Broken Defender

Chapter One ~ Friday Morning

It's October, in the year of 1976, the year of Gerald Ford's presidency following the Watergate scandal of 1974, and Nixon's resignation. The year punk rock music really started to take off with artists like The Clash, Blondie, and Ramones. The year of bell-bottom jeans, and hot pants, of miniskirts, suede, fringe and floral. The year it felt as if everything around me was changing. Fashion, music, and politics. Maybe all of this had been going on before, and only now was I paying enough attention to notice. My name is Suzanne Chambers... simple, common Suzanne. My first name is actually Autumn, though no one but my father had ever called me Autumn. I wasn't sure how Suzanne had stuck, as I viewed Autumn to be far better a name than boring Suzanne. But I had never argued a desire to be addressed by my first name, as I had never actually cared much... So Suzanne it was. I'm a pretty average person. I'm not much to look at. I have bright red hair, and pasty white skin. My face is covered in freckles, way too many freckles. Some freckles people might say were charming, but not mine. Mine were a mess, a scatter of staining across my face that made it even harder to look at me. My eyes are a bland shade of gray, they're not that bad I guess, but they're uninteresting. It's obvious that I had never really liked my face. It's not that I spend countless hours criticizing how I looked, honestly I hadn't put too much thought into it. I just accepted that I was for lack of a kinder word, ugly. As if the previously mentioned features weren't bland enough, I detest my nose. My nose had always been too pointy, like a cartoon's nose. I liken it to Cruella De Vil's nose from the Disney cartoon "101 Dalmatians." My mother knew of this self-inflicted likeness, and had disagreed with me profusely, but my eyes didn't lie. On top of my face's description, there was; of course, the question of my weight. I'm much too skinny... painfully skinny. My mother says some girls would kill to have a figure like mine, but I argue that I don't have a figure. I look like a wooden spoon. This addition to my description only heightened my resemblance to Disney's canine villainess.

I looked back at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling widely. This was one of the first times I had actually seen my smile in the last few years. I had just gotten my braces off, and though I still didn't see myself as much of a catch, I was glad to have straight teeth now. I ran my fingers through the ratty curls of my long red hair, pulling down strands of it, wishing it could be neat. Why can't it be neat? Other girls were blessed with shiny straight, and perfect hair, while I had been cursed with this mound of unmanageable fiery crap. I sighed in defeat. I figured I couldn't get any prettier than this... and at this point I didn't care to.

I walked out of the bathroom and into my small bedroom, stopping at the closet to find something to wear to school. Plaids are in style now, and since my mother loves to sew, and keep up with the latest trends, my closet happens to be stocked with plaids. I guess I could have used my fashion forward closet as a means of gaining peer attention in my horrid school, but in all honesty, popularity wasn't something I longed for. Really, I just wanted to be left alone at school. Sure it would be nice to have a friend or two, but since that hadn't happened yet, blending in was my answer. I grabbed a pleated knee length skirt with a loud orange plaid print, wrinkling my nose at its business. I figure it isn't wise for redheads to wear orange, but I didn't intend to stand in front of my closet for ten minutes, just to find something else. I didn't care what my clothes looked like. I pulled the skirt off of its hanger, and slid the fabric up my small frame, buttoning and zipping it. I then found a white cotton blouse with three quarter length sleeves, and buttons at the neck. The buttons were more for accent than practical use. I pulled the top on over my head, and not bothering to look in the mirror, I grabbed my boring brown t-strap shoes and pulled them on. I hate these shoes. My mother had found them at a garage sale, and insisted that they were "just darling." I wasn't convinced, but they were pretty comfortable, so I had chosen them as my standard school footwear. I took my backpack and walked into the kitchen, greeting my mother with a smile.

"Good morning." I said, taking the bagel, and cup of juice she had set out for me.

"Hello darling." My mom said, smiling back at me from her embroidery.

I love my mother. She's the strongest woman on the planet. She works as a seamstress in a small factory, but I could tell this was personal work. A pillowcase, or maybe a dishtowel. Regardless of what it was for, I was sure that like all of her work, it would be perfect.

"They sold the house across the street." She said, making conversation. My eyebrows shot up in sudden curiosity. Who would move here? The people who owned that house last were wise to move away.

"I hear they have a son... about your age actually." She mentioned, peering over her glasses.

She smirked a bit, taking a sip of coffee, and returning to her needlework. Wonderful. The last thing I needed was for my mom to try and hook me up with some random guy across the street. He was probably a peeping tom with a crooked nose and a bad complexion... though I wasn't sure why I thought I deserved better than that. Still it perplexed me that anyone would actually move into this stupid town. My dad left after all... though I figured he had left because of mom... or me. I didn't know why he left... he just did. Either he found something better, or he was sick enough of spending every day in this town, that he just needed an escape. I envied his escape.

"I have to go." I muttered, gulping down the rest of my juice and heading for the door.

Though I dreaded the school day, I was so ready for this Friday to be over. I had a long weekend of nothing ahead of me, and I planned to enjoy it.