Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 1, around 26:00, when the Hargreeves assess the situation as they walk through the park.
Suggested soundtrack: Caravan Palace - Lone Digger
April 2 2019, 12:47 pm
My head was empty as I left the fabric market district where Granny no longer lives, as if bewilderment was all I had left. I chose to walk, slowly this time, back in the direction of the northeastern neighborhoods. Through Argyle Park and its lunchtime crowd of joggers, like fixed points in time. Yes, it was probably the best decision I could make.
What was most disturbing? After a moment of sadness, I quickly took in this new reality of mine, and the idea that we weren't in our own timeline. Is my mind getting used to all these absurd convolutions of space-time? I think the resilience of my subconscious has opted for pragmatism, and for the swiftest adaptation. To prevent me from going insane, certainly.
The park is identical to the one I've walked through so many times in the past. The foliage of the 'forest' that grows down to the business district, where we once climbed to the top of a skyscraper. Joggers in orange sneakers. The flowerbeds where the first buds of spring are currently sprouting. Joggers in green sneakers. Endless alleys, little nooks and crannies where lovers kiss on benches. Joggers in blue sneakers. The edge of the groves, where the waffle shack still stands - at least - making my heart a little warmer. Joggers in white sneakers. The location of the abandoned gardeners' shed where Klaus squatted for a while, now replaced by a children's playground. Joggers in black sneakers. The crows. Yeah, almost nothing's changed, compared to the time I worked at Rodrigo's hardware store.
I wonder if he also owns a store in this timeline, and - suddenly - I find myself longing for the days when I used to run, mostly alone, this little plumbing and electrical bazaar, tucked in the humble alleyways bordering the futuristic buildings of the medical and pharmaceutical industries. I enjoyed selling light bulbs and bolts to people handling lasers and prosthetic eyes all day long. But above all, just like in 1963, I loved the independence and sense of control that working gave me.
And I end up smiling. After all, the past is gone for everyone, even for those who don't time-travel. The present is what matters, and we happen to be lucky enough to still have one.
"Argyle Park is definitely a nest of weirdos," says one of the two joggers who run past me - in purple sneakers, this time - and I turn my head as they head off.
"Ah ah, you're so mean, Steve, I'm sure they heard you when you compared them to the Village People."
I cock an eyebrow, and keep walking down the long, shady pathway that leads to the greenhouses and ponds. The air is paradoxically mild compared to the gloomy, rainy weather that preceded the first Apocalypse, in the timeline we left behind.
"Maybe they were going to a funeral? They were all dressed in black," a young woman whispers to her girlfriend, holding her arm. And she replies:
"I doubt it: one of them was in a middle-school uniform. And they were all badly bruised."
I sigh, and walk faster again. All around me, more and more people are looking over their shoulders, some suspicious, some intrigued. I could almost laugh, because I have no doubt who they're talking about. Barely an hour in, and the Hargreeves - the ones with the umbrella, not the stupid bird symbolizing destiny - have already become an oral tradition phenomenon in The City's central park. But should I really be surprised...
"The guy walking behind the others, with his hat... He looked like an underfed Van Helsing," joked one man as he unclipped the sunglasses from his blue shirt, and his girlfriend dressed in orange laughed, clearly without even getting the reference. The comparison was mean. But at least, without even looking for the slightest echo of golden energy particles: I know which pathway to turn to find them.
It only takes me a few seconds longer to spot the Hargreeves, wandering aimlessly a little further under the trees, stopping in front of the rose garden pond to gaze pitifully at the large Sparrow Academy banners adorning the tall buildings. At least they don't look like they're about to argue again. I slow down and watch them. I can faintly hear Klaus asserting that we are - in fact - the ones who broke into Hargreeves Mansion, and Luther opining that the Sparrows will surely not give up and come to confront them.
I step a little closer, with a lopsided grin. The last time everyone here saw me visible was back in the sixties, even though Klaus and Five reassured everyone that I was there, alive and tangible already. I think Allison noticed me, but her gaze is still so hard. Klaus, on the other hand, is busy spinning around, as he often does when he's trying to think in vain.
"Let's just think of some place off the radar where we can lie low and not draw attention."
Let's be clear: it's already too late for that, but Diego adds:
"What kind of weird-ass place are we not gonna draw attention?"
The term 'weird-ass' causes all of Klaus's siblings to look at him, and he immediately stops playing the human fidget spinner. He puts his hand in his pocket, a few nervous connections forming under his dirty curls. And as he gives me a sidelong glance, at once relieved to see me and doubtful whether what he's about to suggest is a good idea, he finally gives in and says:
"Oh, Hotel Obsidian. Trust me: it looks like it was built for this."
01:06 pm
"Dear audacious street tales and urban legends enthusiasts, passionately fond of the city's grand theater, please enjoy the authentic architecture of this laundromat, in which I've used lead-weighted caddy tokens so many times".
Klaus leads our little group, commenting on every building in the neighborhood as if he were a tour guide, since we left Argyle Park through the 7th Avenue gates. The most remarkable thing is that he has a personal anecdote for almost every store, all of which seem to still exist. At least, it's proof that not all the places we remember have been swept away. People still look at us, mostly for the wounds the Hargreeves got from their brawl, the blood of which is now drying.
"Did you really wash your clothes when you were a bum?" Luther asks, not really interested.
"The essentials, sweetheart. I always took extremely good care of my undies. OH! Come here, come here. Across the street, in the basement, you can contemplate Ink Empire - my second tattoo artist - the one I had this done at."
He quickly opens his long black coat to pull down the waistband of his pants, but Diego stops him and nudges him along the sidewalk, causing him to stumble. I roll my eyes. And Five slows down a little to walk beside me.
"So? Are you done with your little infra-materialoluminal wanderings?"
I look up at him and smile, my lips pursed a little. They've all welcomed me back with a sense of relief, even Allison, though I sense she's concerned and distressed.
"You're in no position to criticize my 'wanderings,' Five. But yes. Yes, I seem to be reconciled with my visibility and tangibility."
I don't think it's worth explaining to him that the last 48 hours almost cost me my life. Or that they actually killed me, and that I'm alive only because of Klaus's power, combined with my own. Klaus... who is currently commenting on how easy it is to open the manholes here on 7th Avenue.
"You haven't found Lila, have you?"
This is certainly a very naive question, and Five answers while shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"She could well be anywhere in time."
In spite of everything, I want to keep the conviction that maybe - somehow - Diego's words will have stirred something in her. I don't know why, but I found her touching, whatever her chaotic and violent temper. And I look up at one of the giant Sparrows banners hanging on the building across the street.
"Looks like we've got ourselves into trouble again".
Five doesn't look at me: he's leering enviously at the huge coffee that a guy passing us is sipping. But I sense he's less adamant than I am.
"It was to be expected", he says, almost making me stop.
What? What does he mean 'to be expected'? Wasn't Five supposed to be like Ulysses, doing everything he could to get us home safely. Home: 'Oikade', as he once said himself in ancient Greek? I blink and stammer, not really realizing the harm my words could do to him:
"You had promised to take us back home".
But he keeps on walking, hands in his pockets, with his usual forward-leaning gait and his nose up.
"'Home' is a fluctuating concept," he murmurs. "Our original timeline was devastated by an Apocalypse, remember? That's a fact we can't change, to my current state of knowledge, anyway."
I say nothing, and he continues.
"Somehow, we stopped the first 2019 Apocalypse with our actions in the 60s. We can be more than satisfied with that. But hence, we are here and now..."
He takes his hands out of his pockets and spreads his arms vaguely.
"...in an ~adjusted~ timeline".
"Adjusted with an army of morons in red uniforms accusing us of identity theft".
Diego just said this over his shoulder. He looks clearly ready for a fight, but deep down I suspect he's loving it. And my gaze returns to Five.
"You mean this reality is the one closest to ours?"
"Not necessarily. It's more accurately the one that naturally results from our actions in the '60s. If we really wanted to return to our original timeline, we'd now have to meticulously erase every one of our actions during those last few days."
"Years, for some of us."
"Years. And each of our micro-actions could - by butterfly effect - have led to a whole multiplicity of conseq-"
"Okay, okay. I get it."
"See, it's a waste of time. Even though part of me might want to try."
I take a deep breath as we cross the avenue, because the whole thing makes me dizzy.
"Then I suppose we can be satisfied with our present luck, here and now," I tell him, and he tilts his head to one side as we pass a family towing three bawling children with difficulty across the crosswalk. We climb back up onto the opposite sidewalk.
"I have yet to consider the parameters of this reality to decide whether it is acceptable or not. And I must say, I was very worried that your whimsical hippie antics..."
He gestures to Klaus and me.
"...had compromised globalization and prevented the international coffee trade."
My eyes open wide in a exageretadely horrified expression.
"Fuck. I would have gone back and shot myself in the head."
And he almost smiles, at that word.
"That would have been a terrible mistake, Rin. You would have created a paradox, and-"
"Stop! Stop here. This place of pilgrimage is also a very important one."
Trotting briskly, Klaus circles us like a border collie herding sheep. Five shuts up, and I listen too, with some kind of affectionate yet jaded caution.
"In this convenience store, owned by Austin-"
"Dustin."
Diego points at the storefront, on which 'Dustin's Deli & Grocer' is written in large letters, and Klaus continues.
"In this convenience store owned by Dustin, in 2016 - or maybe 2015 - I stole no less than six boxes of menstrual tampons to make a Christmas garland for my squat. Made of superior cotton."
I burst out laughing.
"And it caught fire."
"That's it! The magic of Christmas. And look what's next door..."
He steps aside on the sidewalk, taking off his hat and pressing it against his chest with a theatrically emotional air. I find him surprisingly cheerful, and I kind of like it.
"Jimmy's slushies!"
He claps his hands happily, only to be greeted with general indifference, to which he sweeps the air with a 'Goodbye' wave of his hand.
"You'd be more enthusiastic if - you too - couldn't digest milkshakes. Come on, come on, the hotel's right there."
As he leads his siblings across the forecourt where long limousines line up, my gaze slowly takes in the facade overlooking us, backlit against a paradoxically blue sky. An historic building, probably in existence since The City emerged from the fields. A hotel from the late 1910s, named after obsidian, the stone of renewal.
Vertical lines of red brick and lake-stone, rows of numerous windows opening onto faded rooms. Revolving doors... and a double colonnaded balcony above art-deco arcades housing a slightly weary bellboy. The whole thing is objectively ugly and bulky, as if designing a beautiful facade had been a waste of time compared to what's hidden inside.
Klaus gloats, and I look at Five again, this time blankly, before he joins the rest of his Hargreeves litter. I stay behind, thoughtful.
Here, I've come many times to look for Klaus, in a troubled past that now literally belongs to another time. A time when this hotel was already on the edge of the world: home to the wild parties of The City's nightlife circles, and the epicenter of the narcotics trade and high-class escort industry. A place also frequented by the world's elite and celebs, according to the rumor mill. With rooms whose secrets were clearly destined to remain well-kept. You've no idea how much I hated knowing it, when he was coming here back then, and in what condition I sometimes had to pick him up.
But if today we need to keep a low profile, I believe it is indeed the best choice.
I blink one last time at the huge red sign displaying the name 'Obsidian', visible from all parts of The City. Massive, central. Almost as if the city had been built around it. I take a deep breath, crossing my arms for warmth.
The Hargreeves walk up to the revolving doors.
And I finally hurry to catch up.
Notes:
I loved writing this reconnection with The City, with 2019 too, and suggesting how the gaps in this timeline contrast with the places and elements still existing there. I'd missed writing about this city in season 2, even though I'd become attached to Dallas in some way.
Five's explanations are bittersweet. Between the lines, we can probably already feel him struggling with the splintering of timelines, and the stirrings of his desire to one day found the Commission.
Now let's step through the revolving doors of Hotel Obsidian...
Any comment will make my day!