Mrs. Collins sighed as she flipped through the classifieds. The job market was actually a bit better than it had been, since the Sun changed, but much of that was just due to the general shake-up of society splitting into two distinct schedules - the unchanged got jobs on the newly-formed night-side shifts, and the changed often filled positions that had been thus vacated. But the problem was that her son couldn't do anything like his old job now, due to the language barrier (and she wasn't sure how the case with the station director would affect her career prospects, anyway - he'd been acquitted, but they knew perfectly well what the truth of the matter was, and she didn't think it would be that hard for others to tell,) and there was little chance that Andrew would accept one of the unskilled labor positions that were open - not with her attitude.
("Andrew" - it was strange, how long it'd been since she and her husband had heard that name from anybody but themselves. Their son had taken "Anderson" thinking it'd sounded more professional, but now she apparently thought her name was "Anneza..." ...well, it was a nicer name than "Anderson," anyway, in her opinion.)
So that left...what? She wasn't sure. She thought maybe modelling, but she doubted that Anneza would be open to the idea - she didn't seem to be terribly at-ease with the idea of being a woman, and a job that called attention to her body would probably not sit well with her. She sighed. Andrew needed something to do, she was obviously going stir-crazy, but she wasn't sure that a job was the answer - not until they made more progress with language. Even if she just had a hobby she could focus on...but Andrew had never been one for hobbies, even when they'd encouraged him to branch out...it was all business, all the time...
She tried not to get too caught up in brooding over the past, but she really did wish they'd pushed him a little harder on branching out. Somehow he'd gotten so serious so early in life...at first it'd actually seemed kind of precious, in the way that a child pretending to be an adult does, and she wondered if they hadn't actually encouraged that in him by finding it amusing. By the time he got into junior high...it was like he wasn't a kid at all, so much as (she hated to think this about her own son, but she could never quite avoid the feeling) some kind of larval form of the narrow, joyless businessman he'd become. And when it had become obvious to them, they'd pressed him on it, and he'd reacted by drawing back, away from them... If they'd only addressed it at the start, if they'd only...
...but that was all in the past. There was nothing that could be done about it now. This was...she didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but this situation might represent a chance for Anneza to...to reassess...if they could only find the right way to help her, this time...oh, but...she didn't know, if they got it wrong, it might...might drive her even further away...
She set down the paper and idly glanced into the box of things Anneza had brought from her old house. (She was glad that that place was sold, honestly - it was so empty, just a couple rooms that saw regular use, and a bunch of stuff that even Andrew hadn't really wanted for any reason other than that it was stuff that important people were supposed to have...that, and she'd never liked the style - one of those "neo-eclectic" things designed more to look important than nice, with an enormous two-story living room that meant everything on the second floor was cramped, not that it saw any use, and a bizarre jumble of styles - faux-English country house exterior and a sort of tepid almost-adobe style for the interior... It was better that the mortgage was no longer a concern for them, but it didn't hurt that she'd never have to think about it again.)
In the box she spotted a little notepad with some writing on it. Or at least it had the look of writing...she pulled it out, and stared in surprise. It was definitely writing, but in an alphabet she'd never seen before. It had a geometric sort of look to it, but it wasn't rigidly defined - more of a loose handwriting than printing. It looked vaguely Greek, but only vaguely. She'd never guessed that Anneza's change of languages had included a system of writing, but that was obviously what this was.
It was written left-justified and apparently top-down - she didn't know if that was how this language was "supposed" to be written (if it were an actual, real language of any sort,) or if that was just force of habit on her son's part. There were a couple halting scribbles at the top that looked to be repetitions of the same thing - a test sentence? - and then some further random jots of characters. Down at the bottom was a full block of text - four lines, and then another four lines. It...it almost had the look of a poem...she'd never known Andrew to have any kind of a poetic bent, but that was what it looked like, to her...
The crying from the bathroom had died down, and it seemed less angry than sad now. Mrs. Collins sighed; while her son was merely acting out, it seemed best to just ride it out, but...well, she was dealing with a discomfort she'd never experienced before...she got up and headed into the bathroom.
Anneza was floating there, crying softly and clutching her abdomen. She looked up as her mother entered the room. She...she didn't want to talk about it, but...then again, she did...she wanted to tell her that it hurt, but her mother must know that already, and she'd scold her for reacting so much to something that she went through every month of her life...well, until...whenever it was that that stopped...and tell her not to be such a baby...and even thought Anneza wouldn't understand the words, she'd know what was being said by the tone and the look, and-
She was cut off from this train of thought when her mother reached up and pulled her down into an embrace, gently stroking her and making soothing sounds. Anneza stared at her, confused, pained, and upset. "Dyse!" she moaned. "Chasa kiry, dyse..." Her mother nodded. "I know," she said. "It hurts...I'm sorry you have to go through this now..."
Anneza felt embarassed to even be talking about this with her mother...she was supposed to be an adult, she wasn't supposed to need this kind of treatment, but...but she couldn't bring herself to pull away, couldn't fight it...dammit, it hurt so much, so much that even something like a hug seemed to help...she hated being pitied, but...there was a part of her that felt like sympathy was exactly what she needed right now...
