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Chapter Three
Journey to America: Part One
America was weird. Americans were...strange. I paused at the exit of Grand Central station, a bag glued to my chest. Everyone was loud, and things moved far faster than my mind could keep up with. Penny, my watcher-a glorified babysitter, escorted me down the road. She attempted to hold my hand, but for the tenth time I had to remind her that I was over ten. She settled for holding on to the sleeve of purple wool coat, dragging me down the slushy sidewalk.
It was decided last minute that it was best I rode on a different plane and arrive to the hotel a different route. Actually, my hotel room was even on a different floor, and Cynthia would be joining me in another day or so. The hotel was larger than life, bright, and the marble floors clanked against the small heel on my boots. A man in a blank suit waited for me at the check in desk and brought me up to the billionth floor also known as floor twenty two.
When he opened it, my eyes widened and I almost choked when I said, "holy shit." The bed was larger than the diameter of my room back home sporting a plush white comforter with four large pillows. Aside from that, there was red and gold couch, chairs, tables. It was like a mini apartment with a large display of water and snacks. I turned to the man, and asked, "is everything here...mine?" He nodded as he checked the thermostat.
"Everything was made to be perfect for you, Miss," he said, bowing before leaving me be. When the door shut I rested against the door and covered my mouth releasing a silent scream of excitement. I flung off my shoes and instantly attacked the bed.
Happiness was radiating through me as I jumped up and down, up and down. When I was done with it, the bed looked as if I wrestled the sheets. I scrimmaged through the pile of various snacks as if I haven't eaten in a year, and when I was finished, I was busting at the rim of my skirt half dead on the bed. It was half past midnight when anyone paid any attention to my arrival. I peeped out the hole and I jumped as all I saw was up their nose. I asked who it was and John wasn't short of any remarks.
I opened the door and hugged him tightly, and kissed up at his chin. He tensed looking around, "did you eat the snacks? You know...those weren't free?" he said, pushing me away and patting my butt to move. I went back to jumping on the bed, and he almost had a heart attack. Section three, number two. I mustn't sustain any serious injury due to negligence. I showed little to no care as I continued.
"Look! I can almost touch the ceiling with my fingertips," I laughed, slamming my body full force back down on the bed. All the crumbs that were scattered had now been spread throughout the floor. He sighed picking a gummy bear out of my hair.
"What did you want?" I asked after I caught my breath, and he laughed.
"Haven't seen ya' for almost two days and the first thing you ask is what I want?" he asked, amused, and handed me a box wrapped in a ribbon. "Want to eat something? I won't have any time to spare after this morning, so I wanted to spend time with you." I opened the box as he spoke and pulled out a black dress with a white color.
"Where are we going at almost one in the morning?" I asked, pushing him around the other way for I can get dressed quickly. The dress snugged a bit, but I hid it with a cardigan. I combed my hair and tied it with the piece of lace on the bottom of the box.
"here," he said, turning around, tilting his head, "is it too small?"
"I'm...it's monthly," I said, getting my shoes on.
"We're staying here," he grinned patting the other chair across from him, and I sat as he dialed room service. I eyed the mounts of wrappers and half eaten bags of crisps, my stomach turned, but when the food came I picked generously at it. He laughed as gravy spotted my chin.
"I miss chicken, and pork! I miss everything," I said, whining in happiness, "I never want pasta again." John watched me eat narrowing his eyes and he sighed.
"Who taught you to eat?"
"I'm hungry!" I pouted, "you left me here all day to myself," I pointed out, and stuck my tongue out, "besides, aren't you hungry?" I watched him play around with his roast and mashed it together with his potatoes.
"I'm alright," he said, pushing his plate aside. "Just wanted to sit with you, honestly." He pulled out a smoke and a flask pouring something into his drink. He handed me the flask, and then scoffed when I refused. "Have you ever drank before?" I shook my head as I stuffed myself with my one last bite of chicken.
"Only once and it was a sip," I said, "burns the throat."
"All the wonders of alcohol," he said, wiggling his glass the ice chiming against it. "Hmm? You pay attention to the wussy burn!" I tensed as he kept drinking, and took away the flask from him, "oi!"
"I want to ask you something," I said, tucking it away between the cloth napkins.
"Hmm?" he hummed, crushing the end of his smoke in an empty water cup. "What's bothering that empty head of yours, love?" he said with a sarcastic undertone. He leaned forward blinking his lashes and smiling stupidly. I wiped my mouth and took a sip of water, and then paused before a long breath.
"To get my passport you needed to get my birth certificate and government ID," I said, folding my hands. He leaned back and looked at me with an intense stare. "Well, did they give it to you? Did you go up and get them? My grandparents...I mean."
"They transferred your birth files from the hospital," he said, his voice cracking a bit. The effect of alcohol had kept him somewhat calm. I was about to protest his explanation when he wiped his mouth and moved away from the table. Silently he gathered his things and went to leave when I asked again.
"Have you met them? What did they say?"
"They didn't say anything," John said, the blunt tone piercing me. His face held little to no emotion, "it sucks. Some kids are born wanted and some aren't." He didn't spare me another look, and walked out. Like that, leaving me there to myself.
Some kids are born wanted...
And some are not...
Are not. Are not. Some are born wanted...,
And some are not.
Two hours I sat in that plush, maroon colored hotel chair. Two hours I allowed his words to circulate my head. Not for a second it allowed me to rest. Continually, I needed to reassure myself that it wasn't like that, but it was like that. Denial is mans biggest fault. Some are born wanted, but the other half are born unneeded, unwanted, and unloved. Does God pick who is and who isn't? I looked up at the ceiling, my eyes tracing the bumpy marks. Is it a lottery of whose lucky and who isn't?
I sat there regretting my thoughts as I was lucky. Pure definition of luck was my situation, but I still lived with blurry memories and jolts of realization. Wherever I go, wherever I land, they will stay there like a stain. My brain is a whole stain. Possibly my whole existence is a stain to man.
"Some are," I said out loud, and closed my eyes, "and then there is me."
The next morning I woke to a painful stiffness in my neck and a burning sensation on my calf and thigh. About to blame the bed when I noticed I wasn't sleeping on it, but the harsh, rugged floor. My nose was only a few centimeters from the bin of spoiled food and foil wrappers reeking of salt. During the night I must have slid off the chair and slept on the floor cuddled in my wrinkled dress. I stood, and discarded it to the pile of wet towels, and went to the bathroom. Every morning began with a battle of confidence versus self-loathing insults.
I took a towel and hung it over the mirror before proceeding to wash my face, and change. Cynthia was arriving today, and her bedroom was connected to mine hence why they took off the lock. Her stuff was scattered all over the bed. When I peaked my head in she was refolding and organizing the drawers.
"How was the floor?" she mused, looking up at me. I grinned and nodded not yet having the energy to form words. I sat on the edge of the bed when John came out of the bathroom in his underwear. When he spotted me, he quickly grabbed a towel and covered.
"Oi! What are you doing up so early?" I looked at the clock that read six, and shrugged. He eyed me and then got the hint that perhaps I was not in the mood to talk to him or acknowledge his existence. We were unusually awkward with each other, and Cynthia noticed the change in mood.
"Is everything okay?" she asked John softly, "maybe you should dress and we can eat breakfast?" They both turned to me, watching me as if I was anything interesting. I sighed, standing and flattening my skirt. Her hand instantly went to John's shoulder. "Is she okay?" Her eyes knitted, and her lightly smile turned to an obvious frown. John rolled his shoulders to release her hand and turned to get dressed.
"Can I look at them?" I asked after a while. "I just want to look at them...did they give you anything? Pictures? Baby clothing? Any-"
John turned, visibly upset, and Cynthia went to put a hand to his cheek, but he slapped it away. "If you're so attached to your whore of a Mum and drunk of a Dad, maybe you should go find them? They live in the same shithole you were born in!"
"John!" Cynthia cried out, and came to me, "don't listen to that, alright? John, tell her something else. Please don't say those things!" she fussed, holding me. I pushed her away, and stared at him, my jaw tight enough my molar ached. Never have I felt so shaken up.
"Is that what you want me to do? Hmm? Was that the subtle hint you were dropping last night! Maybe you should just say it!" I yelled, throwing the menu from the night stand at him through Cynthia's physical protests. She attempted everything from grabbing my arm to trying to push me to the bed.
"Everyone stop!" she said, her face red and hair in her face. John caught the menu and crumbled it within his hands then letting it rest on the floor. He walked over to me slowly and leaned down to my level.
"I said your mum and your dad didn't want you," he said, a grin slowly forming on his face, "if I didn't want you, you'd know it. So if I were you, I'd go back in your room. Change back into whatever you were sleeping in and go back to bed. Forget this little spat ever happened because if you don't I will become much more upset than I already am. Do you want that?"
"Alexandra, come on, let's give John privacy to get ready, alright?" she begged, pushing me towards the other hotel room. When we were separated, I looked at her. How could she do that? Every fight, every fit, every issue. She goes back to normal. She sat on the side of the bed closest to the mirror and brushed her hair, humming to herself. She looked at me from the mirror, "did you comb your hair through and through?" I didn't answer, sliding my shoes on. She paused and dropped her shoulders with a sigh, loudly placing the brush on the nightstand. "He'll get over it by noon."
"And I should? I'm telling Paul," I said, going to leave when she scoffed.
"You need to stop doing that, don't you understand? You know damn right he's trying his best! We both are, and every time something goes wrong you have to tell Paul. You need to let Paul go, okay? The more you do, the more he gets angry and the harder this gets," she said, slamming her fist against the comforter. "I'm trying my best. Everyday with a baby I practically take care of myself and now you! And you know what, I don't mind? All I ask is for help, but no one helps me and every time you run to Paul...it makes me feel like I can't handle anything. What is Paul going to do?" she stood pointing to the mini bar in the corner. "He'll do the same thing as John does. Perform, drink, cheat, sleep, and repeat. He'll listen for a minute, and then he's off to the next cycle! Then George follows and Ritchie. They all do it! Do you think John is actually happy I'm here? Huh? Happy you're here? Last night they had prostitutes waiting for them in the room above!" My eyes were wide at this point and I felt a bit angry. I was only upset before, but now I felt a certain rage fill me. She slowly embraced me in a hugged, her chest heaving as she cried. "All I ask is for you to trust me, okay? Someone needs to want me."
I nodded, sitting on the bed. Until she fell asleep, I allowed her to rest her head on my lap. Even in her peaceful somber I could see the pain resting over her face. Wet dots had dripped from my own eyes onto her cheeks, and I watched them travel down on to the bed.