"This donut is good," Natasha said, biting into the end of some fruit filled pastry of some kind, her other hand underneath it to catch whatever dripped out, "I'm surprised, I usually don't like donuts filled with stuff."
"The stuff is the best part," Violet replied, biting into her own cream filled bar, "The stuff gives it flavor, otherwise, it's just...you know...dough." Natasha laughed as she wiped her mouth on a napkin and sipped her coffee, "Fair argument," she said, "but I think I still prefer it without. I like the dough, call me old fashioned if you must. I think it alone stands out as enjoyable without all the unnecessary extras. Sometimes a little glaze or sugar on top is nice, but I could eat just a standard regular donut with nothing in it or on it and be fine with that." "And that's why you're weird," Violet said, the both of them laughing. Natasha and Violet had always done this. They'd taken time off work and school respectively to spend time with one another. It was usually one day a month, but it was a nice way for them to spend time outside of the house, and their usual day to day lives as mother and daughter. Besides, outside of Courtney, Violet had no other friends except her mother, and she liked it that way. And Natasha...well, she had work friends, like Jay, but she too was ultimately on her own now that her marriage had ended, so she enjoyed spending time with her daughter and being her best friend. Violet drank her hot chocolate and pulled her scarf up tighter around her neck, feeling cold. Winter was on its way, and she was not ready for it. She never liked winter, the coldness made her unbelievably depressed. Natasha cleared her throat and glanced around the cafe before looking back at Violet, and smiled at her. "So what else do you want to do today?" she asked. "I want to get some new clothes," Violet said meekly, "Can we go to a thrift store?" "Absolutely, I could use some new shoes myself," Natasha said, "These things are about to have their soles fall out of 'em." After the girls finished up their donuts, they bought yet another bag mixed with an odd assortment and another drink each and went along their way. Winter wasn't just on its way, it was already sort of here. Some days were colder than others, and some days were unusually bright and cheery - like the day that allowed Violet to go horseback riding - but most of the time it seemed like the weather had long since decided that cold was on the horizon and there was no stopping the inevitable. The girls zipped their coats up and headed out into the somewhat biting cold air, walking alongside one another. Even in this sort of weather, when capable, they preferred to walk instead of drive around town. It was a real way to spend even more time together. Car rides were short, walks can extend for a period of time, and sometimes make the entire day trip last longer if you wind up window shopping and find a store you're interested enough to go inside of, which happened often for them. "Everyone at school has fashionable winter clothes," Violet said, "but the fashionable stuff doesn't seem comfortable." "Well of course not, it's designed to be visually pleasing, aesthetically engaging, not physically comforting," Natasha replied, "Plus they're way overpriced, so I'm glad you aren't interested in that sort of thing because frankly money is tight enough as it is." "Don't people on TV make a lot of money?" Violet asked, stuttering a bit, blushing, embarrassed by her speech impediment. "Yeah, if you're on a broadcast network, not public access," Natasha said, chuckling, "Maybe if I was on a hit sitcom or something, but I'm not. I'm not lounging in a bubble bath made of money drinking the tears of orphans. I'm just some loser with a TV show." "You're not a loser, mom," Violet said. Natasha didn't respond to this, but it almost made her cry. Violet was her biggest fan, and she knew it, and she appreciated it so very very much. She could remember back when she was just thinking of doing her show, back when Violet was still in 2nd grade. *** "So, imagine this piece of cardboard with the hole in it is a television screen, okay?" Natasha said, as she sat on the ottoman and held the cardboard in front of her face, "I'll be on television everyday, and I'll be giving advice to people on how they can make themselves happy and positive. People will tune in just to see mommy. Doesn't that sound good?" Violet clapped from her seat on the couch, where she was sitting cross legged in a big blue oversized sweatshirt. "And I'll make money doing it! I'll make money helping people!" Natasha said, "Helping people is good, I'd do it even without the money, but it'll be nice because the money will mean we can take care of you, and buy you toys and food and clothes. You like those things, don't you?" Violet nodded vigorously, smiling wide. Natasha got on the floor, setting the cardboard down and crawled over to the couch where she looked up at Violet sitting there and smiled at her. She reached up and touched her little face, stroked her hair and shook her head. "Everything I do, I do for you," Natasha said quietly, "You are my whole world. But I can be more than just a mommy, I can be of help to everyone." Violet nodded, understanding, at least on a basic level, what she was trying to say to her. Natasha hugged her daughter and squeezed her tight, trying not to cry. All she wanted to do was put some good back into a world where she saw it dwindling away faster than she could say. This show was her best shot at making that dream come true. *** "What about these ones, mom?" Violet asked, holding up green sneakers, and Natasha shook her head. "Nah, can't wear green, interferes with our chroma," she said, "If we need to do greenscreen and stuff my feet won't show up, which would look kinda cool and all but still, I don't like the idea of being footless." Violet laughed and put them back on the rack. Natasha walked to the other side and started looking. "Are you ever self conscious about the stuff you wear on TV? Do you feel afraid people will make fun of you?" Violet asked, sorting through shoes in a nearby bucket. "Not really. I was never really a self conscious person when it came to my physical appearance. I mean, I don't wanna dress like a slob or anything, but I also don't care to wear high end fashion. I'm there to help their inner selves, not their outer selves." Violet pulled another pair of shoes out and admired them. "I like these," she said, "They're my size too. I'm always getting made fun of for what I wear, but I wear it cause it's comfortable." "And I'm proud of that fact," Natasha said, "I'm happy you prefer comfort over fitting in. Fitting in is fleeting. Comfort is eternal." Violet sat down and started pulling the shoe on, struggling with the lace. Natasha sat down beside her and pulled it up over her heel, beginning to lace it for her. "You know why I do what I do?" she asked, and Violet chewed her lip, shaking her head; Natasha continued, "To make the world a better place. But not for anyone else, just for you. The world has gotten so cold and cruel, and I want the world to have some sort of kindness in it so that you have kindness around you. So that you don't grow up in a world where people get off being mean to one another. I know the kids at school are mean, but...you're so much better than them. You ignore them and you persevere and I'm so proud of you for that." "It bothers me when they...when they make fun of my talking," Violet said, slurring her speech a little, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, "But that's the only thing, really. That and the nicknames. Do people get nicer when they get older?" "That really depends on the person," Natasha said, finishing the first shoe and starting on the second now, "Some people get nastier, but often those are people who were given everything on a silver platter to begin with, so yeah, context is important for a persons behavior, but it doesn't excuse or condone it either." Natasha finished lacing the other shoe just as a woman holding a little girl by the hand walked up to them. Natasha and Violet looked up at her, and she smiled at them. "Hello, I don't usually do this sort of thing," she said, "But I'm a really big fan of yours and I just wanted to say, as someone who's brother is developmentally disabled, it's wonderful to see you helping mentally challenged people in public. You really are a kind person." Nobody said a word. Natasha and Violet looked at one another, and then Violet stood up and walked away. Natasha stood up and ran her gloved hands down her coat, smoothing it out. "Thank you," she said coldly, before going after her daughter. She found Violet in a nearby stuffed animal section, hugging a horse doll firmly, crying into its soft fur. She sighed and walked into the aisle, putting her hands on Violet's shoulder. "...for everyone else," Violet said, "it's parenting, for you, it's charity." "I...sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Natasha said, trying not to cry herself, "She probably doesn't even know you're my kid, all she saw was me helping someone and I'm not...I'm not trying to make excuses or anything, that was beyond messed up, but you have to know that's not how I think of you." "I know," Violet said, squeezing the horse plush and wiping her eyes on her scarf, "...can I have this?" "The horse?" "Yeah. He's only 4 dollars," Violet said, and Natasha nodded, smiling warmly. "Of course you can, you can have anything you want," she replied. *** Sitting in the teachers lounge after school, Violet sitting outside in the hall with headphones on, Natasha couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Violet was in 7th grade by this point, and things weren't going well for her. Seemingly every day she was coming home crying, sometimes even having to be picked up halfway through the day or at a designated "safe spot" away from the other kids. So sitting there, waiting for her homeroom teacher to say something, Natasha couldn't help but brace herself for the bad news yet again. Finally the homeroom teacher, Miss Briggs, sat down and offered Natasha a cup of coffee, but she politely declined. "We're all aware of what a hard time Violet is having-" she started, but didn't get far before Natasha interrupted her. "If I may, she's only having a hard time because other kids are giving it to her. And it isn't something she's bringing onto herself. It's not like she just doesn't fit in, wears the wrong clothes or likes a different band than they do. They're harassing her based on something she can't control, something that everyone her whole life has told me is a 'problem'. They're harassing her because she talks a little stilted, a little funny, because she stutters and has a lisp and she has a hard time comprehending otherwise simple to you or I concepts. Not because she's 'uncool' but because she's apparently 'stupid'." "Kids are cruel." "Yes, but it's your job to not let them be," Natasha said, "I do my goddamned best every single day to make her feel loved and special when she comes home, and thankfully they don't seem to be doing too much damage to her self esteem, but when is enough going to be enough for you people? When someone finally hits her? When someone sexually assaults her? I can't even allow myself to think of what it might be like for her in high school if this is how middle school is. That's terrifying to me, really." "Miss Simple-" "And the absolute worst of it all," Natasha said, her voice finally rising with a hint of pure anger ire in it, "Is how I'm looked at somehow as a hero for 'putting up' with her. I'm not a hero, I'm not a savior, I'm just another fucking mom. We're all just fucking moms, you know? My daughter just happens to have a developmental disorder, but really, empathy is only capable for those who're smart enough to recognize it, meaning she's smarter than every single little shithead who's hurting her." Natasha finally calmed down and picked up the cup of coffee, drinking it quickly, burning her mouth a bit. Miss Briggs sighed, somewhat surprised by this rather insightful outburst. "You're not wrong," Miss Briggs said, "Not at all. What she may lack in learning capabilities she more than makes up for in her love for others. She's a very sweet girl, she's full of heart and goodness, no surprise seeing as she comes from someone like you-" "That's the thing, she's NOT ME though," Natasha said, "she...she's her own person, and she shouldn't be judged on my merits. Because really, when it gets right down to it...she's a much better person than I'll ever be, even at this age. I can handle helping others through the television screen, but I...I don't know how to help my own daughter with this." Natasha started to cry, covering her face with her hands as Miss Briggs reached across the table and held her arm. "It's okay," she said, "We want to help you, we want to help her. We want to help you help her. And you're not wrong, she's a wonderful person who likely is smarter than all these little insecure assholes. So how do we go about working together to make sure she stays safe and happy?" Natasha didn't know. She shook her head and exhaled loudly, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She never had the answer, because she never expected to be in this situation. After they left the school, driving in the car, Violet pulled her headphones off and, still looking out the windshield, asked her mother something. "...am I stupid?" she asked. "Absolutely not," Natasha replied, "you're like a horse. Strong and intelligent in ways others can recognize. Ways that are better than they are. You're the smartest person I've ever known because you know well enough not to be mean." Violet didn't respond, but she smiled, and she grabbed onto her moms jacket and held it the rest of the ride home. *** That night, sitting in bed, Natasha couldn't help but feel awful. Even now, even at the age she was and how far she'd come, Violet was still getting harassed, even by strangers, even unintentionally. Natasha stood up and walked out of the bedroom, down the hall and pushed open Violets door. She was sound asleep, nestled up in her bed with her headphones on, hugging the horse plush they'd brought home from the thrift store. Natasha sat down on the side of the bed and lightly stroked her daughters hair, smiling. Violet slowly opened her eyes and looked up at her mom, before pulling the headphones down around her neck, the sound of rain coming out of them. "Did you know that your grandmother used to call me stupid?" Natasha asked, "...she would be very mean to me and say really hurtful things. So one day I told her that I would be nice to everyone and help them see the beauty they could cultivate within themselves." "...and?" Violet asked, yawning. "...and you're the same way. You're going to do amazing things for people, like you did for me. You're why I have a TV show. You're why I try my hardest. Because when you love someone enough, it makes you want to spread that feeling around so everyone can share in it. I'm sorry that woman said what she said today. She didn't mean any harm, like I said, she probably didn't even know you're my daughter." "I know." "She just saw me doing something nice and wanted to let me know she appreciated it, because she likes nice people. She likes me, which in turn, means she likes you, whether or not she knows you, because you are an extension of me. I mean, you're yourself too, but-" "Mom?" Violet asked, and Natasha shut up and looked at her. "...Yeah?" "I love you," Violet added, and Natasha smiled, leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I love you too sweetpea," she said, standing up and grabbing a horse plush of her own, "Mind if I borrow one for tonight? I'd feel a lot safer with something in my bed to protect me." "My horse is your horse," Violet said. Natasha thanked her again, turned and exited the room, shutting the door behind her. She then went back to her own bedroom, climbed back into bed and hugged the plush to her chest. She turned off the beside lamp and shut her eyes, and cried herself to sleep.
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Public Access follows Natasha Simple, a self qualified "self help" instructor with her own show on local public access. But when she makes a sudden and surprising statement on air, her entire life changes, for the better...and the worse. Archives
December 2022
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