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| Resolutions, cont'd |
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"Nah, 'm here by m'self." "I see. Well, you're welcome to join me. My sister and her family were supposed to be out here with me, but I just got a call that one of the little ones has caught a bug, and they're staying home. So, I have a couple of extra chairs, and a lot of food...." Spike looked at her suspiciously. Since when did strange motherly-types invite him to partake of their hospitality based on...nothing, really? Oh, yeah...guess I must have a vibe ~ an' not the one I've tried t'cultivate. Thoughts of Joyce brought with them the familiar hint of a tingle behind his eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had cared enough to try and make everything better with hot chocolate and mini marshmallows. "You sure?" "Yeah, you looked lost, so if you're not physically looking for someone, you could probably use some company. And it happens that I love the parade, but I don't look forward to sitting here all night by myself." "You know, s'not safe t'be cosenin' up t'strangers." "In this big crowd, full of witnesses? How much harm could someone really do?" "You'd be surprised," he muttered, not quite under his breath. She arched her eyebrow at him, but continued as if she hadn't heard, "Besides, my gut tells me you're okay. Cheesy puff?" She'd settled herself back into her chair on the sidewalk, perhaps three rows back from the curb, and was now handing him a bag of the crunchy, toxic-orange treats. Spike laughed in spite of himself at her matter-of fact manner, and sprawled into the chair nearest to her. "I'm Martha, but everyone calls me 'Em'. My mother was named Martha, too, so to prevent confusion, we just went with the initial. I thought it was too boring, so decided at some point in the fourth grade to spell it out." She'd stuck her hand out to him in the midst of this explanation, and he found himself at a loss as they shook. Real introductions just weren't a 'Spike' thing to do. "Everyone calls me Spike...but, I was born William," he finally hedged. "William...that means protector. Guess I was right about you, eh?" She chuckled, and her eyes crinkled up pleasantly. "Don' know's I embody that too well. But, you can call me whatever you like.... 'S a party, right?" An edge of cynicism had crept into his voice, though he was attempting to be off-the-cuff with his remarks. She regarded him closely for a moment, but said nothing. Finally, she turned to the portable radio she had sitting at her feet, and turned the volume up a bit. "My station's doing some count-down or other of songs...I can't keep track of what the categories are -- 'Best Songs of All Time' , 'Most Requested Holiday Songs', whatever. But the oldies take me back, so I like having it in the background." Em rattled on for a bit about her life, and Spike learned that she had lived in the LA area all her life, and every two or three years, her family had come out to see the parade, always making an event of it, staying out on the street all night. She reminisced about the years when it had rained and they had hidden inside pup tents, shivering and singing songs and telling stories to pass the time. And the time that her eight-year-old sister had wandered away, and they'd had a panicky scramble up and down the street, only to find her cheerfully looking for them from the privileged vantage spot behind a mounted police officer. As Em's stories continued, Spike idly crunched on some barbeque-flavored corn nuts that she had fished out of one of her bags of goodies. He made occasional comments as seemed appropriate, though he was anything but riveted by the narrative. He listened with a passive corner of his mind, while his thoughts wandered off on tangents to the subjects of her speech. It wasn't that she talked incessantly...she'd seem to reach the logical end of a line of conversation and then wait for the next to strike her. Sometimes a song on the radio would catch her attention, and she'd sit and listen, or sing or hum along. But she seemed not to mind his failure to contribute, or really keep up his end of the chatter in any meaningful way. Livin' alone, she must fancy any bloke who'll hold still long enough t'listen. |
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