O
Aaliyah jerked awake.
She thought at first she might be dreaming. There was the familiar disorientation: Darkness. A chill in the air. The unfamiliar smell of the room. And then there were the questions, the same ones she found herself wondering whenever she woke up as of late.
Was it still the same day? Was she still…HERE?
Yes, she realized heavily. The bed was the same tiny twin she'd been sleeping in for the past week now. The room around her was shadowed, strange and cold. After a moment she pulled herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling a pang of déjà vu when her bare feet brushed against the icy floor. Just like they had that first morning she'd woken up here.
She pushed off from the bed, running a cursory hand over her rumpled dress. She hadn't actually meant to fall asleep when she'd sprawled across the bed; it was still fairly early to nap, but the dizziness had hit her like a fire truck, and the slow easy breaths she'd forced herself to take had apparently been enough to lull her off. But now she was up; the dizziness seemed to have faded and there was the rest of the morning to slog through. It was becoming harder to find a reason to get up at all-
She swallowed back the thought and opened the bedroom door. There was a slant of light angling down the hallway from the study. Were they back already? She tilted her head and listened. Neither the radio nor the TV was on, so it wasn't Raven. Not that either device seemed to work very well. And if Xavier was back from class then it was probably around 1pm-
Had she really slept that long? She grimaced. Her usual insomnia, unfortunately, had returned after her third day here. Taking a nap would make it even harder to sleep tonight than it already was. …not that she had anywhere in specific to be anymore, anyway. And the tentative routine she'd fallen into wasn't exactly rocket science: Force herself out of bed. Try not to think of home. Struggle through breakfast with Raven and Xavier because they seemed to expect it. Try not to think of home. Spend her days reading through Raven's collection of dime-store romances. Wonder how she got here and try not to think of home-
Impulsively, angrily, she started suddenly forward.
Give it a few days, he'd asked. Well it was three days later and she didn't see how waiting any longer would be of any benefit to her. The worst of it was watching Raven and Xavier go about their daily routines, unobtrusively happy, their lives completely unhindered. It was a petty way to think; there was absolutely no reason why their lives should be disrupted, after all, and logically she knew this. Her growing resentment was completely unfounded, but it was still there. Every time she saw Raven getting ready for work, her long hair pulled back into a low, careless ponytail, every time Xavier threw on that damned tweed blazer and headed out to walk Raven to her job or go to class, it felt as though a tiny part of her were dying.
She stopped just at the edge of the entrance of the study and went over the words in her head.
I need to find a job.
Simple and to the point. No way he could argue with that. In fact, he should be happy to have her out of his hair, she thought. It couldn't be fun for them having a virtual stranger sharing their home. Hell, it wasn't fun for her regardless of how grateful she was. She'd actually tried to bring up the topic twice yesterday - once at breakfast and again at dinner- but somehow or another both times they'd ended up on another subject entirely. Marilyn Monroe's divorce the prior year, NASA's Apollo program-
She peeked inside.
He sat tucked into the corner of the sienna colored sofa, one long leg folded across a knee with a book braced against it. There was an open notebook beside him and a stack of books on the coffee table in front of him. In that moment, he looked less like the professor she'd mistaken him for and more like the quintessential college student he probably was.
So much, in fact, that it made her pause.
He looked busy. She really needed to talk to him, but seeing him there surrounded by books and very obviously in the early stages of writing a paper made her desires and frustrations seem almost selfish in comparison. It wasn't all that long ago that she herself was a student; of course he couldn't jeopardize his coursework to cart her around the city job hunting. She hadn't really expected him to. She'd hoped, however, he might be able to point her in the direction of some of the more 'tolerant' places here.
She leaned forward to peer in again. This time he was bent over the notebook, writing furiously. If it were Raven she might have called out, but Xavier was an entirely different creature, more reticent, and she didn't quite know how to take him. She rubbed her eyes in frustration, felt some of the anger leave her. Lordy, she thought, giving a mental sigh. Later then-
"Did you need something, Miss Norwood?"
She jumped. He hadn't looked up from whatever it was he was writing, but the casual tone suggested he'd been well aware of her lurking. She felt unaccountably embarrassed, like she'd been caught snooping. (Which, she supposed, she had.) Her feet were already moving back.
"…I'll just…it can wait, I guess." she muttered.
"Actually I was just about to break for tea." He shot a quick glance at his watch. "Yes, definitely tea time." He looked up, smiling slightly at her addled expression, and then blinked.
It was only for a split second, and she might have missed it entirely had she not been paying attention. But she was, and she followed his gaze down to her bare legs and feet.
"Perhaps you'd like to join me?" he asked. He had already risen from the sofa, setting the notebook and pen on the coffee table and absently raking back a few strands of hair from his forehead. All the while his eyes seemed to avoid the lower half of her body-
Had she just committed some taboo? His reaction, though slight, suggested she had. Jesus H. Christ, she thought. Had the saleslady actually been telling the truth? Was it considered 'offensive' not to wear stockings?
But that's stupid, she thought irritably. No one under the age of forty wears stockings like that-
…well, there was Kate Middleton, but it was obviously different for her since she'd married into royalty. But didn't royalty generally keep to the older traditions? And she couldn't recall ever seeing the Duchess in a dress without pantyhose. Now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered reading a Yahoo article once on the subject; something about royal protocols and it being 'indecent' to be bare-legged, not to mention bare foot.
Was she 'indecent' right now? The dress reached just to the top of her knees. It hardly constituted a need for hosiery. She wore shorter dresses to work bare legged-
"It's quite alright," Xavier said. "I certainly don't mind if that's what you're thinking." The grin he shot her could only be described as cheeky. It was so far from the conservative demeanor she'd associated with him that she actually felt her brows raise a bit. Was dude flirting? All things considered it was sort of funny.
It was also slightly creepy being read so easily, especially from a guy she knew from atom. She must have had a particular expression on her face, because he looked suddenly abashed.
"Forgive me." he said. "I don't normally do that, I assure you. It's just…" he hesitated. "…well you do tend to project rather loudly sometimes..."
'Project'? It was probably slang for something. It was the sixties after all; maybe he was one of those hippie/flower/indigo children in the making. Make love not war. Good vibrations, and all that-
"Not that I'm actively listening, mind you," he continued, catching her gently by the elbow and steering her towards the kitchen. "But I've never had to work this hard to keep someone out."
It was all very new-agey sounding, she thought as he pulled out a chair for her. He hadn't looked the type, but whatever. Reluctantly she sat. She really didn't want tea. She didn't want to sit here either, because it would predictably lead to questions she couldn't answer. She needed to take back control of the conversation.
"You really don't have to bother with the tea," she insisted, "I just wanted to ask when-"
"Yes well, you can't very well expect me to think properly without it, can you?"
You were doing a pretty good job of it in the study, man! She thought. But she pressed her lips together and watched him silently as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, loosened his collar and washed his hands. Because apparently it was that serious when brewing.
"Now then," he said, turning away and reaching for what was probably once a shiny silver kettle, but had clearly had way too many uses. "Pay close attention. I am going to share with you the secret to making the absolute perfect pot of tea."
Was he joking? He sounded like he was joking, but the way he brandished that kettle said he was very serious. She was so not looking forward to another guessing game of sugar to sweetness ratio with bitter, black tea. Just the thought of it made her want to puke. Spurred, she tried again.
"…I don't really drink tea like that to be honest-"
"And do you know why that is?"
She frowned. "Because it…just tastes nasty to me, I guess." Inarticulate as ever. She was part of the miniscule percentage in the south who didn't enjoy iced tea. Mama made big pitcher fulls of the stuff in the summer. And every cookout she'd ever been to served variations of it. She could tolerate it when the need arose but it wasn't her first choice of beverage. "But I really need to ask-"
"No, dear, it's because you simply don't know how to make it." He filled the kettle with water and set it on one of the now glowing stove eyes. "There is a marked difference between tea and tea that's been properly brewed. I'm afraid you've only been acquainted with the former. "
Okay were they actually debating tea? It was surreal; like some weird episode of the Twilight Zone: Girl gets sent back in time to discuss merits of Earl Grey. …was this Earl Grey?
"I can't believe you've never done this before," Xavier continued. She'd bit back the sudden urge to scowl. She'd never actually said she'd never done it before, had she? She didn't think she had. She remembered putting a tea bag in a mug of water and microwaving it for sixty seconds for her daddy, once. But that probably didn't count. Brits and their tea.
"At home, we have instant tea," she said, watching him open what looked like a pack of ginger snaps. "It comes powered and pre-sweetened and we just measure out the water and stir-"
"That," he interrupted, "sounds absolutely disgusting. Can't imagine it tasting any better, either…"
She felt a crazy sort of indignation, a near illogical need to defend what sounded like an attack on the modern way of life. Everything was instant. Food had to be made faster. Spare moments were not a luxury to be had very often.
…granted, instant tea did taste pretty disgusting but all tea tasted that way to her. "People back home are busy! We don't have time for all this…this extra stuff," she defended, gesturing towards the kettle on the stove. "Pullin' leaves off tea plants and grinding 'em up, and starting fires and putting them in kettles and-"
He laughed.
"I think you're quite confused about what it is we're making. Although I certainly wouldn't be averse to hearing more about what 'people back home' do."
She sat back. He had to be doing it on purpose. Goading her, to whatever end. Maybe his own amusement because there didn't seem to be much else going on here, honestly. But when she looked up at him again, his blue eyes were laughing, and despite herself, she felt her lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. He beamed.
"There we go. I knew it was in there somewhere," he said. "Raven swore she saw you smile while reading yesterday. What was that book called again? 'Nurse Secretary'?"
She wasn't! Well, she had been reading it, but she definitely hadn't been smiling about it, and why were they watching her anyway-?
"I must say it all sounds rather naughty," he continued blithely, setting the table. He did it with a preciseness that spoke of training, and she found herself wondering at his background. Despite claiming not to cook, he did seem to know his way around a kettle, at least. Neither Dré nor her father could boil water, but the two of them had been so spoiled by her mother that the thought of doing anything in the kitchen was probably blasphemous at this point. It had always annoyed her before, that perceived laziness, but she found herself smiling wistfully now at the memory.
…only to sober quickly when she realized that a memory was all it would ever be now. She blinked away the tears threatening to fall, cast an uneasy glance at her host. The last thing she needed was to start bawling in front of Xavier. Again.
"I…it was actually kind of boring," she admitted. Even the romance novels here were vanilla chaste.
Xavier raised a brow. "Boring? How so?"
She shrugged, fingering the linen napkin he'd placed before her. "Just a lot of tiptoeing around each other, I guess. Coulda been over by chapter five but girlfriend was afraid of her own shadow-"
Xavier stopped pouring and chuckled. "You're saying you wanted mousey little Christine to cast aside her values and career to pursue the fiendishly handsome Simon?"
She raised a brow. "Uh…have you read this?"
He looked scandalized. "Of course not. Preposterous, the very idea! Although I must admit, I find your views refreshing-"
What views? She frowned. "But I didn't say I wanted her to pursue Simon-"
"Usually the woman just sort of sits there and makes the man do all the work; which I confess can be rather sporting at times, but it does get a bit stale after a while, doesn't it? " he said flippantly. "Are you saying it's not like this where you're from?"
…did he just compare picking up women to a sport? She gave him the side eye. Okay so maybe dude wasn't as Mr. Roger's as she'd originally thought.
"I just…I mean sometimes, I guess?" she stared at the cookies laid out in a plate at the center of the table. They didn't really smell like ginger snaps, but she couldn't place the scent. Something sweet and vanilla-y. Normally she loved sugar, but even now she was unable to work up an appetite. "But Simon should have lost his job because what he was doing was against the law-"
"What was he doing?"
"…didn't you read it?"
"Of course not-"
She eyed him suspiciously. "It was blatant sexual harassment. Also she was constantly being discriminated against in the workplace because she was a woman-" Maybe sexual harassment didn't have a name yet, here. Most things like that were swept under the rug in this time period, weren't they? And- WAIT.
Ugh, she realized. This guy. They had gotten so far off topic she didn't even remember how it started. She was beginning to suspect he did it on purpose. It was happening much too often to be purely coincidental.
"Anyways, what I wanted to talk to you about was-"
"You, Miss Norwood, are quite the conundrum," he said, setting a tiny steaming cup atop a plate in front of her. The porcelain was pretty and delicate, decorated in pinks and creams with gold lined rims. 18th Century France, it looked like. Or a replica at least, because save for the color, it was identical to a tea set she'd set up in the display at the library earlier this year. She stared into the liquid, breathing in the steam. It made her feel warm and calm. It didn't even look like tea...
He'd added milk, she realized. Ugh. She didn't want milk in her tea. It was gonna be even nastier now than normal. She'd seen Martha Stewart do it once on TV but it honestly hadn't looked that appetizing. She sighed. She couldn't very well turn it away now that he'd gone through the trouble of making it-
As if guessing the direction of her thoughts, he wagged a finger, shook his head, and tutted like a hovering grandmother. "Now, now. I insist you try it, at the very least. I think you might be pleasantly surprised."
Fine, whatever, she thought. She'd drink the damn tea if it meant they could move on. She felt a sudden urgency strike her. Something about the kitchen -cozy and deceptively tidy and radiating a pleasant warmth from the now cooling stove- was wrong. This…this normalcy was wrong. This was not hers. She was not supposed to be here-
Wordlessly, she put the cup to her lips and gave it a few experimental blows. After a moment she took a tiny sip. It was… hot. She couldn't tell much else. She blew it again and took a larger sip, letting it sit in her mouth. Oh. Okay that was actually sort of pretty good. Kind of. Smooth and slightly creamy with the right amount of sugar, and completely unlike any of the lemon iced teas she was used to from back home. Okay, she thought grudgingly. So evidently he really did know what he was doing.
"Well?" His expression said he already knew the answer.
"It's…" she watched his face break into a slow, knowing smirk. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I don't even think I can finish this-" For some reason he continued to look serene.
"You've already drank well over half the cup, dear." he pointed out. He was an irritating man, she thought. But there was no bite behind it.
"Yeah well…these cups are small…drinking half wouldn't take much." She set the cup down, frowning at the ring of burgundy lipstick she'd left around it. No doubt this was something taboo as well. But the napkins laid out on the table were all linen and it seemed rude to stain them. Did they not have paper towels? Surely they'd been invented by now-?
"And now that I've plied you with tea and banter," he leaned forward, the scrape of the chair screeching against the floor, "maybe we can have that conversation you've been so eager about."
Finally.
He studied her, suddenly serious.
"I truly am sorry," he said. "I haven't been as attentive as I'd been meaning. We're nearing the end of term and everything's gone batty-"
"It's alright," she said politely, ducking her eyes guiltily. Now she really felt like a heel. "Genetics must be a complicated field of study."
He smiled. A little wryly, she thought. "Not really. My interest in the subject is of a rather personal nature." God, but she hoped he didn't start talking about it. Not to be rude or anything, but the last thing she needed was them getting off topic. Again-
He brought his teacup to his lips and watched her with a speculative gaze.
"Aaliyah," he sighed. "We need to tackle the elephant in the room. Mainly your presence here-"
The cup nearly slipped from her fingers. She managed to right it before it tipped completely over, and Xavier dabbed at the spilled droplets with a dish towel. She mumbled an apology.
"Perfectly alight," he said. "I do wonder at your hesitation, though. What is it exactly that you're afraid of?"
Her gaze fell to the table. It was white oak from the looks of it, bright against her dark fingers.
"...Miss Norwood?"
"I don't…" something caught in her throat. "…you wouldn't… believe me." she said finally.
"Why do you think that?" he asked softly. She didn't answer. "We're perhaps more alike than you realize," he offered. They weren't anything alike, she thought.
She clinked her nails against her teacup. This was not the way things were supposed to go. They were supposed to be talking about jobs. Or was she being unreasonable? She couldn't expect to stay here without giving them any sort of explanation, could she? Would he kick her out if she didn't tell him? Was their continued association with her contingent upon her cooperation?
The sound of blooming white noise littered the air. It was sudden and sharp, and she found her own startled gaze locked with Xavier's who went very still. Eventually he rose slowly from his chair. She heard the rubber soles of his shoes against the wooden floor, and then silence as the noise abruptly stopped. Just the TV, she realized. It had done that yesterday, too, randomly fuzzing. And even the new radio Xavier had brought back for Raven two days ago was touch and go. She hadn't realized signals in the sixties sucked this badly.
She looked up as he returned to the table, and braced herself for more questions. More questions she would be unable to answer, that would only make her look crazy if she tried. I don't wanna talk about this, she thought. She didn't even want to think about it-
"Alright," he said gently. "We won't discuss it." Right now. It hung in the air between them. Aaliyah released the breath she'd been unconsciously holding.
"How about I take you somewhere instead? To cheer you up?" he said suddenly. "You've not left this flat for three days."
She wondered why he thought she needed 'cheering up'. It really was unnerving, how in-tune he seemed to be with everything. She was beginning to see what Raven meant. "…are we going to look for jobs?" she wondered hopefully.
"You are a strange one." He rose again from the table - completely avoiding her question again- and glanced at his watch. "It's not far from here actually, and Raven's shift doesn't end for another three hours."
Her mind was working overtime. Maybe they would pass near Bedford Street. That wasn't far from here, she remembered. It had only taken ten minutes tops to walk there last time from here. Is that where they were going? She stared down at her legs. "Should probably put on some stockings, then…" she mumbled distractedly, half to herself.
"That might be a good idea." He sounded amused.
o
She stared up at the building from beneath the bib of Xavier's umbrella, then turned skeptically to the man in question. He was positively beaming. The expression made his baby face look even younger than it already did.
Did dude seriously just bring me to a library?
He had. This, she decided irritably, was not the least bit helpful. She'd really hoped he'd been taking her somewhere employment related. Even Bedford would have been better-
"It's different from what you're used to, I imagine." he was saying. He shifted. The umbrella moved with him, and automatically she found herself stepping closer to avoid the rain. 'Different' was an understatement. This library was huge. Much bigger than Live Oak back in Savannah-
His hand was suddenly at her back, nudging her forward. She wasn't sure what the purpose of bringing her here was. It wasn't like she could check anything out. She wouldn't even be able to get a card. She stopped. And was she even allowed to go in-?
"It's fine." Xavier said gently. But she still found herself searching around the entrance for that sign. Libraries were segregated back in the day. Back now, she corrected. Specifically southern libraries. Was it the same overseas? Maybe there wasn't a sign because it was simply understood that blacks weren't allowed. Or Irish. Or dogs-
Xavier was tugging her forward. Automatically she found herself pulling away before realizing she would probably end up causing a scene; the streets and sidewalks were currently crowded with people. So she let her arm go limp and allowed herself to be led inside.
It smelled the same.
Well, all libraries did, to a degree. That musty, old book smell that her co-worker Adam said was actually decaying cellulose. It was stronger in this library, which meant the books were probably older. There were more of them, too, and more than one floor. The drum-like pounding in her chest subsided.
Okay, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, coming here. She turned to Xavier and felt herself smile.
"I know this must be hard for you," he started hesitantly, "being away from everything you know. I can't begin to imagine what that feels like-" he looked away, raked back an errant strand of hair in a gesture she was beginning to suspect was agitation. "I do hope that eventually you'll come to trust me enough to tell me your story."
God. She clutched at the strap of her purse and looked uneasily away. Why did he have to do this? It was easy to sidestep his questions when he was being pushy, but this…
He touched her shoulder. "Well don't just stand there," he said smiling. That smile was contagious. She felt a strange sort of excitement in spite of herself. It was just a library; she worked in one for Christ's sake. But there was a familiarity about it in this sea of strangeness, despite it not being hers. She took a few steps forward. It was fairly swarming with people; at least on this particular floor, but she imagined most libraries probably were in this time. She passed a gaggle of teens crowded around a table. They didn't even look at her, and she felt whatever anxiety she had left dissipate.
Despite being fifty years in the past, it wasn't quite so different. There was a bulletin board, just like in modern libraries; a display case (currently filled with different sized horseshoes) just like in modern libraries. The computers, of course, were missing, but it was more peaceful without them, in her opinion. They caused her no small amount of stress back home what with the constant running back and forth fixing user related errors.
She wandered up the stairs. While she was here, she could flip through some etiquette books, too, since evidently '62-ers had a different definition of what was 'decent'. She perused the shelves till she came to the sociology section. She probably would have continued down the row had one title not caught her eye. The spine of the book was faded and ratty but she could just make out the gold lettering: White Supremacy and Negro Subordination; Or, Negroes a Subordinate Race, by John H. Van. She ticked it off the shelf. It was an older book; the original publication date was listed as 1870. Hmn. A title like that was asking for trouble, but she felt a morbid curiosity in spite of it. She flipped through to a random page.
"The negress, after a certain period, loses all love for or interest in her offspring- "
Aaliyah slammed the book shut. Bad idea. Do people actually believe this crap? It was well worn with soft, frayed edges, but whether this was due to age or frequency of check out, she had no idea. She'd never come across this particular title before at her library, so at some point in history it must have been blacklisted.
She shoved it back onto the shelf (purposefully on a different one and in the wrong spot) and felt vindicated in the fact that the librarians would have a time trying to locate it. When she turned around, Xavier was standing a few yards away, watching her. She hadn't heard him come up, but of course he'd be following her. She felt a slice of irritation. Always watching like she was some kid who needed babysitting. Was she allowed even the illusion of privacy?
It was an irrational anger; it wasn't his fault she was stuck in some backwards Jim Crow era, but the sight of him there, silently observing, did something to her.
She brushed past him, heading towards the little enclave in the wall she'd passed earlier.
"Where are you going?" he asked. There was a note of panic in his voice that somehow served to irritate her further.
"Restroom." She muttered curtly. And instantly regretted it because it was probably taboo to say such things in public. Ugh, this place. At least he couldn't follow her in there. She turned the knob and pushed open the door. Several things happened at once:
Xavier called for her to wait. At the same time, someone gripped her upper arm painfully and yanked her back.
"What you doing there, girl?" she stared wide eyed at the man. He might have been a janitor. Or maintenance maybe, judging from his clothes. He had the build of a lumberjack, and a cockney accent like the chimney sweep from Mary Poppins. Except less fake. She tried to pull away her arm but his grip only tightened. This, she thought through gritted teeth, was assault. At least 1st degree. She was preparing to knee him in the crotch when Xavier pushed his way between them.
"Sir," he began urgently, "I think there's been a grave misunderstanding-"
"No misunderstanding," the man said. He gave her arm a shake again and glared. "Caught lil' missy trying to sneak into the loo, I did."
"Sneak?!" she sputtered, outraged. "It's public-!"
"Not for your sort." He snarled. "Earned yourself a ride with the gavvers." She didn't even know what 'gavvers' were, but whatever they were they did not sound good in the context he'd used them in. She struggled harder but the man's grip was like iron. She'd probably have bruises when this was over-
Xavier was speaking in low, urgent tones but her mind was so rattled she was unable to concentrate on the words. Fear made her movements awkward and clumsy, but she managed to reach over with her free hand, scrambling for the zipper to the main compartment of her purse. There was a tiny bottle of pepper spray mama had bought her, nestled somewhere at the bottom. It was supposed to snap onto her key-ring, but the idea of it at the time had seemed a little stupid.
Now she was going to empty it into this bastard's eyes. She hoped he went blind from it-
And then just as suddenly the man dropped her arm. She jerked back, the back of her head hitting painfully against the door of the restroom. She barely noticed, attention focused entirely on the hulking figure before her. He was standing in the exact same position as before, his arm lifted as though he were still holding her. Even his expression was the same. But he was very, very still-
Xavier turned slowly, fingers still at his temples.
"Are you alright?" she didn't answer. It seemed like a stupid question, all things considered. And behind him the man was still not moving-
"I was trying to warn you." He gestured towards the restroom. "They aren't for..." he stopped. She felt something burn in the pit of her stomach.
"Aren't for who?" she challenged. He sighed.
"They won't let you use them, here." He said instead, carefully. She turned angrily away. Yeah, of course they wouldn't-
"I'm sorry. It's different, I know. It's hard for you. You feel angry and alone-"
So now he was a psychologist, too? She did not want to hear this. She fingered the hem of her coat and pressed her lips together.
"But it gets better. You must have faith in that. You know it gets better because you've lived it-"
Something in her snapped. Maybe it was the familiarity with which he spoke. Like he knew her and where she came from. But he knew nothing about her-!
"But I do," he said quietly. She turned to him, half incredulous at his nerve. But the looming figure of the frozen man behind him was unsettling. She craned her neck. What was-
"I know that you haven't been sleeping, or eating," Xavier was saying, but she was only half listening. Why was that man not moving-?
"You miss your family, specifically your younger brother André -" Her eyes turned to him sharply. Had she said that? She couldn't…she couldn't honestly remember. It was possible she might have mentioned it to Raven once, she guessed, but-
She backed up. There was something…wrong. Her back hit the door of the bathroom. She couldn't even put into words what she felt in that moment- some emotion too extreme perhaps for words- only that she needed to get away. She clutched her purse to her and fled down the stairs.
She didn't stop when she got outside, even as the voice in her head worried that she was attracting unnecessary attention. Someone would think she had stolen something. Why else would a random black chick be running, after all, she thought snidely. Still, she slowed, taking in her surroundings and breathing hard.
She must have run in the opposite direction from where they'd traveled, because she had no idea where she was. It was easy enough to figure out, she guessed. She could just ask for directions back to the library, but the thought of talking to any of these people made her physically ill. She slammed herself down on one of the cast-iron benches on the sidewalk and glared at the passing people and traffic.
She must have done something horrible, she realized - been a murderer or villain or something in a past life - to be put through this. She couldn't live like this. She leaned forward and shut her eyes. She was so angry she was shaking, and she clutched her purse and squeezed it to her like an awkward stuffed animal.
…missed my bus, someone mumbled beside her. She glanced up but there was no one save for passerby's. Just as well. She couldn't stay here forever. With her luck the cops would probably escort her off for disturbing the peace. Was she even allowed to sit on a freakin' bench here-?!
For the past few days she'd been eager to start her job search. Now would be the perfect opportunity to do so, but she found the idea suddenly revolting. Would she be able to work in an environment where she essentially had no rights? Would anyone even hire her? And if they did, would she be able to sit back while some arrogant customer or co-worker hurled slurs at her? No. She would probably fight back. She'd be arrested, probably lynched or burned on a cross or something like that.
Did they do that kind of thing in the UK? Maybe that only happened in the US-
Strange fruit, hanging from the poplar tree, the poem went.
If she knew moda's current address she could possibly send a letter or something…but it was ridiculous to think that moda would send money over for a ticket to a relative she'd never met before. She would get no help on that front. She eyed the rings on her fingers.
She could sell her jewelry, she guessed. Her rings were 24 carat gold. The turquoise setting had to be worth something. The other one was a pink ice, which in contrast probably wasn't worth very much at all. The studs in her ear were 18 carats each, and all three of them were diamonds. How much were diamonds worth here? She had no idea, which was worrisome because that meant she could possibly be low balled in price. Her bracelets were gold plated, though she wasn't sure of the carat. The dangly earrings in her ear were bronze and probably worthless-
…does is drink. He lives at the pub, I swear! The woman sounded angry. Aaliyah twisted around on the bench but there was no one behind or beside her. Who was talking? Why did she keep hearing-
Was she…was she hearing voices now?! She clutched at the edge of the bench and stared in dawning horror. No. No. She wasn't hearing voices. She wasn't that crazy-
...and Johnson was just sacked, a man was saying.
Margot's coming home next week. Best prepare a room-
..left my ruddy brolly-
Where are you?
Her head jerked up. That last one had sounded like Xavier, but looking around she saw no sign of him.
Which meant it was in her head.
No, she thought again, more forcefully. Her fingers brushed against her forehead as if to tear out the offending thoughts. She wasn't like those loonies on TV. The doctor was very clear on her diagnosis. Depression and anxiety. Not schizophrenia or whatever it was hearing voices was classified under. People were just walking so close to her bench that she was hearing their conversations.
It didn't explain the frozen janitor, though, a little voice pointed out. She had nothing to rationalize that with, except that lack of sleep was possibly screwing with her head, making her eyes play tricks on her-
It was a weak explanation at best. She really was insane. She was even beginning to question her original assessment of time travel. Maybe it wasn't time travel. Maybe she wasn't here at all. Maybe this was all in her head-
Her eyes were leaking water again. (She refused to say crying) She dug into her purse for a Kleenex, but the only thing she found was Xavier's handkerchief. She threw it back down in disgust. She felt what was probably an unreasonable amount of anger towards him. He didn't make the rules; it was unfair to be mad at him for the sociological views of this time period. His very association with her proved he didn't share the opinions of those around him. And he had attempted to diffuse the situation, but her anger at him only grew.
Not anger, she was ashamed to admit. More like…like betrayal. Their banter in the kitchen earlier had almost felt… normal. Like, she wasn't some chick from another decade, and he wasn't some guy she'd just met a week ago. There had been no implications of color involved, and she'd almost forgotten where she was. A stupid thing to forget. She swiped a sleeve across her eyes. He had been about to say the bathroom wasn't for blacks. Or 'negroes', she corrected. That was the favored term of this time, wasn't it? The bathroom wasn't for negroes because they weren't equals. She was only a step above being an animal and he was going to stop her from using it-
No, he was trying to warn me... but she pushed the thought away. It was all the same. Warn or stop, the end result was that she still had to pee, and apparently there were people willing to manhandle her to make sure she didn't pee-
Why was she here? How had she gotten here? Another thought occurred to her. What had made Xavier approach her that day in the pub, in the first place? She was beginning to wish he hadn't. She wanted to curl into a ball and die.
Please, she prayed. She didn't even know what she was asking for. To be sent back? To not be crazy? To have access to a toilet? What was the point? Clearly God didn't listen to her anymore; she hadn't been to church since she was nineteen. Maybe she was a lost cause.
Absently she traced at the studs on her purse. She had no idea what she was going to do. There didn't seem to be many options here, honestly. Life in this time period just did not seem worth it, as far as she could see. As least not being the color that she was.
I should have been white.
As soon as she'd thought it she a rush of shame. But there was no denying it would be easier if she was. She was female and she was black, and that was already two strikes against her-
She shut her eyes. She wasn't sure when it began, but somewhere in the midst of the hum of voices and traffic she noticed another sound. Bells. Church bells. The same ones she'd been hearing now for the past few days at the apartment. They rang every hour without fail, and this time they sounded close.
She rose from the bench almost without thinking, and found herself (childishly) following the sound. But after the third ring the bells stopped, and only the echo of their melody lingered in the air. Which was probably just as well, she thought grudgingly, because churches were segregated, too. In all likelihood she wouldn't have been allowed inside anyway, and she had no desire to be looked down on by a priest-
She hadn't gone far from the bench, but she thought that storefront over there looked just vaguely familiar. Hadn't she seen it before? She stared around. The street name didn't ring any bells, but she was sure she'd seen some of these stores before-
And was that Raven's pub?
She approached one of the corner windows and peeked inside. It was. Apparently business was slow this time of day. There were only a few customers inside. The girl in question was bent over one of the empty tables, studiously wiping it down. She looked more serious than she had ever seen her, except maybe on that first night she'd met her. As if feeling her gaze, the blonde glanced up. Her face broke out into a grin and she gave a childlike wave.
She won't be waving when she finds out I lost her brother, Aaliyah thought dully. She sighed, but despite it all, gave a half-hearted wave in return.
O
Guest, KaleidoscopeQueenJulOfNarnia, Rubi Yuki, debatable-cerealkiller, DGfleetfox, Ali, myharlequinromance321, Gee Brittany, Nameless, Lizeyli, Trainee Hero, Guest, Littlebirdd, Guest, heroherondaletotheresuce, thank you SO SO much for all the encouraging reviews. I can't tell you how happy they make me. :)
Hope you all had great holidays (for those of you who celebrate it!). Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, etc. (and Happy New Year!) First of all, I am SO sorry for the late update. RL has been crazy; more specifically my job. We just had about 6 people quit in our department. (I work in Hazard Insurance) so the workload has been UNENDING. Crazy overtime, long hours, maximum aggravation and mental exhaustion. I haven't had very many opportunities the past few weeks to sit down and just write. This was actually 2 chapters in one but I figured after a month of no updates I'd better just combine them. (plus one of ya'll mentioned wanting longer chaps. DGfleetfox) Things have calmed down tremendously at work though, so the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long. To those of you who sent messages inquiring if I'm still alive, (lol!) THANK YOU. I do appreciate all of your encouragements, and I love reading your responses.