At The Screen With The World Flowing In

Chapter 7: Everything Changes

Keep in mind, my parents were very well-known in the area.

Now, I went in to the journalism program right out of high school, and stuck with it to the bitter end. I did this because, at that time, I didn't think my fiction writing would pan out as a viable career. I was gonna continue doing it regardless of success though, because I need to. However, people recognized the knack I had for other kinds of writing (and bullshit-calling), and encouraged me to go the journalism route.

Entering the journalism room for the first time, I was instantly greeted by a plaque with my face on it. Or, more accurately, Elizabeth Prime's face. Yes, I mean it was a plaque honoring my Mom. As I've already said, she received her education there as well, and was much beloved. I mean...they have an annual award in her name.

As I looked over the plaque, trying to keep from crying like a total bitch, I heard a voice behind me ask "Can I help you?"

It was my professor, Sandra O'Brien.

When I turned to answer and she laid eyes on me, she gasped like I punched her in the boob then started weeping. Just...snot-nosed, black-streak, bawling. I didn't realize it at the time, but she happened to be Mom's best friend Sandra MacDonald. I mean, I knew Sandy when I was little, but this Sandy looked waaaaay fucking different than the one in my memories. I found out later that she'd had a lot of work done after a horrific car accident.

She looked great, just not recognizable as the chick I knew.

So anyway, she's freaking out and then I start freaking out because I don't know why she's freaking out, and it's just a big ol' mess of flailing arms, streaking mascara, and floppy, older lady boobs until she finally catches her breath and says the only fucking thing I understood since our eyes met.

"You look just like your mother!"

I was taken aback because I still didn't know who the hell I was talking to.

"Ya' knew my Mom!?" I gasped, shocked and more than a little scared.

Not, like, "LOOK OUT! IT'S A BEAR WITH A SWORD AND AN OLYMPIC FENCING GOLD MEDAL! AND HE'S GOT A PACK OF CIGARETTES ROLLED UP IN HIS SLEEVE!" scared, but more in the 'fear of the unknown' sense. Her reaction was just so fucking deeply personal, ya' know?

"I'm S— I'm Sandy," she wept, patting on her chest hard enough to make a loud, thumping sound. "Your Mom was the best friend I ever had!"

"SANDY!?" I quacked, fully, unapologetically channeling Danny fucking Zuko from "Grease".

"Yes," she replied, shuddering and latching on to me for dear life. "I'm sorry I lost my mind, it's just...I— I felt like I was seeing a ghost!"

I understood where she was coming from. I mean, my shocking resemblance to Mom is part of the reason Dad had such a hard time coping with her death. Jesus, it's something I even struggle with sometimes.

Over time I found out that Sandy had a lot of guilt leftover from when Mom was killed. Mom was staying with her at the time and had a momentary lapse in judgment in going back to our house alone. Sandy still beats herself up about it to this day, which fucking sucks.

It'd break Mom's heart.

Anyhow, after a few weeks of kicking all the ass out of my journalism studies, Sandy (who acted as my adviser) and I discussed my future. She saw a lot of Dad in me and thought that maybe I should try to explore that in greater detail alongside what she saw of Mom, rather than just focusing on one or the other. She thought the combination I had made something pretty unique, and that it would be a shame if I let any part of that uniqueness erode.

"Have you thought of investigative journalism?" Sandy asked, shaking my brain like someone might a malfunctioning flashlight.

"No, but I totally am now!" I exclaimed. "And if anybody asks, I always fucking did."

And just like that, I went headlong into the abyss of investigative journalism. Thankfully, with my extra-special combination of Harper/Hillard DNA, I was more than well-enough equipped to get into (and out of) my fair share of ultra-stupid, hyper-dangerous trouble.

Which I have. Like...a lot. But I'll talk about all that stuff some other time.

As for Sandy, she and I became pretty close as I made my way through college, which was especially wonderful for me because I got to learn things about my parents that I never knew. Like, for instance, about Mom accidentally knocking Dad out with a hockey stick and sending him to the hospital (That man and his fucking head injuries, I swear!), or Dad getting contacts that flipped the color of his 'milk eye' as he calls it to the color of the normal one to see how long it would take Mom to notice.

It was a waste of fucking money.

She instantly told him to fix it or start looking for a new wife.

It wasn't anything major really, just the kinds of things your parents don't ever think to talk about, but that outsiders always seem to think of the most fondly. The kinds of things that were another large part of my insistence on attending Adelphi. There's still a part of me that feels bad that I didn't attend U-Dub, because I know it hurt my aunt and uncle to some extent.

But I fucking needed Adelphi, and they understood.

I wanted to hang out with people my parents knew and pick their brains, and I did that as often as possible. The most fun were Sandy, Detective Aaron Robinson (Dad's old partner), and a woman named Giovanna Bianchi (who Mom and Dad knew as Giovanna Capistrano and I had super-fucking-vague memories of from my childhood). Giovanna initially reacted to me much the same way Sandy did.

And Detective Robinson had so many wild stories about Dad!

The types of trouble the two of them got into in their day could fill volumes. He's just as good a detective as Dad (so, disgustingly brilliant), so you can imagine how fucking amazing it must've been for the NYPD having them tag-team a case. Their interrogations had to be batshit insane to watch. I didn't get to meet with him nearly as much as I'd have liked though, because it took almost an hour to get from my stomping grounds to his. When we did get to meet up, however, he always made sure to present me with a small, origami animal. It was kind of our thing when I was a little girl.

He was always so sweet to me!

I'm thrilled to say I'm still in regular contact with Sandy and Detective Robinson. I feed him updates about my Dad all the time either over the phone or through his cousin, Diana (the SPD chief Dad calls 'Whitey'). I mean, Dad's in contact with him too, but he never fucking lets people know how he's really doing, ya' know?

As for Giovanna Bianchi, she died a few years after my graduation, at which she gave me a beautiful, framed photo of my parents sitting in the window booth at her restaurant. She was a total sweetheart. Fucking cancer...

Anyhow, I'm rambling now and getting upset thinking about Giovanna.

And I'm almost out of space! I haven't even fucking touched on my own family and my real career. After all, truth-telling journalism isn't what I'm known for or what pays my bills, but rather the copious chapters of outright fucking lies I tell. So it looks like adulthood will have to be covered in two entries!

Until next time—as Billy Joel might say—"Don't take shit from anybody."

That'll be on my tombstone.

XOXO! (Tic-tac-toe, not hugs and kisses, ya' fucking weirdo. I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU! UNLESS YOU'RE SEAN IN WHICH CASE I LOVE YOOOOOOU!)
- E.L. Fudge