A couple, a man with a bowtie and black suit and a woman in a green choppy yet flowing knee-high dress, walk towards me. They seem to be in a heated debate, of which I am not sure of the topic. The woman looks coy and lovingly at the man, while he looks genuinely annoyed.
"Hello," I mutter as they past, pausing my newest creation on my sketchpad.
"No, I never said that to Amy or Ror-" The tall, thin man stops dead in his tracks, causing the curly-headed woman to pause as well. "Why hello there! Do you, perhaps, happen to know what the time is?"
"And the date, dear?" The woman adds, smiling ever so sweetly at me.
"It's…" I turn up my left wrist, glancing down at the watch strapped to it. It is gold, and leather; there is an odd symbol- circles upon circles upon circles. I have had this watch since birth, since I can remember. I have always imagined the circles represent two Greek letters: Theta and Sigma. Why? I do not know. "It's five o'clock in the morning, two thousand and eleven. Wait-"
I look back down at my watch that is too big for my small, eleven year old wrist, and tap it a few times with the tip of my pencil's eraser. "Correction: two thousand and thirteen."
"Ah-ha! I was close, dear." The man says, waving his arms in the air, then continuing his walk. The woman, meanwhile, has yet to move from her spot. She stares at me with what seems like disbelief and…amazement? I hadn't been rude, had I? No, of course not. I pride myself on my politeness! They had simply asked a question- two actually- and I had answered to the best of my abilities.
Suddenly, the odd man begins walking backwards, until he is again rooted in his previous occupied spot next to the curly-haired woman.
"Where, exactly, did you get that watch?" The man asks, pointing awkwardly towards my wrist. I notice he has one on his left wrist that looks exactly like mine.
"I- I'm not sure."
"You don't know, you don't remember, or you don't want us to know?"
"I- I-"
The man stares intently at me, though he is not as frightening as the people of the New York city streets, he still scares me. I am only eleven, after all. The man seems…old. Like an old man you do not instigate fights with, or an old man you do not lie to. There was fire in his eyes, yet at the same time, a cool and frigid ice. His eyes, I have decided, are too old for his face. Like me.
"What are you doing?"
My attention deviates from the old man's eyes to a younger, brighter, kinder pair. They are, however, like the man's- too old for her young face.
"I'm sorry?" I whisper, still too distracted by her green-gray eyes.
She steps closer, flicking her eyes down to my sketchpad. "What are you doing?"
Her voice is like…like a melody to the ears.
"Drawing." I keep my answers short, as if that would protect me from the still-glaring-man.
"Mind if I see?"
The woman is so kind, how could I say no?
"Of course not."
The woman, the kinder-than-the-odd-man woman, sat down next to me and removed the sketchpad from my lap.
"Is that…a Police Box?" She asked, holding it so the man could see.
I noticed his eyes intensify with rage.
"A 1963 British Police Box, actually." I mutter, rolling my pencil between my hands.
"Why are you drawing a Police Box? A school project, perhaps?" The woman returns my sketchpad, setting in gently in my lap.
"No, I-" I glance at the man, still intimidated by his presence. "I don't go to school."
"And why not?" The woman's voice takes on a soft, motherly tone.
I shrug. "Don't need to, I suppose. When one has acquired all available knowledge, one must move on to greater things."
"What makes you say that, dear?"
Again, I shrug and I feel tears starting to form. It's not her business to know that I have an IQ off the scale of human measurement. I was, basically, kicked out for knowing too much. My foster parents say they are proud, yet they still treat me like some sort of alien.
"Dear…" The woman sounds concerned, "Are you alright?"
I feel the woman's soft hand on my cheek.
"Doctor, there's no other way!"
"But River, you can't- she can't- I can't!"
"My love, it's the only way…"
"No, please, I don't want to go!"
A little girl yells.
"I'm so, so sorry, my darling baby girl…"
"Bye-bye, Bithron Adeline… Please remember us…"
"No!"
The woman breaks the contact, obviously having experienced the same memories I had. Her finger tips are wet and I realize I have been crying.
"Who are you?" The woman whispers, her voice cracking. I look up and see tears in her eyes.
"Doctor-" I look at the man, who has stepped closer in concern for his companion.
"River-" I look at the woman, who has a tear rolling down the side of her face.
"I don't-"
"Who. Are. You." The woman repeats, her strength returning. "You have a specially made Vortex establishing watch. You're drawing pictures of a blue police box. You don't go to school, assumedly because you were kicked out. You know our names. Who are you?!"
"Bithron."
"Bithron who?" The Doctor asks, his eyes suddenly soft and all-knowing.
"Bithron Adeline."
The woman sighs, kneeling in front of me. "Bithron Adeline who?"
Tears blur my vision and my head feels funny, like information is trying to escape and rampage my consciousness. I force myself to look into the woman's ancient, bright green eyes.
"I don't know."