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			   Jackson Six #25
		      All's Well that Ends Well"
			 1995 Holiday Special
		      "I Say, I Am Your Mother"
			   Roger Christman


   8 September 1995

   Mary Jackson slung her backpack over her shoulder and began her
walk home from school.  Thank God it was Friday; her week had been a
living Hell(tm).  She was convinced that whoever had said that the
senior year was the best part of high school was a liar.  Mary had
never felt more alone and isolated in her life, and the whole week,
she could literally feel everyone's eyes on her.  At least now, she
would have a couple days of respite.
   Mary pulled a fresh piece of bubble gum from her purse, popped it
in her mouth, and returned the neatly folded wrapper to the purse.
She didn't remember when she had started that habit, but it sure did
make tossing old bubble gum away less messy.  She then adjusted the
bowler on her head and continued on her way, absent-mindedly toying
with a yo-yo as she walked.
   She didn't have to be told that Carmen and her friends would follow
her -- it had become a regular ritual: the girls with rich fathers and
doting mothers teasing the motherless teen whose wardrobe came partly
from Salvation Army.  Mary scanned the cloudy sky for a passing bird
to provide a means of escape, but soon decided that using that trick
wouldn't solve anything.  Instead, she just continued on her way,
pretending not to notice.

   "Hey, Handmedown!"
   Mary ignored Carmen's call.
   "Yo, Mary!  Wait up!"
   Mary heard high heels clacking on the asphalt as Carmen ran.  This
was a new development; Mary quickened her pace, and silently cheered
as Carmen swore and kicked off her heels.
   "Hey, Mary!  I'm talkin' to you!"
   "Leave me alone!" Mary shouted, without turning.
   "Aw, c'mon!" Carmen called, with less edge in her voice.  "Check
this out!"
   Overcome by curiosity, Mary turned and looked at her persecutor,
gasping at the sight.  Carmen wore tight black leather shorts and a
matching vest over a white short-sleeve blouse.  The blouse was left
enticingly unbuttoned, reminding Mary of the rumors that Carmen was
over twenty.  To make her ensemble complete, Carmen had even cut her
hair short and dyed it black.
   "So what do you think?" she asked, impertinently blowing a bubble
with the gum she chewed happily.
   Mary choked back her tears.  "Not funny!"  She turned to run.
   "No, Mary!  Please!"
   Mary stopped upon hearing the word she had never heard Carmen say
before.  The pleading tone also struck her, and she turned back, her
curiosity once again piqued.

   Carmen fumbled over what to say next.  "Like, I'm really, like,
sorry for the way I, uh, we've, like, treated you, you know? You see,
like, I swear I didn't know!"
   "Didn't know what?" Mary asked, as she watched Carmen's friends
approach the scene.  Although their transformation wasn't nearly as
complete, they also had adopted portions of Handmedown's cabaret-girl
costume.
   "The way you dress: I always thought that you, like, only wore that
stuff 'cause your Dad was, like, a loser, you know?  I never thought
that you wore it, like, intentional."
   "Yeah, right," Mary muttered.
   "See?  What'd I tell you?" the spiked redhead next to Carmen
snorted.
   "Shut up," Carmen replied.  "Now, Mary.  We're all friends here,
right?"  She looked at her cohorts.  "We *are* all friends, here,
right?"  There were several insincere assents.  "So, just tell me.
That's, like, your Inner Clothes(tm), right?  You, like, got it all
fixed up by the Tailor Twins, and we never noticed, 'cause it, like,
really fits you!  Right?"
   Mary turned the pain she was feeling into rage.  "If all you want
to do is make fun of me, then stop pretending to be *nice*!"
   Carmen stopped short and fumbled again.  "Like, hey!  I'm sorry!
Like, I really want us to be, you know, friends!"  As an afterthought,
she added, "We all do!"
   "*Why?*"
   Carmen sneered.  "Like, duh!  It's not, like, every high school has
its own superguy!  You think this is Jordan High?"  Her cronies duly
snickered.
   "I'm not a superguy," Mary said simply.
   Carmen scoffed.  "Like, reality check!  Everybody knows!  Your
picture was, like, in SUPERGUY REVIEW with the rest of 'em.  Like,
Super Seven, over in Japan, you know?  So, really, what's it like?"
She chewed her gum viciously as she awaited Mary's answer.
   As Mary wondered what to reply, a girl with peroxide hair climbing
down only one side of her head whispered in Carmen's ear.  The two
exchanged whispers, quite unaware that the Mary's bowler allowed her
to hear everything they said.

   "Maybe you, like, got the wrong girl, Carmen."
   "No, I'm, like, sure.  It's her.  Like, totally."
   "How do you know?" inserted the redhead.
   "See that yo-yo?  Maybe she, like, got it from, um, you know,
What's-his-name."
   "Yo-Yo?"
   "That's his name?"
   "For sure!"
   "Does that mean, like, those sneakers could belong to, you know,
Dangerousman?"
   "Like, gag me!  Get real!"
   "They might be."
   "Say, ain't that hat Ichii's?"
   "Yeah.  Maybe he's, like, a superguy, too?"
   "Whoa!"
   "Hey, she's lifted her foot!"
   "Like, don't kid me."
   Mary looked at them evenly.  "Go away."  They went away.
   "I'll keep in touch!" Carmen called back.

   Mary went her way with a much lighter spring to her step, gleeful
that her little bluff was successful.  She soon began to imagine all
sorts of ways to capitalize on the situation.  Although her conscience
warned her against taking petty revenge, it was fun to contemplate.
Perhaps Senior Year was a good one after all.
   Suddenly, an alert interrupted her reverie.  Out of the corner of
her eye, she noticed a woman watching her.  It was a short woman with
a navy blue skirt and matching wind-breaker.  Something about her
screamed detective, perhaps her utter serenity in the midst of the
back-to-school rush.
   Using an evasion trick she had learned from Ichii, Mary ducked
behind a parked car, weaved through the pedestrians, and finally
approached the stranger from her blind side.  It was a short woman
with a navy blue skirt and matching wind-breaker.  A broad white
barrette stood out among the long black hair.
   "Are you following me?" Mary asked.
   The woman turned slowly and calmly, then studied Mary's face,
looking into her eyes.  "Uncanny."
   "What?  What do you want?"
   "I don't suppose you would believe I'm here for your autograph."
The woman smiled, despite Mary's lack of response.  "Didn't think so."
She extended a hand.  "Call me Betty."
   Mary looked at the hand, then shook it slowly.  "Mary."
   "Don't worry," Betty said smoothly.  "I'm not with the cops, and
I'm not a reporter.  I know you've had enough of them."  She waved a
newspaper for evidence.
   "Then what *do* you want?"
   "Let's just say I'm here on behalf of a friend.  It says here that
you live alone with your Dad.  All I want to know is: what do you
remember about your mother?"
   Mary only stared blankly.
   "Just as I thought," Betty continued.  "I hope to change that.
Here's my card.  You'll hear more soon."
   Without another word, she walked away, leaving Mary to toy with her
business card.

				*****

   23 September 1995

   Richard Jackson idly shook his mug and watched the beer slosh
against the sides.  He and his buddies had already exhausted the usual
topics: politics and sports.  He took a deep breath in the silence and
broached the next.
   "So, question of the day: What does a father buy his daughter for
her eighteenth Christmas?"
   Mel, the barkeep, stopped polishing glasses and looked at him.  But
before he could say anything, Fred spoke up.
   "Eighteen already?"
   "Seventeen or eighteen;  I've lost count."
   "You've lost count," Bill chuckled.
   "What?" Richard asked with confusion.
   "The man who was counting the days until he could legally teach his
daughter to fly forgets her age."  He smiled confidentially.
   "Hey, it's been a busy year!"
   "I'll say," Mel agreed, as he leaned both with both forearms on the
counter.  "So, how *are* things between you and Mary?"
   Richard set down his mug and sighed.  "It's that obvious, is it?"
   Mel nodded.  "It's that obvious.  You've been coming here for how
long -- seventeen years?"  He looked to Bill for confirmation.  "Ever
since you broke up with your girl friend."
   Richard nodded quietly.  "It *has* been a long time."  Bill patted
him consolingly on the shoulder.
   "Anyway, Mary's what's kept you going.  We've hardly ever been able
to get you stop talking about her!" Mel smiled encouragingly.
   "You don't say!  Nothing bad, I hope."
   "Dick!  I'm serious here!  Ever since you came back from Japan,
you've been a clam!  It's like you barely know she exists!"
   "Hey!  It's been a #*$@## tough month!"
   Everyone was stunned by the suddenness of the outburst, including
Richard himself.  Fred broke the silence by discovering that he had
spilled beer on his shirt.
   "I'm sorry," Richard muttered.
   "It's okay," Mel said quietly.  "That's what we're here for.  Now
are you ready to talk about it?"
   Richard sat in silence.  "Not yet.  I think I'll need to have a
long talk with Mary first."
   Mel nodded.  "You do that."
   "Good luck," Bill added.
   "Yeah, see ya, Dick!" said Fred.
   Richard finished the rest of his beer, and left a wad of bills on
the counter top and took his exit, hating himself for lacking the guts
to tell his buddies the real problem: that his memories of Mary only
went back two months.

				*****

   10 October 1995

   ".. And so it came as no surprise that these soldiers came home to
lukewarm or even hostile attitudes," Miss Cortes droned.
   Mary lazily blew a bubble in her ever-present gum.
   "It also comes as no surprise that the soldiers feel resentment in
return..."
   Mary glanced around.  Two classmates were already asleep, and one
was busily sketching something in his notebook.  Two girls were in
their own huddle, paging through a stack of SUPERGUY REVIEWs, and
looking at her frequently, trying to guess what she had with her.
   "... and they often pass that resentment on to their children."
   The clock showed twenty minutes remaining in the period.
   "Fortunately, we can get a unique perspective on the situation.
What do you have to add, Mary?"
   "Huh?  Could you repeat the question?"
   "What sorts of feelings do you have about the people around you?
Resentment?  Defensiveness?  Alienation?"
   Mary paused, as she saw several students turn to see her respond.
   "You're asking *me* how I *feel*?"
   "Yes, I am, Mary.  Your father did serve in Vietnam, didn't he?"
   "Uh-huh."  Even those students who ignored the class were listening
for her answer.  The doodler was no longer doodling, and one student
was urgently nudging the sleepers.
   "Well, what sort of things did he tell you about the war?"
   "Um, not much, really."
   "How about what he did after the war?  He's unemployed, isn't he?"
   Mary stammered for a response, but was saved by a buzz from the
school intercom.
   "Yes?" Miss Cortes asked the loudspeaker.
   =Sorry for interrupting your class.  We would like to see Mary
Jackson here at the main office.=
   "Oooooh," several students chorused menacingly.
   "Certainly!" Miss Cortes responded, as she began writing up a hall
pass.  "She'll be right down!"  There was a clunk as the intercom shut
off.  "Sorry to put you on the spot, Mary, but you may be surprised
just how relevant American History can be!"
   Mary shrugged, accepted the pass, and left the room, idly wondering
what her classmates would say behind her back.
   "How'd she do that?" one whispered.
   "Do what?"
   "Get called away.  I think she did it."
   "She got called to the office on purpose?"
   "Yeah.  Maybe she's got telepathy ... Healer!  Quick, what does
Healer wear?"

   When Mary arrived at the principal's office, she was directed to
the guidance office, where the woman counselor cheerfully summoned her
in.  As she closed the door, Mary noticed they were not alone; another
woman was present, wearing a fashionable khaki overcoat, a colorful
silk babushka, and sunglasses.
   "Sit down!  Sit down!" the counselor prompted, as she rushed back
behind her desk.  Once there, she sat down excitedly and looked back
and forth between Mary and the other woman.  "Gosh!  This is just so
exciting!  I don't know where to begin!"
   "Introduce us," the visitor ordered.
   "Oh, right!  This is Mary Jackson, Galena High's very own superguy!
You don't know how proud we are to have her here!"
   "I'm sure I do."
   "And, Mary, *dear* Mary."  The counselor rose to her feet and
leaned over her desk.  "This is .. Miss Lovitz? ... !"  After
recovering from her temporary confusion, she smiled gaily.
   Mary looked back and forth between two women as she chewed her
gum.  "This is who?"
   "Well, there still needs to be some verification, but if you're
willing to release a blood sample -- all right, done -- then if this
test checks out, we'll know for sure whether this is your mother!"
   Mary stood in a daze as the woman spoke, not quite realizing that
she had just agreed to something.  She then stared for a moment after
the counselor said her last word.  "Mother??  You're my *mother*??"
   "Isn't it wonderful?" the counselor gushed.  "I suppose you have a
lot to talk about!"  She stood behind her desk and beamed.
   "We do," Miss Lovitz said curtly.  "Leave us."
   "Right!  You'll want to be alone!"  The counselor flitted over to
the door than turned back for one last euphoric sigh.
   "Now!"

   "Who *are* you?" Mary demanded as Lovitz closed the door.
   "I'm not Jessica Savitch."
   "But what am I supposed to call you?"
   The woman approached her.  "I expect that you can call me 'Mama'."
   Mary backed away.  "But I don't even know you!  Why should I
believe you?"
   "Come over here," Lovitz ordered.  "Come on! -- I'm not going to do
anything to you!  Just come over here!  Now look into my eyes," she
added, as she took off her sunglasses.  Mary found herself looking
into a pair of eyes very much like her own.  "Betty is right.  You do
have my eyes."
   Mary turned away and shook her head in confusion.  "No.  No!"
   Lovitz restored her glasses.  "You aren't happy with this."
   "No, I'm not happy!"  Mary turned sharply.  "Everything here is
screwed up!  Everyone who used to ignore me or worse now worships me;
my teachers treat me as of I were a gift from God; and just when I'm
getting used to it all, *you* come out of the blue!  I can't figure
out how I feel, but *happy* isn't it!"
   Mary charged towards the door.
   "Where do you think you're going?" Lovitz demanded.
   "I want to go home!"
   "Get back here!  Now!  And sit down!  Sit!  Good girl."  Mary found
herself nearly trembling at the forcefulness of the words, but she
duly complied.  "Now, I've got one thing to say, and you've got to
hear it, whether you're my daughter or not.  From now on, everyone
will be treating you differently;  you're in the limelight now.  It
ain't pretty, so you better get used to it.  Believe me, I know --
that's why I go around like this when I can."
   "But I don't *want* to be a superguy!"
   "It's too late.  You made your decision when you went to Japan."
   "It wasn't my idea!"
   The two stared at each other, as Mary began to regret her words.
   "It wasn't your idea," Lovitz repeated.  "Whose was it?  Did your
Dad put you up to it?"
   "What do *you* care?" Mary retorted.
   Lovitz bristled.  "I think you're my daughter, I care very much,
thank you."
   "If you're my mother, then where the Hell(tm) have you been?"
   Lovitz raised a palm to slap her, but stopped herself.  "I don't
take sass well.  But I'll answer your question.

   "When I was your age, maybe a little older, my parents disowned me.
I wasn't really prepared for it -- I moved around a lot, turned tricks
for cash, shacked up where I could.  Then as I was passing through
Nevada, I learned I was pregnant, the hard way.  I was left with a
choice between abortion, adoption, and raising the child myself."
   Mary was quiet for a long time.  "I'm adopted," she muttered
unbelievingly.
   "*If* I'm your mother," Lovitz reminded her.
   "And my real father?"
   "I haven't a clue.  But put it this way: the Dad you have is as
real a father as you can ever have.  And I bet he's better than mine."
   "But he never *told* me!"
   "He doesn't want to lose you."
   "How can you say that?  You've never even met him!"
   Lovitz smiled and was about to speak when the school bell rang and
the office door burst open.  "Time's up!" the counselor called gaily.
"Did you have a nice talk?"
   Mary looked at her watch.  "Physics!  Gotta go."  She turned to go.
   "Favorite subject?" the counselor asked.
   "Um, it's one I'm good in."
   "Good-bye, Mary," added Lovitz.
   Mary turned at the door.  "Are we going to talk again?"
   "Up to you.  If you want to talk, Betty can reach me.  And don't
feel like you have to tell your Dad about me; he might not be happy
about it."
   Mary shrugged non-committally.  "I guess.  See ya!"
   "Bye, Mary!" the counselor called cheerfully.  "Isn't she a dear?"
   "She's a very lucky kid," Lovitz agreed.

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