The day after the therapy session, she’d been in work fiddling around on her computer, doing this and that and finding she was running out of things to do. Chewing her bottom lip, she surveyed the room to see what her co-workers were up to. They were all with customers, so Buffy took it upon herself to look on the Boston University website and find out what classes she’d need to take to complete her masters. Just looking at the classes she’d have to take had her not running in fear as she thought it would, but it had her salivating, positively salivating.
Her mind was racing with how much fun it’d be to be part of a class again; to learn and to be able to later use that knowledge later on. To be able to have talks with like-minded individuals about art history, to share that passion with others and to not feel as if she were an alien for knowing things about art that the normal person did not know.
Something Angel made her feel quite often. She remembered going to a museum once with him and whenever she’d rattled off about a piece—something she knew about it, or something about the style or presentation of it, Angel would give her the look that said she was nuts to know all this. He thought art was something you bought to keep up with the Jones’ and that knowing what good artists there were out there was something you did for appearances as well. But actually knowing concrete knowledge about it – well, to him it just wasn’t practical. Where would it get you? Nowhere, that’s where. And he’d take on that tone, that “Oh Buffy” tone, as if she were a child – as if she were Lindsey who’d just gotten into trouble or had some kind of flight of fancy.
Nothing could make you feel crappier than your husband thinking that the thing you loved and were passionate about was nothing more than just a passing whim, and just plain silly. It was art. How could you take art seriously. She’d tried to point out to him that the books he read were considered art. He’d waved her off. Just like him. Dismiss anything that could challenge his logic.
Bastard.
Well, he wasn’t there now, now was he? And she could look up information and plan to her hearts content. If she wanted to salivate at the sight of “Medieval Art”, then she could go right on ahead and do it.
And it’s not stupid. It’s not silly. People need art. We all need it. It’s how we express ourselves! Knowing the technique and the history of it, how it’s grown is important for the young artists of today. It can help shape them to learn about those before them.
One name came unbidden to her mind as who would appreciate her knowledge on art: Spike. He was an artist himself! She remembered him going on and on one day about the cover art for his book and asking her what she'd thought. He’d listened with rapt attention to what she'd had to say about the style, the colors and what it had to say about his book. She’d gotten a taste of that excitement then too, but then tossed it aside, thinking she couldn’t do it, it wasn’t feasible.
But now she wanted to find a way to make it feasible. She’d gotten a good settlement from her divorce – thank you in some weird way, Fred – she could afford to at least pay for half of a full semester.
It was then that she decided to go into the college and meet with a financial aid advisor. So, during her lunch break, Buffy popped over to the college and briefly met with an advisor who loaded her up with material to read. She told him her situation, and he’d told her that she might not get much, but she might be able to get some, and then he’d given her a booklet of scholarships to apply for.
She was on the case, and for the rest of the day, that was all she thought about. She was like a dog with a bone and it felt fantastic. Sure, some might have said she was being obsessive, but she didn’t care.
For the first time in . . . what seemed like forever, Buffy had an outlet for that excess energy inside her. She had a focus for it, and that focus and outlet was positive. She did not dwell on Angel, on Fred, on anything that had to do with lying, cheating or backstabbing. She was not wallowing in misery. She was excited. Her spirits were lifted and soaring.
Perhaps it wasn’t smart to put all her eggs in one basket, but as the clock ticked on her life and on the clock on the wall, she became more and more certain: She was going back to school if it killed her.
A thought she hadn’t had in a while came back to her: Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Maybe, just maybe, she could now say that and have it mean something. She’d repeat it like a mantra if it helped. She’d infuse it with positive energy until all negativity just fell away, and all that was left were clear intentions and crystal clear clarity.
Buffy had forgotten that Spike was picking up Lindsey for a dinner date and then a trip to the park. When he knocked on her door, she berated herself for forgetting – and for almost setting up Lindsey with a hot dog until she could make a real dinner.
Hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand, Buffy opened the door for Spike to come in. “I’m sorry. I forgot you were coming by today.”
“Is now a good time, or--?”
She shook her head, “No, no. Now’s fine. You came just in time. She almost got a hot dog to tie her over until I could get changed and start a real dinner. Come on in. She’s upstairs changing herself. She got a little messy at school today. I swear the girl loves to stick both her hands in the paint. Her hands have a slight purple tint to them.”
Spike smiled as he followed her into the kitchen. “She takes after her mother’s love of art.”
Buffy closed the freezer door after pulling out some pork chops and plopping them down on the counter. She smiled a 100 watt smile. “Thank you for saying that.”
Spike blinked, seeming surprised. That was sad. When she was happy, he was bewildered. Obviously, it’d been much too long since she’d been happy.
“You’re welcome,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
He stared at her, “Sure,” he said slowly.
“I’m planning to go back to school.”
His eyes widened, “Really, when?”
“Well, I’m hoping by next semester. If I can’t fully enroll then, then I might just take a class and at least get my feet wet. I figure I can ask Willow if she would watch ---“
“Buffy, I can do that. I can watch Lindsey while you go to class.”
She bit her lip. “You sure?”
“Of course! She is my daughter.”
“I know, I just feel odd asking after all that’s…happened.”
“I’d be hurt if you didn’t give me the chance to. I could write when she goes down.”
“True. Well, I went to BU today and met with the financial aid advisor and stuff. He gave me a ton of information and I got the course bulletin for the semester – oh, it sounds like so much fun! I can’t wait, I’m so excited!”
Spike laughed, “I can see that. It’s been a long time since…sorry.”
Buffy shook her head, “No, it’s true. It has been a long time since I’ve been excited like this. It feels really good.”
Spike smiled, “I’m glad.”
“Mo-om! I need help!”
Buffy grinned, “Be right back.” Then, following an impulse, Buffy lunged at Spike and hugged him quickly. “Thank you,” she told him and sprinted off to help Lindsey prepare for her time with her Daddy.