This was not the library.
In fact, this wasn't even the street she was supposed to be on-! Clearly she had taken a wrong turn, but…
Aaliyah spun around, searching for a familiar landmark; a traffic light, a bus stop…something. Anything.
For the love of God-
A quick glance at her cellphone confirmed she was already late for work. By approximately 7 minutes. Jesus Christ. She shrugged both her purse and laptop bag more securely over her shoulder, and looked once more to the street sign before of her.
No matter how many times she looked, it did not register. There was nothing familiar about it. She didn't recognize it, had never even heard of it-
Was this normal? Was it normal to forget the route you traveled daily to work? She sat down on one of the benches near the sidewalk and tried not to panic. Clearly...clearly this was an extreme case of the (many) withdrawal symptoms of being off of her anti-depressants. The dizziness and memory loss would eventually fade, her doctor had assured her. And they had.
Well okay, no. They hadn't, not really. And she'd never forgotten an entire street-!
She looked again at her phone. 2:12pm. She hadn't been late for work in the entire 3 years she'd been employed there… And now she'd not only have to call her manager to let him know she'd be late, but also provide a reason for said lateness. Her fingers were already sliding through the screen of her contacts list for the library's number. She put the phone to her ear.
A few moments later it chirped.
Frowning, she tried again.
Another chirp. No service, the screen read.
"Okay, seriously?" she exclaimed. She'd just paid the bill like what, 3 days ago? Four days ago? Why did she not have service? She rebooted the phone. It went through all the motions of starting up, and then:
No service, it read.
Aaliyah laid her head in her hands, trying not to cry. She'd been an emotional wreck in the weeks since stopping the meds. Another side effect, the doctor had assured. Nothing to worry about. She took a few deep breaths, willing her heart to slow. Okay, she thought. Maybe…maybe someone would let her use their phone? She felt herself grimace. She hated when others asked to use her phone, disliked the thought of someone else's face pressed against her screen and frankly couldn't imagine anyone else being thrilled at the prospect, either. But she hadn't seen an actual working pay phone in over two years and-
She looked around.
Surprisingly, it wasn't even really crowded. Traffic was barely a trickle and the few people walking around were-
She blinked. She hadn't noticed before, but every car currently on the road was an older model. Was there something going on today? A car show? She hadn't remembered hearing anything about it, and lord knew how Jenny loved to talk. Her roommate seemed to be the go to person for news around the city, but she hadn't mentioned anything having to do with cars. And not just cars, she realized suddenly. Even the people were dressed differently. Like something off of a Me-TV or TV land program. Whatever was going on, they were really going all out for it, she thought. Catching sight of a girl who looked her age, she pushed aside the familiar anxiousness of speaking with strangers, and cautiously approached her.
The girl looked up, and she was struck by the fact that this girl actually looked like something from the Patty Duke show. Up close, the details were impressive; the hairstyle, the makeup, even the high waisted pants. They'd pulled out all the stops for this.
"Excuse me? Hi, um…yeah." She had never been good with strangers. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but could I possibly borrow your phone? Mine isn't working and I need to call-." The girl wrinkled her nose at her.
"What are you on about?" she asked, in a crisp British accent.
"I think I might be lost," Aaliyah explained, trying to ignore the girl's continued scowl. "I need to-"
"And you want me to actually let you into my home?" the girl laughed. "I didn't realize you people could even use a phone."
Aaliyah felt her mouth drop open. She couldn't have meant it the way it sounded. But the girl was already marching quickly away, throwing a few wary glances over her shoulder. At a loss, she pulled out her phone and tried again. No signal. Sighing, she tried rebooting again and stared up at the sky, frowning. It was dreary and gray. Not even 20 minutes ago the sun had been shining brightly, but now it didn't look like it had been out at all. There was a humidity in the air too, a certain chill that hadn't been there when she'd left her apartment this morning. She checked the weather daily and dressed accordingly, and this was on the complete opposite side of the spectrum of what it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be in the 90s today, sunny. But right now it felt more like low 60s and looked like rain-
Okay and why was she thinking about the weather? Irritated, she pushed away the random thoughts and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. Approaching anyone else didn't seem an inviting prospect. There was a line of shops right behind her, though. Maybe one of them would let her use a phone? Most businesses didn't, but it was worth a try, at least. She headed towards the one nearest to her, stopping suddenly, sharply, catching sight of a sign next to the door:
No blacks, no Irish, no dogs.
What the hell? Was this…was this a joke? She stepped back, eyeing the name of the store.
She didn't recognize it.
…along with everything else on the street. Habit had her taking out her phone and snapping a picture. The sign itself was basic; a nondescript white sign with bold black lettering. The closest thing she'd ever seen to it had been years and years ago, in her 8th grade history book. There'd been a black and white picture of a public pool with a similar sign, except it had simply read 'No coloreds.' She'd felt a stark disconnect looking at the picture; sadness certainly, or as much as a 13 year old at the time could muster for such a thing, but nothing she could specifically relate to. Signs like that didn't exist anymore, not like they did in that black and white picture. Even now standing before this one, she wasn't sure what to feel, except that they were apparently taking this reenactment thing very, very seriously. Even the stores themselves, now that she was paying attention, did not look the way she was used to seeing-
She squinted, staring closer at the architecture, before letting her gaze fall back to the window of the bakery she stood in front of.
Through the window, a balding worker, who had up till that moment seemed occupied in sweeping, paused to stare at her. It was not a friendly look. He held the broom like a brandished weapon, and she felt something icy travel up her spine. Almost against her will, she felt herself backing away.
Against her arms, she felt the first few drops of rain hit.
O
Aaliyah pulled her purse closer and wiped at her face. She'd been sitting in the bar— Pub, she corrected, for that's what the sign out front had said, if there was even any difference— for over an hour. She was starting to get looks from the staff. They hadn't told her to leave...yet. But then that might have been because she was already sitting in the very back, she acknowledged bitterly. She drew a shaky breath.
There was something very, very wrong, and the conclusion she was coming to was possibly more troubling than the outcome itself. The cloths, the vehicles, the very looks she'd been receiving- it was like stepping back into the pre-civil rights era. Well, pre-civil rights era in the UK, because everyone she'd come across sounded either British or Scottish. Not knowing enough about regional accents, she couldn't differentiate much beyond that. But she had yet to hear even one American accent…not that that would have helped, either. Because being black in pre-civil rights America was probably even worse than being black here-
"Um, excuse me..?"
She looked up, dull-eyed, at the waitress. She was young and blonde and looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Aaliyah braced herself for the words she already knew were coming.
"If you aren't gonna order anything, we're gonna have to ask you to leave…"
Of course they were. She was honestly surprised they'd let her stay this long. She slipped the handle of her purse over her arm, grabbed her laptop bag in the other hand. The only money she had on her were her debit and credit cards. Neither of which would be much use here. It had to be a dream. A hallucination. Something. There was no way she could suddenly just be in the past-! And not just the past, but the past of an entirely different country at that! A sob escaped her.
"Wait," the waitress said, touching her arm and startling her. Lost in her confusion, she had forgotten the girl was even still there. "Don't move, ok?" the waitress hurried off, and Aaliyah stared after her, wondering if she was going to get the manager. Oh God, was that where she was going? She felt the slow threads of panic pull at her. But the girl was already returning, a tiny teacup on a plate in her hand.
"Here. You look like you need it," the waitress said. The cup was hot against her skin, almost scalding, and she didn't realize how cold she was until she held it.
"Thank you," she whispered. The girl smiled. "Just take your time drinking it and they shouldn't bother you." It wasn't until after she was gone that she realized the woman had sounded American. And was this tea free? She assumed it was, but she didn't want to drink it and have to worry about paying for it when she had no cash-
No cash. She would not be able to get a hotel. And then her mind latched onto another, more frightening thought: that even if she had had cash, it would have been a completely different currency, with dates and serial numbers probably not matching anything from this era-
Automatically she pulled out her phone to google it, only just realizing that without service she had no internet access. More importantly, internet had not yet been created. …or if it had, it was probably in some beta form and not even remotely useable- She laid her head down on the table. She could try to find a homeless shelter, but it was already dark out, and not knowing anything about the city or even where she was (or when), it didn't seem safe wandering out in the dark. Alone. In a racially charged era. Not just as a black female, but as a female in general-
Oh God. How had she gotten here? Was this even real? Was she dreaming? She had to be. This was another possible side effect of being off her meds. Delusions of grandeur, split personalities, going crazy-
"Hello." A voice said. Her panic fueled thoughts screeched to a halt. There was a man standing at the edge of the table across from her. She didn't move. Was this the manager? He wore khaki slacks and a brown tweed jacket. Another customer maybe?
"Do you mind if I sit here? I rather like the view from this table."
What 'view'? She thought. There was nothing but a wall on the other side of her. But the man was already pulling out a chair, folding himself carefully into it. She watched him nervously.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?" He flashed a smile. She found herself unable to return it.
It wasn't lovely at all, she wanted to say, and she wished that he'd leave. But she only nodded politely. Was it normal for random strangers to do this? She frequented Starbucks on her lunch breaks, (everyone did) there was limited seating and she often ended up sharing tables with strangers. But they were both usually on laptops or tablets or phones, and rarely even glanced up at each other. Was it weird that this man was here, sitting at a table in the back of a pub when there were plenty of open areas near the front? Not weird, she thought silently, anxiously. Not in and of itself, anyway. But this era— sometime well before the 70's at least, based on the clothing— was not 2014, and white men did not simply sit with black females the way this man was currently doing.
"Are you lost?" the man asked suddenly. He had leaned forward, head tilted to the side, fingers lightly brushing his temple.
"I…yes." It was automatic, her response, and she instantly regretted it. It was bad enough that she was indeed lost, but admitting it to a stranger was possibly dangerous-
"Where are you trying to be?" he pressed quietly. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her mind was suddenly blank. What was she supposed to say? She was trying to be home. Possibly even at work. Anywhere that wasn't wherever, whenever she currently was-! It beyond the realm of possibility, like something out of a science fiction novel. And the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. This was a dream. She was dreaming. Like when she was a kid, and would dream about using the bathroom, and wake up to find she'd wet the bed-
Her eyes burned. The tears felt scalding hot, and she turned away, embarrassed. She should have never gotten off of her medicine, she thought again. When she woke up, she would remedy that-
"Oh dear," the man mumbled. She saw him from the corner of her eyes, fumbling through his jacket pocket. After a while he seemed to find what he was looking for. A handkerchief. She hadn't seen a handkerchief since she was 5 years old. Her mother would dress her up for church in a frilly, itchy dress and uncomfortable shoes, and then slide a single peppermint (or butterscotch), a quarter for offering, and a lacy handkerchief into her tiny, matching purse.
He shook it out a few times before offering it. After a moment, she accepted it, mumbling a thanks and smoothing it awkwardly in her hand. Surely he didn't expect her to use it? Even as a child she hadn't liked the idea of blowing her nose in a piece of materiel. Not to mention the amount of germs that might linger even after going through a wash-
"It wasn't my intention to upset you," the man said, sounding apologetic. "It's just that you don't appear to be from around here." He cast a surreptitious glance at her shirt, at the gold bracelets stacked on her wrist. "You're American, aren't you?"
She nodded, she didn't think she'd be able to speak around the lump in her throat.
"We don't get many tourists this time of year, you see." He smiled again. The pads of his fingers were back at his temple. "I'd like to help, if you'll allow it."
She stared through watery eyes. Help, yes she did need help-
But he seemed to think she was simply a tourist, probably in need of directions. That would do her no good, unless he could provide directions back to 2014- An image of the sign flashed again in her head. Across from her, the man offered his hand and gave her a small smile.
"What is your name?" he asked softly. She clutched the handles of her purse briefly, uneasily, before leaning over, lightly shaking his extended hand. His was warm and dry compared to her clammy ones.
"Aaliyah Norwood." He repeated the name, seeming genuinely pleased.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Norwood. My name is Charles Xavier."
O
I'm new to the X-men section of this site, so if something like this has been done before, please forgive me!