It's funny how these things turn out, Katie thought. Sitting under the shade of a quaint alley diner, wearing a dark green dress with her hair tied into a low bun, loose strands sweeping against her face as she glosses over her journal. She made sure not to crinkle the newspaper clippings stapled between pages as she read over them for probably the thousandth time. Each clipping reporting the same incident, better known today as the Attack on New York. It was the day that changed her new life; the day she learned. The day the hope in her heart began to flutter, rattling in its cage for freedom. The day she began to feel not so empty and purposeless in this modern world.
The day she learned that her beloved Steve Rogers is alive.
And she hasn't stopped thinking about him since. She's kept a journal when she was brought to the modern world, having lived in this foreign time for almost two years, she found that writing down her thoughts and feelings helped her understand her situation better. But as of last year, the journal has been filled with memories and thoughts about Steve. It was amazing to think that after all these years, the universe was still trying to connect them together. She'd only hoped that she could see him again. But Washington D.C. was hours away from New York, and she hasn't plucked the courage to travel outside her boundaries. This modern world was crowded, bustling with busy people, cars with agendas and street vendors at every corner. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
"Don't tell me you're becoming one of those D-day nut jobs as well"
Katie instinctively shuts her journal as she glances up, tucking away some brown strands behind her ear. She finds a familiar auburn haired woman staring down at her, donning the diner's uniform of black shirt and jeans with a white apron; she's gripping the handle of a coffee pot on one hand and the other is resting on her hip. This was Katie's favourite café in the area, it being walking distance from home; it was small, simple and served good coffee. So it was only matter of time before she got well-acquainted with their staff. Dressed in her simple jeans and shirt combo, with an apron wrapped around her waist, the woman wears a playful smirk on her face, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You know it's not like that Fran" Katie chuckles, comfortably leaning back on her seat, tucking her journal underneath her hands.
Fran leans her hip against the table as she fills up Katie's empty cup "You know, ever since the alien attack, we get a lot of folks walking and talking about their conspiracies". Katie furrows her brows, staring up at her curiously "You don't believe it was real?"
"Of course I believe it! That damn attack tore down New York City" the woman replies, picking up the empty plate next to Katie's cup, "But I couldn't care less about what happened, I'm more concerned about what happened after it". Katie frowns at the thought, gripping her journal as she recounts the many articles that featured personal stories of survivors. It was a horrific time, and though New York was slowly getting back on its feet, it's clear that they have a long way to go.
As a cool breeze sweeps by, Fran pushes herself off the table, balancing the coffee pot and empty plate on her two hands, she smiles down at the brunette with a final statement "Look kid, all I'm saying is don't stay stuck in the past. You got things ahead of you to worry about". Katie smiles, watching Fran disappear back into the café. However her smile fades when the waitress was gone, averting her gaze to the couple sitting underneath the wide yellow umbrella across from her, a frown sinks deep on her face. She adored Fran dearly, but this wasn't something Katie could easily let go. She had to find her way back to Steve, she just had to.
Walking across the dimly lit hall to her apartment, Katie sinks her hand into her satchel, fishing around for the leather Mickey Mouse keychain. The hallway felt as if it was closing in on her, the lighting growing darker in her vision. Her hair falls over her face but she pays it no mind as she feels the rough patch of leather against her fingertips, gripping the keys in her hand. Finally slipping the key in, she enters her home and hastily shuts the door after her. Leaning her forehead against the wooden door, she takes deep breaths, her hand unable to leave the door handle until her heartrate slowed down.
Somehow, she'd developed anxiety since she woke up in the modern era, everything had overwhelmed her to the point where she could feel her mind ripping itself apart. But her home was her safe haven. This was her hideaway. And slowly her heartbeat drops to a normal rate, and the ringing in her ears disappear; she exhales once more before untangling her fingers from the door handle. Staring at the poorly painted door, Katie allows herself a few seconds to study the paint strokes on the ageing wood before moving her feet towards her small kitchen.
Sliding her satchel onto her humble dining table, she grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it halfway with water. Leaning her hip against the counter, she takes a hungry gulp before filling it up again, this time to the top. Katie wasn't sure what triggers her anxiety, but Dorothy said it was to be expected. She just couldn't understand why they evoked such a strong response of fear and pain. Staring down at her satchel, Katie contemplates texting Dorothy, the shorter curly haired girl being the one to always reassure her when she needed it most. You could say Dorothy was her guardian, the one who taught her about the modern age and brought her up in this new decade. Dorothy proved to be a valuable friend, having been nothing but sympathetic, patient and generous towards her. Katie knew she wouldn't have survived the great shift without someone like Dorothy by her side.
But she couldn't keep emotionally leaning on people, Katie thought, if she wanted to get better, she had to have faith in herself. Leaving the glass in the sink, Katie picks up her satchel and makes her way to her living room, which was only a mere 2 metres away from her kitchen. It was a small apartment, but it was enough for one girl to call home. Katie even went as far as furnishing it with what people here considered 'vintage' furniture, almost as if she was trying to replicate her old house in Brooklyn, where her Mother had hand sewn their own pillow covers and table runners.
Sinking into her couch, she basks in the comforting silence of her home, staring at the egg-shell ceiling, her eyes trailing the lines where the panels meet. Outside, she could hear a car drive by, and a group of people chatting as they make their way home under the setting sun. The orange hues spilled into her home, casting over items which once belonged to someone from her time. She sighs heavily, feeling content in her lonely abode. Closing her eyes, she sinks deeper into her couch, the cushion supporting her limbs perfectly.
Katie falls asleep, but it merely felt like she had just blinked her eyes close for a second. When she opens her eyes, the sun had long set, and she finds herself enveloped in darkness. Patting around for her phone, she clicks the device on to provide light as she makes her way to her bedroom. It doesn't take long for Katie change out of her dress and into a cotton nightgown. After washing up in the bathroom, she stares at her reflection on the small bathroom mirror, studying the way her eyes drooped with fatigue, matching her deflated shoulders. She could feel it again, a sense of emptiness knocking at the back of her head. But before it could occupy her thoughts, she makes her way back to her room, and tucks herself in bed. She immediately falls asleep, embracing the silence as everything dissipates, even for just a few hours.
A/N So, the story alternates between the past and the present. It might get confusing, so just let me know when it does, but the key difference between the timelines is the past is told in FIRST PERSON POV, and the present is told in THIRD PERSON POV.