Rainbow Sherbet 1: Profiling
Title: Profiling
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Rainbow sherbet 1 (red), malt (PFAH: Joanna : switchblades preferred), rainbow sprinkles (Joanna and Hugh), fresh blueberries (Every human being must have a point at which he stands against the culture, where he says, "This is me and the world be damned!" ).
Word Count: 1003
Rating: PG.
Summary: Joanna and Hugh have a fight.
Notes: I apologize in advance for the truly heinous pun at the end of this. Also, this is what the malt said to me; dunno what that says about my mind but there it is.
Hugh was fuming beside her, his fists clenched on the armrests and his face a rather alarming shade of red. He didn't get angry very often, so it was all the more impressive, and frightening, when he did. And while Joanna in some ways was grateful that he was angry, it wouldn't help anything and it might do a great deal of harm.
"Hugh," she said, in an undertone, and laid a hand over his. "It's all right."
"It is not all right," he replied, between his teeth.
She sighed, and lowered her eyes as someone edged past in the aisle, shooting her a suspicious glance as he did. "Fine," she said. "It's not all right. That doesn't mean there's anything you can do about it."
Hugh saw her face, turned, and shot a vicious look at the man in the aisle. And all right, a small, petty part of her felt quite a lot of glee when he jumped, looked hunted, and scuttled away. Small victories, she supposed, although it wasn't really a victory. But you took what you could get.
"There must be," he said, turning back to her. "There has to be. This is utterly ridiculous, Joanna."
"I never said it wasn't," she began, but he was on a roll, and very likely wasn't listening.
"It is ridiculous," Hugh continued, gathering steam, "that I can travel by myself and skip through security with nary a sideways glance, but should you come along, suddenly we're subjected to random searches every single time. Random my left foot. And the TSA has the nerve to say they don't racially profile."
Joanna smiled a little, twisted smile, and reached up to resettle the folds of fabric around her chin. "Strictly speaking, they don't. It's more the headscarf than my being Arabic."
"Which is even more ridiculous," Hugh said, furiously. "Anyone who knows you..."
"That's the point," she interrupted. He was making her angry and frustrated with something that she'd managed to put out of her mind years ago. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... "They don't know me, Hugh. They won't even try to know me. I've... learned to accept that."
He looked down at her, eyes incredulous. "You can't just accept it! You have to do something about it, you have to fight or nothing will change!"
Joanna snapped backwards. Her elbow hit the wall of the plane with a painful jar that she barely felt. "And just how would you expect me to fight?" she demanded. "Refuse the search? I don't want to get arrested. Not fly at all? That's impractical. At least this way I keep my dignity."
Hugh was staring at her, and so were a number of other passengers, but at least it seemed interest in her very public fight with her husband rather than suspicion. She winced at the thought-- she hadn't meant to make a scene-- and leaned back in her seat, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," Hugh said, unexpectedly. "I didn't realize I'd touched a sore spot."
She opened her eyes and gave him the little twisted smile again. "It isn't a sore spot, so much--" although it was-- "it's just that I don't think you realize how patronizing that sounded. I know that you love me, and that you're angry because you hate to see me misjudged, but..." She hesitated, wondering how best to put it. "I... Hugh, I have lived my whole life with this. Better or worse as the climate changes, of course, but I've lived with it since I was a girl. You never have."
"I know," he said. "But I also know when something's unjust."
Joanna closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. "Yes. Of course you do. That makes you a good person. But can't you see how it feels to me? When someone who's never experienced this tells me 'if you only did this it would be better,' it sounds so..." She couldn't find a good word. "Somewhere between patronizing and outright insulting. You don't have any idea what you're talking about, and telling me how to live my own life better... It's paternalistic. It hurts."
She opened her eyes again, to find her husband looking stricken. "I'm sorry," he said again, sounding as if he actually did understand. But then he probably did-- he had a habit of paying attention to her that not many other people shared. "I never meant to hurt you. I only... I didn't realize."
She smiled at him, a real smile this time, and patted his hand. "That's because you're a white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant man. But I love you dearly, so I'll forgive you."
"Thank you," he said, and smiled a little self-deprecatingly. "I promise to think a little before I open my mouth in the future." He paused, then added, "It still makes me angry, though."
Joanna sighed, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I wouldn't love you half so much if it didn't."
"Mm." He turned his head, kissed the top of hers. "By the way, I am not a Protestant. I am Episcopalian."
She snorted, unladylike but eloquent. "I hate to break it to you, dear, but Episcopalians are Protestant."
"Nonsense," Hugh said. "We are Anglicans without the Queen. Who are Catholics without the popery."
Joanna sat up, opened her eyes very wide and gave him her most innocent look. "So you're foul-smelling Catholics?"
He stared at her for a moment, visibly working it out, then groaned and put his face in his hands. "That is a terrible pun," he informed her, "and for the sake of our marriage I will pretend that I never heard it."
She laughed, settled back into her seat, and let him take her hand casually in his. He loved her. There was always that. He loved her, and he always would.
Still, maybe it would be as well to stop flying as much as possible, after this trip. She didn't need the stress.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Rainbow sherbet 1 (red), malt (PFAH: Joanna : switchblades preferred), rainbow sprinkles (Joanna and Hugh), fresh blueberries (Every human being must have a point at which he stands against the culture, where he says, "This is me and the world be damned!" ).
Word Count: 1003
Rating: PG.
Summary: Joanna and Hugh have a fight.
Notes: I apologize in advance for the truly heinous pun at the end of this. Also, this is what the malt said to me; dunno what that says about my mind but there it is.
Hugh was fuming beside her, his fists clenched on the armrests and his face a rather alarming shade of red. He didn't get angry very often, so it was all the more impressive, and frightening, when he did. And while Joanna in some ways was grateful that he was angry, it wouldn't help anything and it might do a great deal of harm.
"Hugh," she said, in an undertone, and laid a hand over his. "It's all right."
"It is not all right," he replied, between his teeth.
She sighed, and lowered her eyes as someone edged past in the aisle, shooting her a suspicious glance as he did. "Fine," she said. "It's not all right. That doesn't mean there's anything you can do about it."
Hugh saw her face, turned, and shot a vicious look at the man in the aisle. And all right, a small, petty part of her felt quite a lot of glee when he jumped, looked hunted, and scuttled away. Small victories, she supposed, although it wasn't really a victory. But you took what you could get.
"There must be," he said, turning back to her. "There has to be. This is utterly ridiculous, Joanna."
"I never said it wasn't," she began, but he was on a roll, and very likely wasn't listening.
"It is ridiculous," Hugh continued, gathering steam, "that I can travel by myself and skip through security with nary a sideways glance, but should you come along, suddenly we're subjected to random searches every single time. Random my left foot. And the TSA has the nerve to say they don't racially profile."
Joanna smiled a little, twisted smile, and reached up to resettle the folds of fabric around her chin. "Strictly speaking, they don't. It's more the headscarf than my being Arabic."
"Which is even more ridiculous," Hugh said, furiously. "Anyone who knows you..."
"That's the point," she interrupted. He was making her angry and frustrated with something that she'd managed to put out of her mind years ago. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... "They don't know me, Hugh. They won't even try to know me. I've... learned to accept that."
He looked down at her, eyes incredulous. "You can't just accept it! You have to do something about it, you have to fight or nothing will change!"
Joanna snapped backwards. Her elbow hit the wall of the plane with a painful jar that she barely felt. "And just how would you expect me to fight?" she demanded. "Refuse the search? I don't want to get arrested. Not fly at all? That's impractical. At least this way I keep my dignity."
Hugh was staring at her, and so were a number of other passengers, but at least it seemed interest in her very public fight with her husband rather than suspicion. She winced at the thought-- she hadn't meant to make a scene-- and leaned back in her seat, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," Hugh said, unexpectedly. "I didn't realize I'd touched a sore spot."
She opened her eyes and gave him the little twisted smile again. "It isn't a sore spot, so much--" although it was-- "it's just that I don't think you realize how patronizing that sounded. I know that you love me, and that you're angry because you hate to see me misjudged, but..." She hesitated, wondering how best to put it. "I... Hugh, I have lived my whole life with this. Better or worse as the climate changes, of course, but I've lived with it since I was a girl. You never have."
"I know," he said. "But I also know when something's unjust."
Joanna closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. "Yes. Of course you do. That makes you a good person. But can't you see how it feels to me? When someone who's never experienced this tells me 'if you only did this it would be better,' it sounds so..." She couldn't find a good word. "Somewhere between patronizing and outright insulting. You don't have any idea what you're talking about, and telling me how to live my own life better... It's paternalistic. It hurts."
She opened her eyes again, to find her husband looking stricken. "I'm sorry," he said again, sounding as if he actually did understand. But then he probably did-- he had a habit of paying attention to her that not many other people shared. "I never meant to hurt you. I only... I didn't realize."
She smiled at him, a real smile this time, and patted his hand. "That's because you're a white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant man. But I love you dearly, so I'll forgive you."
"Thank you," he said, and smiled a little self-deprecatingly. "I promise to think a little before I open my mouth in the future." He paused, then added, "It still makes me angry, though."
Joanna sighed, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I wouldn't love you half so much if it didn't."
"Mm." He turned his head, kissed the top of hers. "By the way, I am not a Protestant. I am Episcopalian."
She snorted, unladylike but eloquent. "I hate to break it to you, dear, but Episcopalians are Protestant."
"Nonsense," Hugh said. "We are Anglicans without the Queen. Who are Catholics without the popery."
Joanna sat up, opened her eyes very wide and gave him her most innocent look. "So you're foul-smelling Catholics?"
He stared at her for a moment, visibly working it out, then groaned and put his face in his hands. "That is a terrible pun," he informed her, "and for the sake of our marriage I will pretend that I never heard it."
She laughed, settled back into her seat, and let him take her hand casually in his. He loved her. There was always that. He loved her, and he always would.
Still, maybe it would be as well to stop flying as much as possible, after this trip. She didn't need the stress.