Astrid Magnussen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
white_oleander) wrote2019-05-11 02:09 pm
white_oleander) wrote2019-05-11 02:09 pm
Hollywood, California, 1993. Saturday [05/11].
After her week alone with Claire, Astrid reluctantly returned to school, to finish out ninth grade at Fairfax High. There, she was blissfully invisible. She came home from school each day to find Claire waiting for her with a sandwich and a glass of iced tea, a smile, questions.
At first it seemed weird and unnecessary. She'd had never come home to someone waiting for her before, someone looking forward to the sound of my key in the door, not even when she was a child. The only thing that came even remotely close was Sabine, asking about her latest painting. It felt like Claire was going
to accuse her of something, but that wasn’t it. She wanted to know about her composition on Edgar Allan Poe and her illustrations on the chambers of the heart and the circulation of the blood. She was sympathetic when Astrid got a D on an algebra test.
She asked about the other kids, but she didn’t have much to tell, not about these classmates. At the best of times, Astrid was never very sociable, and she felt more inclined to talk about her friends back at Fandom High over anyone at Fairfax. The kids there seemed so dull and uninteresting. School was a job, she did it and left. She had no intention of joining the Spanish club or Students Against Drunk Driving, no desire to hop right back into Student Council if her case worker didn't insist on it.
Besides, she had Claire now, waiting for her. That was all she needed.
“Did you have a nice day at school?” she’d ask, drawing up a chair at the little red-and-white kitchen table.
She had some mistaken notion that Fairfax was like high school where she grew up in Connecticut, despite the clear presence of metal detectors at every entrance. Astrid didn’t tell her about the free-for-alls on the school yard, muggings on the bus. A girl burned a cigarette hole into the back of another girl’s shirt at nutrition, right in front of Astrid, looking at Astrid, as if daring Astrid to stop her. She saw a boy being threatened with a knife in the hallway outside Spanish class. Girls talked about their abortions in gym class. Claire didn’t need to know about that. Astrid wanted the world to be beautiful for her. She wanted things to work out, because even if Fairfax made her ache for Fandom, nothing made her ache like this little bungalow. She always had a great day, no matter what.
That Saturday, Ron mowed the lawn, cutting the heads off the primroses, and then settled into reading some scripts. They had lox and bagels for breakfast, and Claire went to her ballet class. Astrid sat with her paints next to Ron at the table. She was getting used to him. He didn’t try to be any friendlier than she wanted him to be.
“How does Claire seem to you?” he asked all of a sudden. He looked at Astrid over the tops of his glasses like an old man.
“Fine,” Astrid said.
But she had some idea what he was talking about. Claire paced at night; Astrid heard her bare feet on the floorboards. She talked as if silence would crush her if she didn’t prop it up with a steady stream of sound. She cried easily. She took Astrid to the observatory and started crying in the star show. The April constellations.
“You have my pager number, you know. You can always reach me.”
Astrid kept painting the way the poinsettia looked against the white wall of the house. Like a shotgun blast, thinking about the postcards she'd sent out to Fandom earlier in the week. Would they be arriving any time soon? How long would it be to get a response, if anyone sent one? Maybe they'd never make it. Maybe it would be 26 years before they did...
Either way, she'd only sent the three.
Sabine's postcard, naturally, have to be from the LACMA:
Hey, Sabine!
Sorry it took me so long to write back; there's been a lot with just settling in and getting back to school (school year out here doesn't end until June and they thought it would be good to get more in). Anyway, phone number's on the bottom of the postcard, if you did want to keep in touch. And you'll have to come see the museums here. Claire (that's my new foster mom) loves them, so we've been going a lot. Ithink know you'd really like them too.
(This is an old vintage card, by the way, from the 60s, it doesn't actually look much like this anymore but I thought it was cool!)
Anyway, I hope everything is okay over there and nothing is too weird, but if it is weird, you definitely have to tell me.
--ASTRID
Norman's postcard, also vintage, and a lot more difficult to track down, but it was worth it, was of the Magic Castle, of course. She'd been a little reluctant to send him one, but Ron's job made it impossible for her not to:
Hi, Norman!
I don't know if Sabine told you or not, but they sent me back to California with a new foster family. So far it's been pretty great, except they sent me off to school again, since the school year here doesn't end until June. Anyway, I wanted to send you this card in case you wanted to keep in touch. It's got my new address and phone number. Also, Ron, my new foster dad, he works for a TV show about ghosts! I thought it was too funny and thought about you
Here, she drew a little sketch of his ghost tattoo making a face at him.
They basically go around and interview people about paranormal stuff. Maybe I can get him to let me send a tape for you, but then you'd have to actually find a VCR first.
Anyway, I hope things are okay out there and not too weird. If anything, I'll try to send you guys some of this nice weather.
--Astrid
And if Astrid has hesitated about sending a postcard to Norman, she definitely hesitated in sending one to Mae, especially since they'd only really just gotten to be friends and then, poof, Astrid just sort of left without telling anyone but her roommate andhandwavily her bosses. But, at the same time, while it made sense to send one to Sabine, after her, it was a little weird just sending one to Norman, right? So it balanced out. And, of course, she had to go with something classic:
Greetings from Hollywood!
Hope everything is going well and not too weird! I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to let you know they were sending me back home; I'm not sure if Sabine would have said anything or not, but this postcard is coming to you from the super-past. If it even get there. I'm not really sure how this all works, to be honest. But I wanted to send you my new address and phone number; maybe we can keep in touch? Don't worry. If you don't, I'll just assume this got lost in the ether because it's not easy trying to postdate things for a completely different century.
It's really nice to be back in California, though. Maybe you can visit sometime? Or not. Again, I don't know how any of this time travel stuff really works. My new school is kind of dumb, too; things were may more interesting at Fandom High.
--Astrid
[[ first part from Chapter 16 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch. Postcards are obviously all me! Recipients, feel free to mod having recieved them whenever, if you like! Post open for phone calls, letters, messages by carrier pidgeon and/or morse code! ]]
At first it seemed weird and unnecessary. She'd had never come home to someone waiting for her before, someone looking forward to the sound of my key in the door, not even when she was a child. The only thing that came even remotely close was Sabine, asking about her latest painting. It felt like Claire was going
to accuse her of something, but that wasn’t it. She wanted to know about her composition on Edgar Allan Poe and her illustrations on the chambers of the heart and the circulation of the blood. She was sympathetic when Astrid got a D on an algebra test.
She asked about the other kids, but she didn’t have much to tell, not about these classmates. At the best of times, Astrid was never very sociable, and she felt more inclined to talk about her friends back at Fandom High over anyone at Fairfax. The kids there seemed so dull and uninteresting. School was a job, she did it and left. She had no intention of joining the Spanish club or Students Against Drunk Driving, no desire to hop right back into Student Council if her case worker didn't insist on it.
Besides, she had Claire now, waiting for her. That was all she needed.
“Did you have a nice day at school?” she’d ask, drawing up a chair at the little red-and-white kitchen table.
She had some mistaken notion that Fairfax was like high school where she grew up in Connecticut, despite the clear presence of metal detectors at every entrance. Astrid didn’t tell her about the free-for-alls on the school yard, muggings on the bus. A girl burned a cigarette hole into the back of another girl’s shirt at nutrition, right in front of Astrid, looking at Astrid, as if daring Astrid to stop her. She saw a boy being threatened with a knife in the hallway outside Spanish class. Girls talked about their abortions in gym class. Claire didn’t need to know about that. Astrid wanted the world to be beautiful for her. She wanted things to work out, because even if Fairfax made her ache for Fandom, nothing made her ache like this little bungalow. She always had a great day, no matter what.
That Saturday, Ron mowed the lawn, cutting the heads off the primroses, and then settled into reading some scripts. They had lox and bagels for breakfast, and Claire went to her ballet class. Astrid sat with her paints next to Ron at the table. She was getting used to him. He didn’t try to be any friendlier than she wanted him to be.
“How does Claire seem to you?” he asked all of a sudden. He looked at Astrid over the tops of his glasses like an old man.
“Fine,” Astrid said.
But she had some idea what he was talking about. Claire paced at night; Astrid heard her bare feet on the floorboards. She talked as if silence would crush her if she didn’t prop it up with a steady stream of sound. She cried easily. She took Astrid to the observatory and started crying in the star show. The April constellations.
“You have my pager number, you know. You can always reach me.”
Astrid kept painting the way the poinsettia looked against the white wall of the house. Like a shotgun blast, thinking about the postcards she'd sent out to Fandom earlier in the week. Would they be arriving any time soon? How long would it be to get a response, if anyone sent one? Maybe they'd never make it. Maybe it would be 26 years before they did...
Either way, she'd only sent the three.
Sabine's postcard, naturally, have to be from the LACMA:
Hey, Sabine!
Sorry it took me so long to write back; there's been a lot with just settling in and getting back to school (school year out here doesn't end until June and they thought it would be good to get more in). Anyway, phone number's on the bottom of the postcard, if you did want to keep in touch. And you'll have to come see the museums here. Claire (that's my new foster mom) loves them, so we've been going a lot. I
(This is an old vintage card, by the way, from the 60s, it doesn't actually look much like this anymore but I thought it was cool!)
Anyway, I hope everything is okay over there and nothing is too weird, but if it is weird, you definitely have to tell me.
--ASTRID
Norman's postcard, also vintage, and a lot more difficult to track down, but it was worth it, was of the Magic Castle, of course. She'd been a little reluctant to send him one, but Ron's job made it impossible for her not to:
Hi, Norman!
I don't know if Sabine told you or not, but they sent me back to California with a new foster family. So far it's been pretty great, except they sent me off to school again, since the school year here doesn't end until June. Anyway, I wanted to send you this card in case you wanted to keep in touch. It's got my new address and phone number. Also, Ron, my new foster dad, he works for a TV show about ghosts! I thought it was too funny and thought about you
Here, she drew a little sketch of his ghost tattoo making a face at him.
They basically go around and interview people about paranormal stuff. Maybe I can get him to let me send a tape for you, but then you'd have to actually find a VCR first.
Anyway, I hope things are okay out there and not too weird. If anything, I'll try to send you guys some of this nice weather.
--Astrid
And if Astrid has hesitated about sending a postcard to Norman, she definitely hesitated in sending one to Mae, especially since they'd only really just gotten to be friends and then, poof, Astrid just sort of left without telling anyone but her roommate and
Greetings from Hollywood!
Hope everything is going well and not too weird! I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to let you know they were sending me back home; I'm not sure if Sabine would have said anything or not, but this postcard is coming to you from the super-past. If it even get there. I'm not really sure how this all works, to be honest. But I wanted to send you my new address and phone number; maybe we can keep in touch? Don't worry. If you don't, I'll just assume this got lost in the ether because it's not easy trying to postdate things for a completely different century.
It's really nice to be back in California, though. Maybe you can visit sometime? Or not. Again, I don't know how any of this time travel stuff really works. My new school is kind of dumb, too; things were may more interesting at Fandom High.
--Astrid
[[ first part from Chapter 16 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch. Postcards are obviously all me! Recipients, feel free to mod having recieved them whenever, if you like! Post open for phone calls, letters, messages by carrier pidgeon and/or morse code! ]]