Chapter Text
There is this thing, I must say, about the time I grew up in. It was different, in a bad way, I think. Sometimes, I can't seem to even get my muddled head around it. I forget things, more often than not, but not this. Never this.
"The place stood regal, like a piece of time that stopped ticking. The waves of laughter, children's smiles floated around waiting to be devoured by the fog that lurked around the yard. If you went too far, it was said that the dangers beyond the fences would eat your voice-"
"Miss Belivet," the headmistress hung her around the classroom, "What exactly is it you are reading to the children?"
" The Hallows of Hor -"
"Okay, that's enough for today. Miss Belivet can I please see you outside for a minute?" the cat-eyed woman tilted her head in the direction of the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar. The children chuckled slightly at my side eye glances to where the headmistress once stood.
Slowly, but not without anticipation, I walked towards my judging.
Almost immediately, the torrent of raging accusations came raining down on me. "Miss Belivet, how many times do I have to tell you not to read the stories from that book! It should be banned by now seeing as the number of complaints of night terrors are on the increase. The children are only seven. Ideas about what lurks under their bed should not be put into their heads! Much less by their teacher."
"Then get it banned , Mrs. Libovski. But where I grew up-"
"You grew up in an orphanage, Belivet. This is an upper middle-class neighborhood and there are no monsters underneath any beds, only checks to be filed and paid at the end of each term which, may I remind you, pays for our meals."
I knew that if I said a word more, my ass and I would be fired the hell out of here. My mouth shut itself but my brain burred on with an onslaught of insults. I felt hurt, that she brought up about the time where I had a dead father and a mother I did not like but I don't blame her from pressing where it hurts.
I bit onto my lower lip, and without another word, went into the classroom to deliver the bad news.
"Children, looks like Mrs. Libovski thinks that is enough for today," my words lined with slight sadness.
The entire class whined for more but I turned my back against them and started writing grammatical rules on the board. By the time I was done, two boys in the corner had folded an airplane and the girls were already busy talking amongst themselves.
My mouth opened with words-
"RING!" the school bell went off endlessly.
The class stood up, sounds of chairs screeching overlapped one another and a vaguely chorused, "Thank you Miss Belivet," amongst all other noises signified the end of another school day.
This was what I loved about teaching. That, and also that I got weekends off.
###
December. It was like any other month, except colder, and much more noisier. New York was noisy all year around but the festivities, oh, they brought too much joy around. Enough to burst an eardrum or two.
The children were out in the yard of our old-timey school, chattering about the parade, "Miss Belivet, will you be joining the parade this year?" one of the girls from my 6th grade Literature class called out just as I was about to walk through the gates.
"I'm afraid not, Patricia," I told her. She furrowed her brows for an explanation but there were none to please her. "I'll be in it this year, though!" she looked with pleading eyes. I took a couple of steps back towards where she was standing.
"Tell me it passes through this part of town?" I tried.
"It will! And it goes around to Park Avenue and to Madison Square!"
"Then, I'll be waving from my window," I smiled at her, "Look out for me!"
"Really? You'll be there?"
"Anything for my star student," I praised, sweeping her blonde hair in the direction against the wind. "Proud of you in advance!" I shouted as I walked away, earning small peals of laughter from the girls.
My smile disappeared the minute no more children were in sight. I don't hate children. It is just tiring to smile all day . For an afternoon, the sky was too dusky, appearing to be more of an evening instead. The children I had been trying so hard to avoid after work were yet again in sight so I pulled my hat tighter over my head and wrapped my scarf higher over my neck, leaving the partial view of my face in hopes they would not recognize me.
As I walked future, the noise for all the festivities died down quite a bit. There was a man, a beggar, the one I always saw sitting near one of the fences at the end of the road. As I approached, it became clear to me that he had been there for days. The chill in the air reached down into his bones and strangled him. The uneaten sandwich in my bag wanted to jump out to offer itself to him but I couldn't make up my mind in time as I passed him so instead, my feet marched on like a wind-up toy.
Against the backdrop of the impending parade, he shriveled up even more into the darkness. There was no place here for him. The world was unfair that way.
Whilst feeling guilty about what I had done, or not done, I looked back. A woman was walking right behind me. Her gray eyes caught mine and I knew in an instant that she saw what I did, walking right past a man who needed help.
She was wearing a fur coat over her tailored red suit. I became painfully aware of the air of melancholy surrounding her, as if someone just died. Who was that? And who died?
She saw him, just as I did and yet, she bent down and offered him a small amount of change into the crooked hat.
I quickly turned back around and hastened my steps, brisk walking around the corner, almost breaking into a run as I disappeared up the spiraling stairs that lead to my apartment on the fourth floor. She was coming, closer and closer. And my heart was thumper harder with each beat. I wasn't thinking as the door locked itself.
Click. Once. Click. Twice.
With my back against the door, I took a large breath to fill my lungs. Lunging forward to pull all the curtains to my two windows shut.
I felt the lady's presence loom over me and I made a risky move to peer outside. She was there indeed, but not waiting for me. Her fur coat was floating in the wind and even from way up here, I could tell that her hands were trembling as she opened the door to the grand brownstone and just as I did, disappeared through those doors.
###
Hours later, the knock on my door was louder than the procession on going on our street, shocking me into hitting my head against the window sill from where I had my head stuck out. I looked at the door until a knock interrupted me again and wiped my the cookie crumbs off my fingers on my skirt.
"Terry! It's Richard, open the door you slowpoke," he yelled through as I yanked the main door open, letting him fall into the room.
"Stop disturbing me Richard, I'm trying to watch the Christmas parade," I yelled back, looking through the window again.
I could feel him staring at me weirdly, knowing I was never one to enjoy the parade.
The truth was that the silhouette of the woman across the street against her window was much more intriguing. As I squinted my eyes, I could tell that she was with another woman against the bay window but her face was occluded by the glint in the window. They were sitting in deep conversation. Just as I was about to be whisked away into their world-
"Terry! Have you been listening to a word I'm saying?
"I'm taking a trip home ," I said, almost emulating the melancholy in the woman I saw earlier.
"No, you hate that place," Richard stated.
Nodding, "I do," I told him, "But... Yes... I'm going."
He raised his eyebrows, urging me to continue. "Mrs. Libovski might or might not have mentioned the place today and I thought it would do me some good to see how things have changed since I left."
"What did she say?"
I shrugged, not wanting to make a conversation out of it.
"Fine, Terry, don't tell me," he put his hands up, "But I know you, and you always have a change of mind last minute. So when you do, you know where to find me."
"Yea," I answered half-heartedly, already turned back to the parade and the window across the street. I took my eyes off one minute to scan the end of the parad and saw Patricia lined up with a bunch of her friends.
"Hey! It's Miss Belivet!" one of them shrieked and a deluge of greetings forced their way into my ears over the parade's music and I smiled back, giving a small wave as they marched past my apartment.
It was then when I looked back at the bay window that I saw the face of the lady's again. This time, she was looking right at me. She did not smile, nor attempt to break her internalizing gaze. My heart pounded wildly as I become startlingly aware of the great disorder she was causing my mind. Who is she?
"Terry!" Richard snapped his fingers in front of me, causing me to take my eyes away from her, "Can I drink some of your beer?"
"Take whatever you want, Richard," I muttered, attempting to not look away but a crashing sound inevitably caused me to swing my head in the direction of the noise. "Seriously?" I yelled in annoyance.
I leered one last time but the curtains were already drawn and the women were gone. I had so many questions for the mystery woman. She was very real; I could feel her existence coursing through each and every one of my veins. I counted the windows to her house. Eight of them. Two on the first, three on each floor above. I wondered who she lived with that she needed eight windows. "Who buys a house big enough to fit a farm?” I asked Richard.
"What's that?" He yelled from the kitchen. I could hear him raiding my refrigerator from here.
"Nothing..." I mumbled under my breath before reaching for my black notebook.
12.16.1954. An eight windowed brownstone. Each a window of opportunity to escape. The mysterious woman with hair the color of lemons. Who's there to stop her dangerous thoughts?