Clara doesn't know where the records are kept, but she promises to ask her Dad.
Her eyes wander over me from bottom to top. She has plaited my hair down my back and ended it in a stretchy fabric band. She has also tied my boots in bows after running the long laces around my ankle a few times to make them shorter. I put on my cracked watch and tighten the brown leather strap. She nods to herself with pride. "You could be one of us," she admits. "The watch doesn't quite fit, but I'll allow it."
Allow it? Am I not supposed to wear it? I have worn this watch every day for the last five years. I would be lost without it.
"Speaking of..." Clara glances down at her own watch, the screen illuminating in response to her gaze. "We're late for lunch."
Clara walks me to the dining facility, which involves a maze of corridors and another trip in the elevator. I memorise our twists and turns, zoning in and out of Clara's monologue about life in the shard. This place is going to take some getting used to. On the bright side, I appear to be getting a handle on traveling vertically.
The elevator chimes and the doors fall away, allowing delicious scents to waft through the tiny traveling compartment. It is unlike anything I have smelt before. I recognise some of the spices from the Harlem markets, but this particular combination is foreign and divine. I'm salivating already.
In keeping with the theme of the upper floors, the dining hall is big with dark tiles identical to those in the hallway, but what draws my gaze from exploring its innards further are the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The view from the dining floor is as beautiful as it is nauseating. So this is what Harlem looks like from above. I can see the entire Eastern border where Harlem's rusted rooftops meet the endless ocean. I squint against the bright reflections north to where I know home is. Even though I know it is there somewhere I can't pick it out of the kaleidoscope of shapes and colours. Clara pulls me away before I can take in the entire view and guides me deeper into the dining facility.
The dining facility has a number of tables set with dishes and cutlery with squares of white fabric beneath them. Behind each place sits a grey fabric chair with a tall back.
Despite the numerous tables, only three of them are partially occupied. A few curious faces swivel their chairs around so they can get a better look. From what I can see they are dressed identically to me. The most obvious difference between us is their skin which is fair, like Clara's.
"Feels like we're famous," Clara mumbles looking down at her toes as she shuffles forward, dropping her hand from my arm.
If they want to look, let them, I think.
I stick out my chin and lower my shoulders as I confidently stride towards them. More curious faces turn towards us as whispers travel along the tables. Clara catches up and falls into step beside me. As we grow closer I notice one person who isn't staring. He lazily pushes the food on his plate around with a fork, a smirk on his face.
Apparently finally noticing the commotion, he looks up from his food. I recognise him immediately as the arrogant man I met during my first visit to the shard. He raises his eyebrows in disinterest and goes back to pushing his food around the plate.
I am not suprised he doesn't recognise me. I barely recognise myself.
"Ebon," Clara whispers as she stops at an empty table and motions for me to come over.
The other tables aren't full, but I join her and take a seat anyway.
"Don't you want to sit with the others?" I ask as Clara pours me a glass of water.
YOU ARE READING
A Shard of Glass
FantasíaIf you were lucky, you were born in Darlington. When the great city walls finally gave way to the rising water, the people moved up. Their houses, now partially submerged became islands of salvation from which a new society was born. If you were n...
