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Silent Night
©2006 by The Angst Guy
(theangstguy@yahoo.com)
Daria and associated
characters are ©2006 MTV Networks
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com
Synopsis: A question about a High
Power is posed in this sequel to “Pause in the Air,” “Thanks Giving,”
and “Moving Day.”
Author’s Notes: This was written for an Iron Chef contest on PPMB, started by Ms. Lee, who asked for stories on the Daria characters and how religion factors into their lives. The question Daria Morgendorffer asks Jane Lane was asked in a previous fanfic, “Nine Eleven and Counting,” but it reappears here under different circumstances.
Acknowledgements: My thanks go out to Ms. Lee
for the contest idea. It was good.
*
“Jane?” Pause. “Jane?”
“Hmuh? . .
. Wha’?”
Duh.
“Um . . . yeah.”
Pause. “I had a question.”
Uh-oh, now
what? Clear your throat, take a moment
to get collected. “Okay.”
“It’s weird.”
It would have to be at this hour.
I can tell this will be good. “Okay. Ask away.”
“Do you believe in God?”
Oh, boy. No sleep for me tonight.
Something’s up. “Um, sure.” Wait and see what’s
next. Long pause. “Daria?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Liar.
Knock it off. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sunshine.”
“Nothing. I
just wanted . . . nothing.”
Long sigh, roll over, rub face. “C’mon, Daria, talk to me.”
Pause. “Do you . . . do you
wonder if there’s a God?”
Pause. “No, I guess I don’t.
I just accept it.”
“What do you think God thinks about
us?”
Whoa, that came out of left
field. “What God thinks about us? You and me?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean, us being married and you
pregnant and everything? I dunno.” Something big is up. “Daria?”
“What?”
“What’s going on? Are you worried that
God’s mad at us or something?”
“No.”
“Then, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
Right.
“Talk to me. I mean it.” Long pause. “Were you watching something on TV,
or see something in the paper, or what?”
“No.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I was thinking.” Long pause.
“I was . . . do you . . . do I act like my dad?”
Blink. I can’t believe this.
“I’m not following you.”
“Do I go off the way he does? Do I
yell and make a fool of myself all the time?”
Yes. Sort of.
“No. What do you mean? Like, yelling at the TV? Everyone yells at the TV. The
TV deserves it. So what?”
“Dad yells at the
newspaper all the time, even when we go home. He yells about squirrels,
crazy things, anything. I wonder sometimes what Mom really thinks of him.”
She probably thinks he’s a nut cluster,
but she’s a premium nut cluster herself, so what? “Did you ask her?”
“No, of course
not.”
Oh, now I get it. “You’re
worried that you’re turning out to be like your dad?”
Pause. “Kind
of. Or like my mom. What if . . . what if our kid grows up and I don’t .
. . if I’m not a good parent? What if I—”
Danger! Stop this instantly,
before it gets worse! “Daria, I have absolute faith in you that you will
turn out in every way to be a great parent.” You don’t rant that much,
actually, and you do make sense when you rant, unlike your dad and his damn
squirrel fixation.
“But—”
“Wait, I’m not done. C’mere,
Sunshine. Roll over so I can get in behind you. Yeah. All three of us are
together now, all cuddled up. Okay, listen to me, both of you. I’ve known you for
a long time. I know your parents, too. They’re good people. They love and care
about you. They accept us for what we are and who we are. So they’re a little
flaky, so what? They beat the hell out of my parents. I don’t even know
where they are now, they could be in outer space and I’d never know it, doing
their art thing. But you’re special. You know a lot of things about people.
That’s why you’re a writer. I came to love you and I married you because you
were different from everyone else. You understand people,
you know what people are like. You’re a real person, you know what I mean? You
tell it like it is, you don’t play games when things
are important, and you care. You’re going to be a great parent. Our kid is
going to love you. You are going to be the greatest parent in history. I know
this. Listen to me on this, and trust me.” Long silence.
“I love you, Daria. That’s all I’m saying.”
Pause. “Love you, too.”
“Why were you thinking about God?” Oh,
you dope! Now she’ll start up again!
“I just was.”
Fix it so we can get back to
sleep. “I’m sure there’s a God. I can’t prove it, but it makes sense to me,
you know? It just does. I found you, right? Of course there’s a God.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“That of course there’s a God
because you found me. That’s not right.”
Pause. “I think it’s true.
Look, you asked me what I thought God thought of us. I think God’s fine with
us. Why is God going to be mad at us? What did we do? I mean, really?” Pause.
“You think God doesn’t like us because we’re gay and we’re married, or what?” May
as well get into it, I can’t sleep anyway now.
“No. No, that wasn’t it.”
“Okay, then tell me what it was.”
“Let’s go to sleep.”
“No, no, you have to tell me. Tell
me what it was.”
“I’m sorry I got into this.”
“Hey. Talk to me, okay?”
Long pause. “I don’t want to
be . . . I don’t want to do this wrong. I want to do this right. I’m scared.”
You’re scared? Well, damn it, so
am I. I’m scared to pieces. “Of what?”
“The future.”
Bingo. Me, too.
“Like, what might happen?”
“Yeah.” Long
pause. “I had a hard time when I was a kid. I felt like . . . like my
parents didn’t understand me, that they’d never figure
me out. I couldn’t even figure me out. I didn’t know what they really thought
of me. Quinn always got so much attention, and I felt . . . I just don’t want
to screw this up.”
“And you’re scared of that, that—”
“Yeah.”
Pause. “Are you worried about
what we did, deciding to have the baby?”
“What?”
“Do you think we did the wrong
thing, having the baby?”
“Oh! Oh, no! No, not
that!”
“How about me?
Do you think—”
“No, Jane, no, that’s not it. That’s
not it at all. We’re—I’m—it’s not us, that’s not
what’s bothering me. It’s not that at all. It’s . . . I want to . . . I want to
be the best parent I can be. That’s it. That’s all.”
“You will be. I have faith.” Pause.
“Where does God come into this?”
“I . . .” Long pause.
“Hey.”
“Let’s go to sleep.”
Sigh. “I love you, Daria, but
you have to be straight with me. You’re not like your parents. You can be
straight with me. Why did—”
“Because I’m . . . I want . . . I
was thinking about trying to pray.”
Blam!
Oh, man. “Oh.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“Whoa, no, I wasn’t—Daria, I would
never make fun of you for that. Why would you say that?”
Pause. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, but I would never make
fun of you. What kind of person would I be?”
“I was . . . you remember how Quinn
always said she had a guardian angel?”
“Oh, yeah, you told me about that.
That was . . . um . . . go on.”
“I thought she was being such an
idiot. I can’t believe there are angels flying around looking after us. It just
doesn’t work. Look at all the terrible things that have happened in the world,
the wars, the terrorism, everything. If there are angels, they’re really
screwing up their jobs, you know? How can anyone believe in that?”
Good point, but . . . “So,
with Quinn . . .”
“I finally said,
if you want to believe that, it’s okay. You have to believe what you want, what
you think is true. It made her happy, I guess. I dunno.”
“Do you still think she’s an idiot
for thinking that?”
“No, it’s not that. She isn’t. It’s
just . . . I don’t want to screw things up. I want this to work, I really do. I
just . . . I’m just afraid, and I don’t know what to do, but I can’t believe
that praying would make any difference. What’s God going to do for me? How
could anyone like that care about me?”
Damn. How do I answer that? Long
pause. “It’s a faith thing, Daria. You just believe.”
“I know. I . . . I don’t know what
to do.”
“And you’re scared of what might
happen.”
“Yeah.”
Long pause. I give up, may as
well try it, too. “Here. Give me your hands again. No, don’t turn over.
Let’s lie like this, all three of us. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Put your hands together like . . . no, like this, like you’re praying. Like that. Now my hands are on yours. It’s all three of us together, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, close your eyes. Now, say
what it is that you really want to happen.”
Long pause.
“I want for . . . I want there to be someone
in the world, walking around after we’re both gone, who says that there was a
Jane and there was a Daria, and because of them, I’m here, and they did
everything right for me, all the things that mattered. They loved me, and
because they loved me, I’m here. That’s what I want to pray for.” Long silence. “Jane?”
Pause. “What?”
“Are you crying?”
Yes. I don’t want to cry, I hate
to cry, but I have to. I want that, too, I want that so much. I don’t want to
be like my parents, either, running off to the ends of the world, leaving me
behind with only Trent to take care of me when things went wrong. I don’t want
to be like my parents, either. I have to pray for that, that I will do better
than they did, and I won’t screw it up for our baby. I can’t do anything else
about it but pray.
“Jane?”
Sniff. Don’t let your nose run
too much, if you can help it. Sniff hard. “I’m okay. Just . . . let’s pray.
For what . . . for what you said.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Let’s pray.”
Silence.
FINIS
