YOU — “Did you become a gardener because of your grandmother?”
THE GARDENER — She looks taken aback by your question. “I’m sorry?”
YOU — “Your grandmother who taught you about the nutrients in the snow.”
THE GARDENER — “I got that part, thanks. I just…” She shakes her head with a quiet breath.
EMPATHY — She just thought it was a strange question for a cop to ask.
THE GARDENER — “Yes, it was because of her.” Her expression flickers just slightly. “*For* her…”
DRAMA — There’s more to this cute grandma story, sire.
AUTHORITY — Who cares about her grandma? Tell her to cut the bullshit and stop wasting your time already!
“Cool. Sorry, I don’t know why I asked you that. I actually don’t care that much.”
“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. Are you really a gardener?”
“You sound sad.”
THE GARDENER — “Do I?” She smiles shyly. “Sorry. I was getting nostalgic.”
DRAMA — She’s laying it on a little thick, but she isn’t lying. You touched a nerve.
YOU — “Was she a gardener, too?”
THE GARDENER — “…She wanted to be,” she says, her voice measured. “But we rarely end up where we want to be, wouldn’t you say?”
INLAND EMPIRE — Yes. You would. You don’t even remember where or who you hoped to be, but it can’t have been anything like *this.* No one would ever want to be you.
“Yeah. You’re right. I mean, look at *me.* I hope I didn’t end up like this intentionally. That would be pretty weird.”
“Hey, it’s never too late to give it a shot.”
THE GARDENER — “I mean, it is for her,” she says drily. “She’s dead.”
EMPATHY — Oh.
YOU — “Oh.”
THE GARDENER — “Why are you asking so many questions about my grandmother, anyway? I can assure you she didn’t put that body in the tree. On account of being dead.”
“You never can tell. She could have faked her death. I have to explore every possibility. I’m told that’s what detectives do. And also that I’m a detective.”
“Okay, you got me, I don’t actually care about your grandma. I care about why you’re spying on us.”
“Just curious. It sounds like she meant a lot to you.”
THE GARDENER — Her expression flickers again, almost imperceptibly.
COMPOSURE — She’s trained herself well to keep a straight face. Strange for a gardener.
THE GARDENER — “…She still does,” she admits quietly. “She gave up her home and her garden to take care of me. And then worked herself to death, quite literally.”
EMPATHY — There’s bitterness in her voice, but not toward her grandmother. More likely toward the job that wore her down to nothing.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Without the speed and the nicotine and the booze to smooth out all those harsh edges, you would have been worn down to nothing by now, too.
“That’s the economy for you. She should have worked on her hustle.”
“I totally understand. Being a cop is really hard.”
“Well, at least *you* ended up where you wanted to be. I’m sure she’d be glad that you became a gardener.”
THE GARDENER — Slowly, like the snow on the breeze, her gaze falls from you to her gloved hands. Her face is still as stone.
“Yes,” she says hollowly. “She would.”
EMPATHY — And that’s what makes it all so much harder.
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Love, love, love Adore and am drooling over Head Over Feet!!
You mentioned a couple asks ago that you haven’t specified it’s in the US, and that made me very curious as to where they do live??
The way you’ve phrased east and west coast and mentioned eastern time (NA) makes me wonder (aka hope) that maybe, if not the US, they’re in Canada?!?! As a Canadian girlie I love some representation for us - so I just had to ask!!
They indeed are Canadian. 😁 They don't live in Quebec, but they're close! They live in Ottawa. For those unaware, Ottawa, Ontario and Gatineau, Quebec are directly across the Ottawa River from one another, and Hull is a historic neighbourhood in Gatineau. (By the way, the university in the story is Carleton.)
I'm a Canadian girlie myself, and when I started Disarm I thought, if American writers make them American in AUs, why can't I make them Canadian? So I did. I'm not from Ottawa (I'm from Newfoundland, which is way too distinct a setting, because we fucking weird over here) but I did spend a lot of summers there as a kid.
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I haven't been to any shuls since sukkot, and I don't know how I'll feel about going back and knowing that whether its in my current town, or the shul I grew up in, there's going to be an israeli flag and prayers for the state, and hardliner zionists saying the most vile and racist shit about palestinians. even people like my parents, who have relatively lukewarm takes and like, want a ceasefire and think palestinians are human beings, are seen as radicals. two of my cousins reposted videos praising the end of unrwa funding. my aunt and other cousins went to the anti-ceasefire rally in dc. once you see it, it's terrifying to realize how deeply embedded zionism is into the jewish community in the diaspora. it's like some political virus. it's in our schools, our shuls, even our charities. and sure, lots of us are pushing back, self included, but I've never felt so isolated. I've never felt so alienated from other jews. being called self-hating by a goy makes me laugh, but being called a kapo by another jew makes me sick. all of our principles mean nothing when we stand by, or even endorse genocide. לֹא תַעֲמֹד עַל-דַּם רֵעֶךָ feels like a bad joke.
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sucks how many “won’t anyone think of the children” types of movements are extremely reactionary, because children grow up in extremely undemocratic and unfair circumstances that they are structurally prohibited from leaving until they’re legal adults, long after damage to them is done. people will call you insane for saying that raising children in a nuclear family unit is horrifically unfair (and very, very frequently violent and traumatising), and a lot of children’s rights movements in the popular imaginary focus on like, preventing kids from knowing about sex or trans people or racism instead of like, abolishing childhood poverty or eliminating abuse within the home
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