When I was little I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to wear leather and armor. I wanted to be tall and have a huge horse with a fancy saddle. I wanted a magic sword that I'd won from an ogre while plying chess. I wanted handsome men to grow green with envy at the sight of me. I waned to be someone that nobody would, or could, ever ignore.
Obviously, I never got what I wanted. The only leather I own is on my shoes and the closest I come to armor is the bullet proof vest Simon made me try on when I threatened to enter a hostage situation when we though Jim had zoned. Only kids under twelve think I'm tall and the last horse I saw really liked me, right up until I got within biting distance and he tried to make a snack out of me. I did win a sword from an ogre, though; technically, I won a letter opener from a mean math teacher when I challenged him for saying that no one as young (see SMALL) as I was could possibly understand a game as complexly challenging as chess. But, I still say the letter opener was really really sharp and could have been a very small sword and Mr. Seedlel was DEFINATLEY an ogre. The only handsome guy who's ever been jealous of me ended up beating me senseless just to show how unjealous he really was. I just wanted to become the type of person that wouldn't be ignored. Instead, I became the one person EVERYONE ignores.
No one listens to me. Yea, my students listen to me and take notes and, most of the time, make decent enough grades that no one hates me. But, they don't hear me. My friends don't even listen well enough to know when to nod or pretend to care about what I'm saying. My mom hasn't really HEARD a word I've told her since I moved in with a PIG. The guys at the station- Cops, PIGS!- are better than most others. They usually at least START OUT listening… they just don't always CONTINUE listening.
Looking at it, seeing years worth of work and countless hours of research and experimentation. I suddenly feel sick. It really is great work. I mentioned how to test for hyperactive senses and, once found, how to control them. I wrote about the challenges of using common, but unnatural, items and how only certain types of foods, cleaners, and dyes can be safely used. I gave the how's and why's to being a Guide to a modern day Sentinel. The only thing I DIDN'T do was put a giant bull's eyes on Jim's back and run his address and description in PEOPLE CRIMINALS NEED TO KILL MONTHLY.
Turning off the computer with disgust, I turn away. And instantly find myself staring at a small framed picture of Simon and I. In torn jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, I look like someone he- in a proper suit and tie- should be arresting. Instead, we're together, his arm around my shoulder and my hands proudly holding onto the civilian commendation he got for me after the Patriot's attacked the station. In his eyes, I saved Daryl's life.
I just wish he could have seen the truth. Jim saved the day. I was just scared and lying, desperate to keep myself alive. And now I am there again. I am poised to be praised and rewarded. I am ready to turn in my thesis and be seen as the re-discoverer of an ancient guardian. I am in a position to take the credit, to become a Ph.D. and have my name finally recognized and respected...
And all I have to do is risk Jim's life. All I have to do is break the single most important tenant of a guide- DO NOT HARM YOUR SENTINEL. The question is, what do I really want to be? Should I become what I've worked to be since I was old enough to know what a doctorate was, do I really want to be Blair, Ph.D.? Or should I embrace what I was apparently born and destined to be, am I ready to finally accept being just Guide Blair?
It is way to raining a depressing a day to think about stuff like this... I need way more coffee!