Who: Connor Hawke narrative (npc's Sandra "Moonday" Hawke, Master Jansen) Where:Varies, Ashram in California When: 1999 - 2003 What: Life before the Ashram Rating: Lowish--cursing
~~~Nine years old~~~
"I'm sorry Ms. Hawke. We're going to have to suspend him. This is the second altercation he's been in."
"What about what the other boy called him? What are you going to do about that?"
"No one heard him saying those words."
Connor sat with folded arms, glaring at the opposite wall, blood drying on his shirt. He didn't regret socking the other boy at all. But it was causing his mother quite a bit of grief.
It was far from the first time. Far from the last.
~~~Ten years old~~~
"Hurry up, Connor. I know you're tired."
"It's 2 in the morning, Mom."
"I know, dear. I did most of the packing before waking you." She swept the bathroom counter with an arm, her toiletries clattering into the dumped out waste basket. She then hurried into the master bedroom. "Bring me a garbage bag. Connor, quickly."
"I'm coming. Geez." He walked into the room, dragging his own bag of clothes since it was on its way to the door. She was hurriedly grabbing everything out of the closet, ripping dresses off their hangars and rolling them up into the garbage bag. "Get the quilt off the bed. That's the one Grandpap gave us. We're not leaving it here."
He rolled his eyes, but did so, pulling it off laboriously. He was stuffing into the top of the bag, now too full to close when he noticed his mother had stopped on a dress, holding it up and staring at it.
"Mom?"
"I remember being able to fit in this. So long ago. I was pretty then."
Connor was quiet for a moment. "You're still pretty."
She turned his way, her smile feeble and short. The black eye didn't help. "Thanks, dear." She sniffed and rolled the dress up. "Go check your room over one more time. I want to be out of Colorado by sunrise. I'm not staying in the same state as someone who hurts my son."
"Christ, Mom, he just pushed me."
"Language! You keep this up and you're not riding in the front."
"I don't want to. I want to sleep. God." He dragged the two garbage bags out. He knew the drill of where to stuff them in the car by now.
~~~Eleven years old~~~
"Why the fuck are we going there, Mom? All they do is sit around and smoke pot."
"Watch it, mister." Her tone was sharp, but Connor knew she wasn't going to strike at him. His mother was among the most mildest people he knew, at least where he was concerned. "Those are friends of mine."
"They're useless hippies, Mom," he argued, spreading his fingers. "Don't you remember the last time we went to them? I couldn't even get a ride to the bus stop! I guess not that it matters, since I'm what, three grades behind now? You keep moving me all over and I can't remember anyone from my last school's name! Hell, I can't even remember the teacher's!"
"Connor..." His mother was sighing, that long exasperated sigh as she pumped the gas. "It's only until I find another job."
He paced angrily, first thumping mutely at the other side of the gas pump. His mother darted a look his way, but then said quietly, "I'll buy you some juicy fruit gum, okay?"
"...Whatever."
~~~Twelve years old~~~
He walked into the diner, sidestepping a crowd of older teens as they exited. His mom was pouring coffee for a customer when he walked in. She beamed at him. "Hey sweetie. You want pie?"
"Just hot cocoa." He slid into the seat at the bar, dirty book bag dropped at his feet.
She squint at him, judging his quietness. "Rough day?"
He shrugged, letting her greet an incoming regular with a flirty smile. When she came over, he had a piece of wrinkled, heavily folded paper unraveled on the counter. "What's this?" she asked, putting his cocoa in front of him and pulling the ad toward herself.
"It's where... Um.. You know, where he..."
She glanced up, then back down. Connor had torn out the newspaper clipping as carefully as possible. It was a short piece on the Ashram. "Oh. That's... I see."
She started to walk away. Connor pursed his lips before finally blurting, "I want to go."
She spun about, looking at him with confusion. "Go? But we're finally starting to settle here." Connor lips twitched, trying to not frown outright at her. She came back over. "I know you're unhappy, but you promised you would try to make it work here."
"I'm trying, okay? It's just..." He looked at her, shut his mouth. Really, how long was she going to keep this job and the motel room and he was so lost in the math they were trying to teach him and he was so tired and frustrated and he wanted to see where his Father had been.
It was the closest he was probably going to get to actually meeting him.
"Hey, Moon!" the cook called from the window. "Your order's getting cold! I've rang the bell twice!"
Connor watched her scramble to get the order, took the whipped cream off his cocoa and left.
~~~Thirteen years old~~~
Connor watched the car drive off, hands feeling like lead at his sides and something cold and painful in his stomach. He had really wanted to be here. He'd argued on it for hours in the car. His mother agreed that he could go when he was thirteen. Now he was, and he hadn't changed his mind.
But he'd somehow suspected she would have. Or at least would have argued, or promised, or... something. He hadn't expected to be let go so easily.
I really was a hindrance on how she wanted to live. Now she can do... whatever.
"You're called Connor, yes?"
He looked up from the dust cloud left by the car. "Yeah?"
"I'm Master Jansen." The man bowed with clasped hands. "Come. Let me show you around. Then we'll show you a room. Then perhaps a haircut?"
Connor felt at his unruly blond hair. "Do I have to?"
Jansen gave him one of the kindest, open smiles he'd ever seen, not demanding or dissuading. Connor looked to a line of young men walking, all with no hair. Well, when in Rome.
"All right. But after?"
"Of course." He held an arm out, and Connor followed.