conner is just a copy. (apograph) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-08-08 21:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, conner kent (superboy) |
Who: Conner Kent, Ms. Kent (NPC)
Where: The family kitchen.
When Wednesday evening.
What: Family argument/shouting match. Conner wants to know who his dad is. It's a touchy subject.
Rating: E for emo teen with daddy issues.
It was, hands down, the worst fight that Conner had ever had with his mother. He should never have asked about his father. He knew how that ended because he’d been down the same road before. She’d be angry. She’d be hurt, and he’d wind up grounded and feeling vaguely guilty and furious all at once. But that internet guy had called him ‘son,’ the way old men did in the movies, and no man had ever called Conner ‘son.’ Not once. It had lit the fire again: he wanted to know who his father had been. If his mother didn’t know, the fertility clinic might. Conner wanted a name. He was realistic enough to know that meeting the guy was out of the question, but he wanted to know what his dad did for a living. He wanted to know if he was bald, if he was smart, if he was an athlete too. Ms. Kent didn’t understand why her son couldn’t just be content with what he had, but she knew her father’s name. She just didn’t get it. And this time, Conner pushed harder than he ever had before. His mother lost her patience. Why is it so important that you know? What if you don’t like what you find? I’m only protecting you. Protecting him. Conner’s temper flared. People say they want what’s best for me, but they really mean they want what’s best for them. I need to know! So far, a teenaged argument just like all the others that had gone before it. And then, In my dreams I don’t even have a dad. I’m some kind of clone, a defective copy of someone else. And that’s how I feel – like some kind of test-tube experiment. Ms. Kent stood perfectly still. Conner mistook her horror for anger and stormed off for his room before she could banish him there. I just want to know that he has a name, he shouted back before slamming his door. Conner should have known that something was wrong when his mother didn’t shout after him, but he was still fuming. He locked the door and dragged a chair in front of it for good measure. It was childish and ridiculous, but he didn’t care that he was too old to sulk. He was going to put in his earbuds and wallow in his frustration. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, his mother was sending an email. |