Shadow. Most who call me that mean it as an insult, like I should be ashamed of it. They spit the word at me, afraid even thinking it will stain their lily-white reputations. I've got news for them: most people aren't as spotless as they'd like to believe.
See, the problem is, most people associate shadows with darkness. Not true. Think about it a minute. If it's a pitch-black night, do you see a shadow? What about when the moon comes out? See, without the light from the moon, there'd be no shadow. So, shadows should be associated with light.
Okay, another example, just to prove my point. It's a hot, sunny, bright day. Where are you going to find a lot of people? In the shade, right? Shade equals shadow, people. Shadows can be refreshing, a relief from the brightness of light.
I think that's why I'm drawn to the friends I have, and why they're drawn to me. I have, in my circle of friends, some of the only people whose reputations are as spotless as they are. Pure light. Without them, I wouldn't exist. On so many levels. And they find me refreshing. When their burdens get too heavy, when being spotless gets exhausting, I can take them to some of my old haunts, give them a thrill. Nothing illegal, nothing too heady, just something a little...I don't want to say naughty, that has too many dark connotations anymore, but...maybe borderline. Something they wouldn't feel comfortable approaching on their own, but with me to guide them, we can have a little fun, relieve the tension of saving the world.
A wise soul once called shadows like me a living balance between dark and light. At least a few of my friends would say I'm more off-balance than balance, but I still like them. Besides, I agree with them, sometimes. I've had a really screwed up life. It doesn't help that my father is one of the pure dark folks out there.
No, I can't say that. I remember when I was little, before he left. I know he loved me, and pure dark isn't capable of love. Love belongs to light. So maybe that's why he hates shadow so much--he could very well be one. Trying hard not to be at the moment, but he remembers, sometimes, what it was like to be closer to light.
I wonder if he misses it, even a little. Misses being something close to normal. Misses mom and me, for reasons purer than he'd admit out loud.
Not that it matters, really. I have mom, and she's the reason I'm still shadow, not night. She's been the only stable influence in my life. Although, I wonder if she's more shadow, like me, and that's why she gets me. She seems to understand a lot more than she lets on. Like, when I would be really late coming home from school, and when I did get there, I was a mess, and sore, but not really hurt. She'd just draw a bath, get me the aspirin, a mug of hot tea, and a couple bits from her private Godiva stash. Put my "I'm hurt and don't want to talk about it" cd in the bathroom stereo, and let me alone for an hour or so.
She has to know. I can't ask her, though, because if she doesn't, or not fully, I can't tell her. That really rubs me wrong. I've had so many arguments about it, and I know some of my friends agree with me, that we should tell our parents, at least, so they don't think we're on drugs or something. But, the rule stands, tell no one. Okay, so I can see how it could be bad, just one PTA meeting, or news report, and one mom or dad to stand up and say, "Hey, that's my kid!" and boom, no more confidentiality. It still hurts, though. Mom's been the only one, until lately, that I tried really hard not to keep secrets from.
I can't even tell her dad's still alive. Not that she'd recognize him now, what with the whole taking-over-the-world complex he's developed. Mom says when he was with us, he worked at a number of contract jobs, never staying too long at any of them, but making a decent paycheck at each. Not trying to make a name, or anything like that, just getting the job done and coming home to his wife and kid. Don't know what she'd have to say about this current ambition of his.
Shadows. It always comes back to shadow. I know most of my friends don't get me. My best friend doesn't even try to understand, she's just there when I need her. I know I said earlier that shadows can be refreshing for light. But she...she's pure. Completely and totally pure. Honest. She's refreshing for me. Reminds me of where I am, who I am, why I am. Whenever I have self-doubts, things I can't talk to mom about, I can go to her. She does a lot of the same things, makes a cup of tea or something, even just pouring a Coke, gets out some chocolate (peanut M&Ms, not Godivas), and listens to me. Waits until I'm done, exhausted, then offers gentle advice. Usually something I hadn't thought of. A disadvantage of being shadow is you're so immersed in complexity, you can miss the simple answers. So maybe she does get me, on some level. Knows that I can miss the forest for the trees. Or the trees for the forest. Hell, who am I kidding, I usually miss the forest for the ocean. Whatever that means.
But no matter what, I know she's there for me. They all are. Even my friends who are borderline shadows. Like my boyfriend. He's so borderline, it wouldn't take much to nudge him over. If he isn't over already. I've seen him, recently, taking a lot more chances than he used to. Like that motorcycle. Every time we go out on it, he pushes it a little harder, a little faster. I know he's trying to recapture the feeling he used to have, when he'd be out with everyone else, but there's nothing that can totally recreate that.
Our personal life notched up, too. Once he realized I wasn't as morally uptight about some things as the girls he was used to, he relaxed noticeable. Didn't have to worry about a scene if he accidentally touched my chest, or my thigh, or my butt, or anything, really. And it was all accidentally, usually. I wasn't going to scream and push him away for an accident, like the girls who were afraid of being perceived as even slightly shaded. Hell, those girls scream foul about mass changing rooms and accuse anyone who happens to stand next to them of being lesbians out to sully their virginal heterosexuality. And I bet almost all of the girls who protest loudest about being pure, untouched virgins have no qualms about using the shower massage back home for "immoral purposes." Among other things. I've seen how truly pure girls react when a guy accidentally brushes up against them--they apologize for being in the way.
Don't get me wrong, my guy and I haven't gone much further than some mutual exploration. Curiosity-satisfying, on both our parts. And his hands are the perfect size for my chest, but I digress.
Sometimes I wonder about the new teams. We, of course, don't know who they are, but there are traits most of us can recognize. I think after the initial replacements, at least one member of every team has been shadow, or at least borderline. Whether they started as shadow, or the job made them that way, I can't be sure, but I feel a kinship with all of them.
This latest team, there's one that feels stronger than ever. I know I know him. Know he fought being shadow, didn't want to be shadow. Even with my example, he couldn't let go of his fight for light. We saw it when he was first brought back to the team, gleaming light from head to toe. And we saw how devastated he was when it bled out of him, leaving him open to his past. He tried disassociating from both, going for a new attempt at light, trying hard to be as pure as his first replacement. I could have told him it wouldn't work. That it doesn't work that way. You can't deny who you are. He tried, and it almost killed him. He started to heal when he contacted his best friend, former leader, love of my life, again. He recognized the shadow in his own soul. And embraced it.
I don't know if he found peace, but he seems happy now. Well, as happy as someone can be in that situation. He says he came to terms with all three parts of his past, allowing him to see himself as he truly was. I wonder if the color of his suit was coincidence or conscious decision.
Author's Notes (because this one needs a little explanation)
Okay. The narrator here is Jamie
Zedden, initial creation of Ellen Brand, shared character between the two of us
for years and years. This rambling thought of Jamie's spawns from our
initial view of the characters. Jamie wasn't light, like Christina
(my original White Ranger, who's found herself resurrected in multiple fandoms),
and she wasn't dark, like Zedd. She was an in-between, a shadow.
The musings seem to start mid-MMPR, when Jamie's in the thick of being a Ranger.
Ellen and I discussed on multiple occasions how the Rangers' parents must have
reacted to seeing their children come home damaged. Being a Ranger had to
be hard on the young bodies. Somewhere along the ramble, Jamie's views
switched to the other teams, as she herself grew, ending around DinoThunder.
If anyone would recognize Tommy under that Black Ranger costume, it would
be a former teammate...especially one who knew you better than you knew
yourself. Tommy's continual quest for light would be hard on him, and
that's one thing we think contributed to his attitude in Forever Red.
It seems abrupt, the ending, but really, that's how it ends. Jamie shut up and went back to wherever she goes when she's not talking to me. That was all she had to say.
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