DISCLAIMER: Erm, I'd say no. If JW says the opposite I'll accept them.
IMPROV #:3 (70):
blister -- blame -- amber -- stroke
SUMMARY: Joyce, counting amber beads.
WORDCOUNT: 1069
Reading Her Mind Runner Up at Bedtime Story Awards
DAYS OF AMBER
by Leni
It was an ankle bracelet, something a woman her age really shouldn't wear anymore.
Joyce stared at the amber beads, carefully linked by a golden thread. They blinked at her
playfully. If you looked closer you would notice small embossing on them: once a heart,
once a star, one a moon and then the heart again.
She didn't even know why she still wore this bracelet.
It was a beautiful artwork, and Joyce had fallen in love with it as soon as she saw it in
that little shop in Venice. Hank had laughed aloud, commenting that only his wife would
choose something so simple when he had offered her anything from Tiffany's only minutes
ago. "Aren't I the luckiest man on Earth?" he'd said as he counted the bills.
Joyce had ignored him, instead focusing on the light sparkles which adorned her ankle. She
had smiled brightly and searched Hank's eyes, mouthing "You are the best" as
their gazes connected.
Joyce shook her head at the memory, she still couldn't blame the old shop-owner for
laughing when her crazy husband has knelt before her and respectfully kissed the bracelet.
Oh, how she had giggled and blushed like a silly schoolgirl! Even more when she noticed
the old man smiling benignly at the honeymooners' antics.
She smiled now too, her fingers grazing the bracelet's surface. It still reflected the
light as brightly as that first day, but Hank wasn't the best anymore.
Her fingers went slowly over the beads. Eighteen, always eighteen. She sighed, she had
loved to pass her fingertips over the amber, guessing the engraving's shape with only a
touch.
One, it was a star. Its five pointy ends tugging softly against her skin.
Two, a waning moon. Two pointy ends and a curve in-between.
Three should be a heart then. Four, five and six. Seven, eight and nine. And so on until,
by the last bead, Joyce felt a heart again.
It was a tad ironic, she felt, there were eighteen beads, each one representing a year of
marriage. Since the divorce she had often wondered if the ankle bracelet had foretold her
future. Joyce liked to think that the six hearts signalled the happy years she spent with
Hank, right until having two little kids at home became too demanding and, added to his
stressful work and her always postponed artful inspirations, strained their relationship
little by little. Maybe the six stars were the six years they clang to each other,
reaching compromises which managed to last months before the next storm invaded the
Summers' household. And the six moons... Joyce sighed, why did she have to choose waning
moons as part of her jewellery?
One morning before moving to Sunnydale she had found the tiny bracelet practically hidden
at the bottom of her jewellery case. She had stared at it for hours, just held it in her
hand remembering that travel to Italy, lifetimes (Buffy's and Dawn's, she had thought with
a wry chuckle) ago. She had cried then, much more than eighteen tears making their quiet
way down her cheeks. Then she had noticed the little moons, six waning moons
metaphorically disappearing into nothing... just like her last six years with Hank:
Letting it go, avoiding little fights just to explode in bitter arguments when the
pressure got too uncomfortable... trying desperately to get along, even if only for the
girls' sake, and utterly failing in that too.
Joyce sighed again and let her fingers count the beads. Again and again. They were always
eighteen.
She hadn't wanted to believe that after eighteen years everything could be gone. With a
single stroke of a pen her life with Hank had been pronounced finished, he with the L.A.
house and she with their daughters' custody and enough money to begin a new life.
It had been a turning point for Joyce. After the audience she had sincerely thanked her
lawyer, shook hands with her new ex husband and left the jury without a sense of
direction, both metaphorical and realistic.
She had wandered for hours that day, probably seen many L.A. sights she had never seen
before... probably, she didn't really remember. She had walked and walked until the
sun went down until she remembered that the girls were alone at home now. No Hank in the
little study downstairs to check on them. That little fact had triggered a new bout of
tears, nonetheless she had resolutely returned to the house.
That day, after checking that Buffy was actually sleeping and not chattering on the phone
(though the bill had dramatically dropped in the last months), she had discovered blisters
on her feet. One near each big toe, and bigger ones where the shoe had unmercifully rubbed
against her skin. She had had to use soft slippers for days, until the high heels didn't
torture her and the last blister had healed back into smooth skin.
That had thankfully happened in time for the lengthy and boring process of straightening
everything up, deciding which would go to Sunnydale and which would stay. That's when she
had found the amber bracelet.
She had finally calmed down and touched up her make-up so the girls wouldn't worry when
they saw her. And then she had slipped the tiny jewel around her ankle, a reminder that
Venice had not been a dream and that there had been a time when she was happy with Hank.
Passing by her grounded older daughter's room, she heard soft sounds coming from within.
She approached the door and heard Buffy's half of the conversation.
"Yes, he came... through the window." Pause. "Don't ask what you don't want
to know, Wills!... No! You and your dirty mind!" Laughs. "We just talked and
stuff. Yes, through the window... Because I'm grounded, duh!"
Joyce smiled. She really should go in and berate her daughter for breaking the rules. But
the truth was, Buffy was scaring her with her erratic behaviour and escapades. To hear her
talking about a teenage crush with calm, nice, down-to-earth Willow was a real relief.
She heard quiet giggles from inside the room and caught an unbelievable happy whisper.
"Isn't he the best, Willow?"
Joyce smiled for the last time. Weren't they all the best at one point?, she thought,
still feeling a light weight on her ankle.
She only hoped that Buffy would never count amber beads, too.
The End
13/08/03
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