The old dusty receiver hits the payphone with such a force that it clanks loudly making the people passing by in the hospital stop and stare for a moment too long for my liking. I scowl at them determined to look as angry as I feel. I was being sent away to the Army camps, away from my home, away from safety. I feel the heat of anger rise up my neck and into my cheeks, so I do what I know best and storm off. Only it didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked, it never does. Instead, the strap of my bag gets caught on something, not sure what, and my bag full of books and random belongings tumbles out of my arms and all over the ground. If I didn't have everyone's attention, I definitely did now.
The previous slight tint of pink on my cheeks has now intensified to a lovely tomato colour. I am aware there are small giggles in most directions and as I hurry to pick up my mess, I chance a peek and scoff when they avoid my gaze. Honestly, to be invisible or to not stand out as much...would be grand, people who complain about being invisible in a large crowd or not be noticed for their awkwardness are incredibly lucky, and shouldn't even be complaining in my opinion. I tend to be the butt of everyone's jokes! For my short height. I am not invisible. With my long brown hair reaching down t my waist and my skittering personality...oh I am most definitely not invisible. I don't tend to control what I say, life seems too short to bother, but it gets especially bad when I am angry. It's hard not to notice me when I'm angry.
Don't get me wrong, being invisible, sounds incredibly boring and usually, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but sometimes I do wish it for myself, at least to not be noticed for the wrong reasons. I want to be noticed for my positive traits, which at the moment will be none if I don't hurry up and get to the train station.
Once I had gathered my scattered stuff, I shrugged my long green cardigan tighter around me and cling to my items as if they are all I had in case another mishap befalls me. I make a mad dash for the street, hoping to miss the afternoon traffic and get to the station. It's not too far from here, not close enough to walk, but close enough that I should get there on time.
This whole situation was bloody ridiculous. My sister, Margaret but everyone calls her Peggy, had requested my assistance in the war and yet it was me who was given an hours notice to get to the train station. My stuff had apparently been collected from my house and was apparently already on its way, leaving me no room to decline. I knew this wasn't my sisters' fault, she would never organise it this way but the way it was handled was horrible.
My small feet, which had on beige pumps, pattered across the street until finally, I was able to flag down a taxi. I throw open the back seat door whilst muttering out my destination, and off I go. The back seat of the taxi was small, and quite frankly smelt like mouldy eggs. The seats were ripped, obviously, the taxi either couldn't afford to fix them or couldn't be bothered. The taxi driver was a slim older gentleman, with a thick white moustache lining his upper lip.
"So why you off in such a hurry, little miss?" The corner of his lips curled in a friendly smile as he glanced back at me, before turning gently to the left onto Fringle Street, leaving the busy and loud atmosphere of where we were.
"Last minute trip to see my sister, sir," I politely reply, glancing kindly at the man before setting my eyes back out the window next to me. My painted red nails picking at the dry skin on my fingers. "She's helping Colonel Phillips, you see."
"That rusty man? Your sister must be tough then eh?" He retorted, his smile widening slightly. His right eye winked slightly when the light hit it harshly. Thankfully despite how stressful this day seemed to be turning out, the weather was at least on my side. "What's your name?"
"Evelyn," I reply, my lips turning up into a small slightly sad smile, "Although truthfully only my ma called me that, everyone with an inch of sense calls me Evie now."
"Evie," The older gentlemen repeated softly, his eyes still concentrating on the road but even from here I could tell he had a small smile gracing his kind-hearted face. He wore a baseball cap, his white hair sticking out in odd angles. "It's a lovely name, for a lass like you."
"Thank you, what's your name? I ask, just before the taxi pulls up in front of a large busy building. The train station. I hold on tightly to my bag, tucking it snuggly against my wait hoping I don't make a fool of myself whilst getting out. It would just be my luck if I tripped and once again these items would go crashing about. But instead of it just being a small audience...it would be everyone.
"My name's Stan," His gruff voice was soothing, I must admit. Reminded me of my pa at times and it brought back the memories of when I was younger. "Also, little miss, you be hurrying back to your sister now."
"But-"
"Your sister is doing us a great favour, ma'am," His head tipping in respect, with his blue eyes staring straight at me. "And so are you, it's the least I can do."
"Surely I can't leave you out of pocket, sir,' I plead, my hands hastily going towards my purse. I was appreciative don't get me wrong, but my ma taught me to always pay what was due. He seemed like a nice man and judging by the nice square picture taped on the mirror he had a family.
"Not to worry, off you go," He waved off, not leaving any argument before leaving me standing there with a nod. I stayed there in a state of shock before glancing at the big clock on top of the building I was about to head into. I inhale sharply noticing the time before scurrying in a mad dash to make the train. Damn traffic.
I do love this city with every fibre of my being, sure there are thieves in the crowds, but for every one of them, there are a hundred angels in the rough. These folk who walk with forlorn faces and broken eyes have hearts of pure light within them just waiting for the right circumstances to break loose. It is our basic human programming to be good, kind and loving, hardcoded into our DNA. At least that's what I like to believe, so bring me the crowds and the unwashed masses, they are my angels, they are the salt of the Earth, the water in the rivers and the air we breathe. That's why, despite my habit of finding trouble, I am never happier than on the busy streets of London. These people are my kin, my kind and I will be damned before I let any Nazi's take this away from me. Small height be damned, I'll make up for strength in wit. I slip into the crowd, my feet taking me where I need to go. It was time to go to America. It was time to show these damn terrorists who they were messing with. It was time to change the world.
I smile at my childish giggle which escapes my lips and I grab a glass of water with my left hand, whilst my right held a small book. The Hobbit. Reading a book, especially one this magical let me pretend I am not some lonely teenager who isn't old enough to drink in the country I am in the process of moving to. The bittersweet age of eighteen teases me because I am old enough to do some but not all things. If it was socially acceptable. I can marry and have sex with a man if I choose. I haven't done either. Even if someone was interested in me, I was raised to believe my body is my power and it must be protected. It's what my ma and pa drilled into me when I was younger, and I was sticking by it.
A few drunk guys have tried but I shut them down not only for my own virtue but for the fact that their breath absolutely stank and if I ever do...it will be with someone who I love. Someone who I trust, someone who will make me feel safe and secure however unlikely that is. My standards were high, and maybe I would live my life alone and that was okay too. I refuse to settle for anything but what I feel comfortable with. For now, I can pretend I don't need friends and don't lack a normal family; here I can live in my head and create any story I like. A story in which I am in control and not some pawn in someone else's joke. I could be a warrior queen or a small handmaiden. Whichever my mind chose, I was in control instead of someone else dictating them like a character in a book. My reality was something different, something much blander.
Born Evelyn-rose Carter. I didn't know my Pa very well, who took off long before it truly mattered, fell for some pretty American lass who offered him much more than my Ma could for him. As the story goes he never wanted me and felt pressured into fatherhood and married life, so he saw his chance and bolted. My Ma did everything she could, but she struggled with the responsibility of raising two children on her own and loaded me onto a boarding school. Setting her free to return to the single life with ease.
It was not a bad life by any means and I enjoyed my time at St Rindalds boarding school for girls, but my Ma was not rich and so my sister and I were not up on their priority for attention. They did the bare minimum but enough. I grew up in a nice, but structured environment. The school was tough, but my sister and I plundered through it with grace.
Peggy was older than me by a few years meaning she could escape a lot sooner than I and went on to work for the American military whilst when I was finally able to leave I worked my way to become a nurse.
Peggy and I did have a few cousins, the second oldest one is actually doing an art degree in a college just a few blocks from where I grabbed this train from. She is the sweet age of 20 and would rather pretend that I did not exist, which I am not complaining about. She is what an American would call an airhead with the type of mindset of 'I want to marry James and move to America' yet James Brookes is an ass who thinks he is going to be a famous singer. I have unfortunately heard his stuff, he most certainly is not the next big star, maybe a nice little janitor but not a musician.
It was quite funny actually, my cousin is the one with the dream of moving to America, and yet here I am on a one way trip to the very place she's been dreaming about since she was a child. If we actually were close, I might feel bad but we aren't. So here I am living her dream, or at least on my way to. When I am not in my own world, reading my life away I am usually working to pay the bills, and my forever 'gracious' cousin Jeff has me working every spare shift and then some. If not there I am passed out sleeping in my teeny, tiny, bedroom or volunteering at the local caring home. I normally read the books out loud and I was just about to start The Hobbit with them, but since that's no longer possible I am here reading it myself. It has been a long road but I think I am nearing the end of the long dark tunnel, without the help of my parents or a man.
I smile at my own mindset because I am naturally independent and don't tend to let people in easily. There is a lot in my past that could have been better, I was the quiet, strange child that was short and spent too much time with my head in the cloud, because of this I was ridiculed frequently. I stopped trying to make friends and turned to books, I pushed people out and replaced them with characters that weren't real. I dived deep into my work, determined to succeed and prove every ass-hole that had ever laid their hands on me for being fragile, wrong.
There was one I did let close, one who said he would give me security and a family, everything at the time I didn't have, not truly, He was a cocky bad-boy type, but he was spirited and easy-going by nature which drew me in and trapped me until a long-haired raven girl came along and stole him away. Stole away the man I nearly gave everything to, I practically worshipped him. When he left, I focused on my work and haven't trusted anyone like that again.
There were so many memories that I wish I could stop replaying over and over in my mind, it was like a broken record player stuck on repeat, forever reminding me of my failures. Not only did I know them, so did the people around me who had no problem picking them out. Except for Peggy of course. How I wish I could start over, with or without my memories...to not have to be shadowed by my forever glum past would be something of a miracle.
I mindlessly stretch in my seat as my limbs go numb from sitting on this train for about two hours, the outside world blurring past as if it didn't even exist. I was stuck on this train for another hour or so until I would be picked up at the station and would be hopping on a plane. In less than twenty-four hours I would be seeing more of my sister than I had in four years. My sister and I used to be extremely close, still are technically as we exchange letters nearly every other week, but the distance was hard.
I didn't know what the future had in store for me, but I knew one thing for sure, my ass might never regain its feeling.