, but I'm having trouble getting there, so... Well, maybe posting it will help?
For those who haven't seen the movie (or haven't seen it in a while):
Meg = Jodie Foster
Sarah = her rather dykey looking daughter
And there we go.
It's not that Sarah totally blacked out. She was lucid at the time. It's just that now, with Meg asking her what happened, there are blank spots. Sometimes it just works like that.
Sarah hasn't been eating, although she means to. She knows how her mom can get -- those worry lines growing way too dark way too soon. It's got to be hard having a kid with a birth defect -- a birth defect for a kid -- and Sarah gets that. So she doesn't get into fights and she studies just enough to keep her grades up.
But then some days Sarah forgets to eat -- or dad's new girlfriend with the capped-teeth decides she's going to make breakfast and so Sarah refuses to eat -- and then she'll almost black out playing dodge ball halfway through the day.
It's complicated, she knows, and sometimes she just forgets how to stay perfectly balanced.
* * *
Speeding through traffic lights and nearly colliding with several Taxis to get to Sarah's school as quickly as she can, Meg realized she ought to have seen this coming. She could tell by the sound of Sarah's voice on the phone that she was upset, that this week with her father wasn't going well. Meg was in the process of relocating the two of them, finding them a new home, and it had seemed like a good idea to let Sarah stay at their old home while she herself looked. It was just a week, after all. Just long enough to let Sarah adjust.
There are a lot of books on parenting out there, and Meg's read most of them. She knows that they might say something about letting your child move into a new emotional space before forcing them into a new physical one. Meg would say that a kid deserves her own room, and that she wasn't going to make Sarah leave hers without having a replacement ready.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but that was before she found out that Tracy was going to be there, too. Then it seemed like less of a good idea and more like a pathetic ploy on Stephen's part. He was just so desperate to get Sarah to like Tracy, or to at least respect her. It's just his luck that he raised his daughter to be too smart to fall for that kind of thing.
* * *
Since Sarah hit her head on the floor of the gym when she fell, the school nurse gave her an ice pack. Nothing ended up bruised or broken, but Sarah held the plastic bag close to her temple just to keep everybody around her satisfied. She was accustomed to the staring and the panic but still had to silently remind herself to keep breathing slowly, in and out, and not to listen to the quick, anxiety breaths all around her.
People move their arms around a lot when they're panicking and move their fingers around a lot when they're worried. They're like the guys on airport runways dressed in orange, moving around like they're trying to wave a miracle in the right direction. Sarah breathed in their panic and worry and breathed out an exhalation of her reserve calm. Like trees that release oxygen into the air. It was good karma.
The male gym teacher was a nice guy with three daughters. He had worry lines, too, but his were fainter, and he tried to hold Sarah's hand while they waited for Meg to come pick her up, but Sarah wouldn't let him.
When Meg got there, Sarah smiled and allowed her mother a little time to fuss, but not too much. Everything was fine, could they please go home now?
"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again."
"Okay."
* * *
With her hand up underneath Sarah's shirt, Meg can feel the little heart beating, straining to catch up for lost time. She imagines nerves and tissue. Meg knows the name of every muscle. She ought to; she's read enough about them all. Muscles and blood and lungs. The doctors like to intimidate. They use big words, talk fast. If they talk fast enough, they think no one will ask questions. But Meg asks; in fact, she demands, her fingers brushing through Sarah's hair, saying, "What're you going to do to fix it?" Meg, who could never stand up for herself, learned how to stand up for her daughter.
The Diabetes was almost a relief. It was something definite, an absolute, with simple rules that you follow to receive positive results.
The night they received that diagnosis, Meg walked to the nearest three Barnes and Nobles and bought every book on the subject she could find. Those are the books she's saved while the ones on good parenting made their way to the recycling bin long ago. Good parenting is knowing their insides, sure, but not just the emotional ones. That's the problem with all these mental health gurus. They're so preoccupied with separating the mental from the physical instead of just looking at and after the whole. You can't treat the brain like it's separate from the body.
She's a kid, not a microwave.
* * *
Sarah was born almost two and a half weeks early. Later, her parents made it into a joke. When Sarah got skipped ahead from seventh grade into eighth, her mom told the new teacher, "Sarah's never done things on anybody's schedule but her own." The way she said it, Sarah knew it was supposed to be a compliment.
Sarah was born with a heart defect, but they didn't diagnose it until she was three. The doctor at the time said she only had a few more months left to live, her heart wouldn't keep up with the demands of her growing body, so Meg kicked him out of his own office. At least, that's how the story goes.
The next doctor was a specialist, which of course means expensive, but dad had the money and mom had the willpower. Obviously, he had a better grip on things. She's switched medication a lot since then, but he was a good first step.
The Diabetes came later, with its own medication. Her mom showed her the catalogue with the watches in them that monitor heart rate, sugar levels, and all the rest. The two of them picked out which wristband they liked best. Meg offered to buy a matching one, but Sarah decided it'd be too expensive.
It's kind of missing an ending, which is why it never got posted, and I kind of have a vague idea of where I want it to go, but I'm having trouble getting there, so... Well, maybe posting it will help?
For those who haven't seen the movie (or haven't seen it in a while):
Meg = Jodie Foster
Sarah = her rather dykey looking daughter
And there we go.
It's not that Sarah totally blacked out. She was lucid at the time. It's just that now, with Meg asking her what happened, there are blank spots. Sometimes it just works like that.
Sarah hasn't been eating, although she means to. She knows how her mom can get -- those worry lines growing way too dark way too soon. It's got to be hard having a kid with a birth defect -- a birth defect for a kid -- and Sarah gets that. So she doesn't get into fights and she studies just enough to keep her grades up.
But then some days Sarah forgets to eat -- or dad's new girlfriend with the capped-teeth decides she's going to make breakfast and so Sarah refuses to eat -- and then she'll almost black out playing dodge ball halfway through the day.
It's complicated, she knows, and sometimes she just forgets how to stay perfectly balanced.
* * *
Speeding through traffic lights and nearly colliding with several Taxis to get to Sarah's school as quickly as she can, Meg realized she ought to have seen this coming. She could tell by the sound of Sarah's voice on the phone that she was upset, that this week with her father wasn't going well. Meg was in the process of relocating the two of them, finding them a new home, and it had seemed like a good idea to let Sarah stay at their old home while she herself looked. It was just a week, after all. Just long enough to let Sarah adjust.
There are a lot of books on parenting out there, and Meg's read most of them. She knows that they might say something about letting your child move into a new emotional space before forcing them into a new physical one. Meg would say that a kid deserves her own room, and that she wasn't going to make Sarah leave hers without having a replacement ready.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but that was before she found out that Tracy was going to be there, too. Then it seemed like less of a good idea and more like a pathetic ploy on Stephen's part. He was just so desperate to get Sarah to like Tracy, or to at least respect her. It's just his luck that he raised his daughter to be too smart to fall for that kind of thing.
* * *
Since Sarah hit her head on the floor of the gym when she fell, the school nurse gave her an ice pack. Nothing ended up bruised or broken, but Sarah held the plastic bag close to her temple just to keep everybody around her satisfied. She was accustomed to the staring and the panic but still had to silently remind herself to keep breathing slowly, in and out, and not to listen to the quick, anxiety breaths all around her.
People move their arms around a lot when they're panicking and move their fingers around a lot when they're worried. They're like the guys on airport runways dressed in orange, moving around like they're trying to wave a miracle in the right direction. Sarah breathed in their panic and worry and breathed out an exhalation of her reserve calm. Like trees that release oxygen into the air. It was good karma.
The male gym teacher was a nice guy with three daughters. He had worry lines, too, but his were fainter, and he tried to hold Sarah's hand while they waited for Meg to come pick her up, but Sarah wouldn't let him.
When Meg got there, Sarah smiled and allowed her mother a little time to fuss, but not too much. Everything was fine, could they please go home now?
"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again."
"Okay."
* * *
With her hand up underneath Sarah's shirt, Meg can feel the little heart beating, straining to catch up for lost time. She imagines nerves and tissue. Meg knows the name of every muscle. She ought to; she's read enough about them all. Muscles and blood and lungs. The doctors like to intimidate. They use big words, talk fast. If they talk fast enough, they think no one will ask questions. But Meg asks; in fact, she demands, her fingers brushing through Sarah's hair, saying, "What're you going to do to fix it?" Meg, who could never stand up for herself, learned how to stand up for her daughter.
The Diabetes was almost a relief. It was something definite, an absolute, with simple rules that you follow to receive positive results.
The night they received that diagnosis, Meg walked to the nearest three Barnes and Nobles and bought every book on the subject she could find. Those are the books she's saved while the ones on good parenting made their way to the recycling bin long ago. Good parenting is knowing their insides, sure, but not just the emotional ones. That's the problem with all these mental health gurus. They're so preoccupied with separating the mental from the physical instead of just looking at and after the whole. You can't treat the brain like it's separate from the body.
She's a kid, not a microwave.
* * *
Sarah was born almost two and a half weeks early. Later, her parents made it into a joke. When Sarah got skipped ahead from seventh grade into eighth, her mom told the new teacher, "Sarah's never done things on anybody's schedule but her own." The way she said it, Sarah knew it was supposed to be a compliment.
Sarah was born with a heart defect, but they didn't diagnose it until she was three. The doctor at the time said she only had a few more months left to live, her heart wouldn't keep up with the demands of her growing body, so Meg kicked him out of his own office. At least, that's how the story goes.
The next doctor was a specialist, which of course means expensive, but dad had the money and mom had the willpower. Obviously, he had a better grip on things. She's switched medication a lot since then, but he was a good first step.
The Diabetes came later, with its own medication. Her mom showed her the catalogue with the watches in them that monitor heart rate, sugar levels, and all the rest. The two of them picked out which wristband they liked best. Meg offered to buy a matching one, but Sarah decided it'd be too expensive.