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Chapter 4 – Buffy


Boxes filled the room. It was amazing what you could do in a few hours if I kept thinking if we stayed here; jail was where Lyn would stay. I had turned Lyn’s music off and heard someone tap at her window. It was Oliver. I kneeled down and opened the window. "Hi, Ms. Summers."


"Oliver." I didn’t want to talk to the delinquent.


"I just wanted to say that I deeply sorry for what happened. And it really wasn’t hers."


"I know Oliver and thank you for the sentiment. She won’t be here tomorrow."


"I know I saw you packing. Could you give Lyn Marie this." The teenage boy put the message down on the windowsill. He kept looking at it as he spoke. "You know, sometimes she does stuff to get her dad’s attention. She thinks that if she screws up enough he’ll come and save her."


"Thank you Oliver." The truth is I already knew. That’s why I’m taking her to where I grew up. So she could see how I think. See what makes me tick. Oliver left with out another word. He was a good kid, except for the random drug deals, but in this part of New York that’s as good as it gets.


I closed the window and stood up slowly. I looked around her room and started to take down posters and pictures. I put what I could in bags or boxes. I know it was wrong to pack Lyn’s things with out her being there, but it was easier while she was contain in a jail cell and couldn’t run. I went to her dresser, and started to pull things out of her drawers. I had finished four out of five drawers until I got to her junk drawer. That’s when I found the picture of her and me when she was four, right next to her pack of cigarettes. I don’t know what was sadder. The picture or the fact that she was smoking and I hadn’t even noticed the smell or any other signs. I must have been a bad a mother as she thinks I am. I threw the picture and pack into her suitcase, and stood up to go to the kitchen. I got up on a chair and got the vodka out from my hiding space above the cabinet. I opened it up and poured a shot. I took it down in one gulp. I picked up the white cordless phone and dialed the numbers that I would recite every night before I went to bed for fifteen years.


The voice came through and clear. It made fifteen years of memories flood back. "Hello?" I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I took another sip of vodka. "Hello?" His accent was lessened almost.


"Hi." Okay, so far so good.


"Buffy?" His voice was filled with wonderment and pain.


"Yea it’s me."


"Oh my god. How....? What...? Why did...?" I heard him panting out the questions not able to finish.


"I’m good. I’m moving back to Sunnydale, tomorrow actually, is when I start driving. And I left because I was pregnant." I waited for an answer. It felt like forever.


"Did you ever get my letter?"


"Yea. I gave it to Lindsey to keep it in a safe."


"I’ll see you when you get here." And that was it. No huge, profound goodbye’s or hello’s. No recognition of being a father. Nothing. Just a "I’ll see you later", well what the hell is that? I hung up picked up the vodka bottle and took a huge gulp and took it with me to finish packing. It was easier to feel drunk.





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