|posted on 6-Dec-2001 10:23:45 PM|
|Author: AuroraAngel101- Cait|
Title: Where do We Go Now?
Summary: I know, you hate me now, but I don’t like summaries. Too many people write bad ones that ruin the
whole storyline, and I don’t trust myself to not do that.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Roz or Smallville. Period.
Rating: Probably PG-13 at max, but I’ll give a warning if it goes higher.
Spoilers: Post Busted, post Craving for now, but it’ll probably go after that too. I’ll tell ya.
Author's Note: Don't forget fb. Hate it or luv it, I'd really like to hear your comments. Thanks.
My name is Liz Parker, and five days ago, I died. Not literally. No, I’ve already done that. September ‘99, remember? This time it was an emotional death, breakdown- whatever you want to call it. My parents told me that they had decided to move. In less than a week. I don’t know why, and I don’t think it’s simply that they want to get me away from Max Evans. If they wanted to do that, they would have just shipped me off to Connecticut. This is more than that. All I know is that Mrs. DeLuca agreed to become manager of the Crashdown. We’ll still own it, but until we move back to Roswell- if we ever do- she’ll be doing all the accounting and stuff. Dad’ll be doing as much as he can, but apparently we’re going to be to far away for him to play a very active roll in the Crashdown.
Which brings me down to where we’re moving to. Smallville. As in Smallville, Kansas. Here’s the deal: Yes, I’ve been in Smallville before. My parents used to live in the nearby city Metropolis, before I was adopted. And before you ask, yes, I was found naked and abandoned. Next to a cornfield. Fun. Which brings you to start asking yourself: Is it possible that Liz Parker is from the same planet as Max Evans? Is there any chance that she could be the true bride of Zan? And now I’m going to say this: Whoa. Slow down. Did I even say I was an alien? Did I say I was found in Roswell? Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’ve only lived in Roswell since I was five, but are there any cornfields in New Mexico? No. And didn’t I say I was found in a cornfield? Well there you go.
What I’ve been told is that my parents had been living in Metropolis, Kansas, a dozen or so miles away from Smallville, for the past few years, but had recently bought a piece of property in some small town just outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. The plan had been that they would move out there in the next few months.
There’s something I should tell you about my parents. From the day I turned fifteen, they have been completely honest about me with every detail of my life. I honestly believe that there is nothing left that they have yet to tell me. As much as I trust them, though, the story they told me is hard to swallow.
They were visiting some friends- I don’t remember the name of the couple- out in Smallville, sometime in the spring of 1989. The only thing that has put Smallville on the map is the infamous meteor shower of 1989. And guess what? That’s when they were there. The way the story goes, my parents had just left the friends’ house when it began. The meteor shower. The details after that are pretty vague; Mom says it was too scary to recall, Dad says it was too astounding to describe. At any rate, the shower itself didn’t last very long, but the destruction it had caused was devastating. The Parkers sat in their car for what my mother says must have been close to an hour, just looking at the carnage. And then out of all of the wreckage comes this little girl.
Yes, me. Me. I was the little girl. And Jeff and Nancy, out of the kindness of their hearts, took me in. I couldn’t speak English, though I picked it up pretty fast, couldn’t understand what was going on, couldn’t communicate. But the people at child services must have thought I was just mentally handi-capped. Jeff and Nancy told people they’d found me in an alley in Metropolis, dissolving any ties people might have thought I had with the meteor shower, and adopted me. They had wanted a kid, didn’t have time to have a baby, and then I came into their world. The Parkers had been talking to friends and family about adopting a toddler, so it didn’t come as a big surprise to any of them. And child services was happy to help along the adoption of what they thought was a mentally hand-capped child. One less kid for the state to have to pay for. Whatever.
All in all, I owe a lot to the Parkers. So no, I’m not about to dump them for Max or anything. He did try, you know, to convince me to get an apartment with him rather than leave with Jeff and Nancy. I’m eighteen, he pointed out, I have a choice. In fact, he got pretty upset when I told him I couldn’t. If I remember correctly, he called me a bitch. For not giving up my family for him! Mr. High and Mighty himself broke off the relationship that afternoon. And then he came to my balcony later that evening to beg my forgiveness. But I’ve had it with Evans. I have gone through so much shit for him, but it’s over. I’m trying to figure out why I got back with him anyhow. I think at the time I was trying to convince myself I could love him, or something like that. But that’s all a lie. I just wanted the flashes. Ever since we hooked up, that’s what it’s all been about for me. The flashes. The hope that I could have a glimpse at my past. And that’s why I can’t really get myself to be very pissed at Max for the way he’s treated me. Yeah, I should be, but I used him and he used me. It seems fair.
No one knows, by the way. Alex never knew, Maria and the others don’t know, and as far as I know Max never saw anything in his flashes. The earliest thing he saw was me in that horrific cupcake dress from kindergarten. They don’t even know I’m adopted. I look enough like Jeff and Nancy, I guess. My parents’ friends that know I’m adopted are all out in Metropolis, and my family’s never said anything, so it’s pretty much been kept a secret. I don’t know why, it’s not like we’re ashamed of it or anything, it just never came up. Never has Maria asked me if I was adopted.
I haven’t been as honest with my parents as they’ve been with me. I know they suspect the truth, though. Just like you do. Yes- I am not like most people. I don’t know whether I’m an alien or not. But the fact that I arrived at the same time as the meteor shower seems to suggest that. There are signs; things I can do that other people can’t. But I’ve never told anyone, not even my parents. I’m just like the Max and Isabel and Michael. Even at the age of five I knew that these were things I had to keep to myself- that I could run faster than anyone else, that I could multiply digits in the hundreds in my head, that- and here’s the latest addition- I can see through things. Like x-ray vision or something.
Anyway, my parents haven’t pushed the issue, but I think that they have the same suspicions about my origins as I do. They moved to Roswell instead of that little town outside of Albuquerque- They say that’s because the house they had bought was too small for three people, but I’m sure that’s only part of the reason. It’s like how Max took a job at the UFO Center. Hide in the open. If you were an alien, would people expect you to move to the town know for infamous crash of 1947? And so now we’re moving to another infamous town. Smallville.
[ edited 3 time(s), last at 2-Jan-2002 7:50:25 PM ]
|posted on 2-Jan-2002 7:14:21 PM|
|Hi guys! look, I know I haven't posted a new part in....1,2,3,4,5...okay, nevermind- forever days, and I apologize. but imagine me going back to my first post back on dec. 19 (yes, that's how long it's taken me to finish this next part) and seeing that after a week or two, I had gotten two new posts only two days ago! I mean, wow-eee! it was very cool. so now I will express my thanx in a new part, which may or may not, depending on your opinion, suck. so please, feedback- it worked the 1st time, even if it took about a month. Thanks to all of you, especially fallin' angel, who motivated me not once, but twice. wow-eee. luv yall!|
disclaimer on first part
I’d really like to tell you my last entry was a joke. No, I’m not leaving Roswell. No, I haven’t been told to be packed and ready to leave in five days. No, I’m not moving to the land of corn. That would be denial. If Maria were here she would make some crack about it not just being a river in Egypt. I miss Maria.
We’ve been in this car for six hours so far. Tons of fun. And no explanation as to why we packed up and left so suddenly. I’ve been told we have an hour or so more to go. More fun. So I’m sitting here, thinking. Well, writing down my thoughts, at least. But anyway, what would inspire my parents to move back to the very same town that they found me in?
Neither of them has said anything about Smallville in the longest time, mentioned my adoption other than that they were so glad they had found me, or asked me if I knew anything about my ‘origins’. The last I heard- or, rather, overheard- them talking about anything to do with Smallville was when they received a friendly call from the friends they had been visiting in Smallville right before the meteor shower. Coincidentally, they had also adopted a kid. That phone call was a long time ago, right before the White Room/Destiny scare. Suffice to say, I was too occupied at the time to pay it much attention.
I’ve wondered if the adoption of that kid-a boy, actually- has anything to do with this trip. And yes, the fact that he might have been adopted at the same time I was has come to mind. And yes, the thought that he might be an alien has as well. But he can go screw himself if any hologram claiming to be his mother appears and informs him I’m his Destiny. If my first two theories are correct, I’m hoping for a brother or something. At any rate, there is no chance in hell that I’m going to marry anyone I’m told I have to.
I’m sure that anyone who read my first year or two’s worth of journal entries would be praying that another hologram would be found, revealing that the first one was a hoax, Tess was our enemy- though it turned out that that was true anyway- and that I was Max’s true Destiny.
But that would suck. The idea that I was basically sent down to repeat what my predecessor had done in her life would truly be screwed up. Max and Isabel and Michael don’t seem to understand this, but DNA only passes down the genetic structure of an organism. Your thoughts and ideas, style and attitude, feelings and infatuations- that’s all you.
That’s why when people talked about cloning Princess Diana after her death other people started pointing out that she wouldn’t be the same as the first one. Princess D’s surroundings, friends, family, and experiences had all contributed to who she was. Unless those scientists could recreate all of that, the clone would only look the same.
Sure, the idea of already having your soulmate designated for you is romantic, but it would make for a very boring life.
So here we are, Kansas. Or Nebraska. Or one of those Dakotas. I don’t know anymore, and I’m not sure I really care, either. It’s just like Roswell, another infamous small town. As mentioned in its name. And as I’m sure I’ve already mentioned numerous times in this journal.
Mom says with forced cheerfulness that we’re only thirty minutes away. I’ve been getting the impression that she’s not exactly pleased either about packing up and moving ourselves and all of our belongings with a five day warning, leaving our house and friends and life. Dad is the only one who’s worn an earnest smile once during the entire trip.
Still no word on why we’re here, but I’ve almost given up. My guess is that my dad reached mid-age crisis, looked at his life, and realized that all he had to show for himself was a cheesy restaurant, managed to overlook his happy, comfortably settled family, and decided to open a second cheesy restaurant in another small, boring town. Maybe this one will be called “The Landing Pad” or something like that.
I just asked Jeff if we were going to open another restaurant, but
Sorry, that was Maria checking up on me. She sends her sympathy and love, and informed me that she’s visiting as soon as we’re settled. Anyway, the answer was no. No, we won’t be opening another restaurant. We’ll be taking over another restaurant. Some cafe. Sounds classy, but then again, the Crashdown’s full name was “The Crashdown Cafe,” so that doesn’t mean much.
From what I understand, Dad and Mom found out from that Smallville couple that there was a cafe in town that the manager was planning to sell sometime in the next year or so. That was back in the Destiny time. So apparently the family- you know what? I really hate calling them ‘the Smallville people’ or ‘that couple.’ Wait
while I get their names.
Kent. The Kents. Anyway, they called back and told my parents that the restaurant was up for sale, Jeff and Nancy saw this as a wonderful experience- they could be near their old friends and I could try to answer all the questions I have about my origins. What questions? Okay, so I have questions, but I have absolutely no expectations from Smallville. Twenty bucks says I’m not going to get one answer from that place. If I had thought that I would, I would have taken a bus out to Kansas a long time ago.
Let’s take a small break from this deep, spiritual discussion. I bet you’re wondering why the heck I can’t decide on calling the Parkers Mom and Dad or Nancy and Jeff. Well, let me put it this way: As I’ve mentioned, it was never hidden from me that I was adopted. Not that it could have been- even if I couldn’t speak English yet, I still remember going through the adoption process. But, you see, the Parkers gave me a choice. I could call them Nancy and Jeff or I could call them Mom and Dad. I knew they wanted me to call them Mom and Dad as soon as they found me, but once I understood English well enough, it all seemed too strange to me. So I compromised.
When it’s just the three of us, they’re Nancy and Jeff. When we’re out in public, it’s Mom and Dad. I know that it makes them feel better to hear that when we’re with their friends or whoever, but it makes it hard to know what to call them on paper. “The Parkers” just sounds cold. So please try to accept me flipping back and forth between the two. Whatever I’m calling them will probably depend on the situation I’m writing about, if that helps.
Back to more pressing issues. We’re here. Yeah, Smallville. We passed the “Smallville, Meteor Home of the World” or whatever sign five minutes ago and now we’re parked in front of a house. A nice house, true, but it’s surrounded with cornfields and...empty space. Much like Roswell, but without the corn. And at least we lived close to- heck, in- town in Roswell. But as long as I don’t have to go picking corn or do anything farm-y, I’ll survive.
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 2-Jan-2002 7:24:26 PM ]