Wattpad Block Party - Winter Edition III

HARaynes Presents: Chapter One of "Time Will Tell"

HARaynes

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Chapter One of "Time Will Tell"

CHAPTER ONE

For short stretches of time, Maisie forgets. Fleeting, freeing moments of distraction. Like now, as the seatbelt cuts into her shoulder when the taxi driver makes a sharp right turn. She steadies herself, hands on the vinyl seats. She straightens her back to see over the partition between them, but she doesn't know where she is – none of these streets or buildings mean anything to her. Leaning her face against the windowpane, her warm breath fogs the glass. Above, between the mammoth glass and cement structures, a swatch of blue peeks out, puffs of white blowing this way and that. She watches them. This is what clouds must feel like. Untethered. But she doesn't feel weightless. She is a floating cinderblock, suspended inexplicably. Though it's only been two weeks since the accident, she is already losing their voices, their smells. It still doesn't feel possible that her parents are dead.

Out the right side of the cab, she sees the Hudson River. Just as she squints to make out a sign, the driver turns left and it's gone. They pass Wall Street, which looks vaguely familiar, probably from movies. A few seconds later, the car slows with the traffic and winds around a curve, revealing an intimate enclave of four and five-story buildings.

Without warning, the driver slams on the brakes, jerking her forward. In an accent she doesn't recognize, he says, "Fifty-seven and a half South William Street."

"Where?" She looks out either side of the cab.

He juts a thumb to the left. "You walk. Pedestrian only."

The narrow cobblestone street is lined with restaurants and pubs. Outdoor seating spills across the entire width and length of the short road leaving little space to walk. People drink coffee as slivers of sunshine escape up the side of the buildings in the late afternoon. It reminds her of a sepia-toned photograph from a hundred years ago. The towering skyscrapers that surround the street remind her of an ancient stone wall with jagged spikes at the top protecting what's within. She stares, unmoving. Back at her home in Oregon, the houses are flat, the yards wide. She can see for miles or turn the other way and stare out at the Pacific. During the six-hour flight, she'd scanned thousands of photos in her phone, trying to stamp them permanently into her memory. She jumps, startled by impatient rapping on the plastic divider.

"You pay now." Only the top half of the taxi driver's face appears above the partition. Furry eyebrows and a low hairline. He points to the meter.

She rifles in her mom's purse for her wallet. Once she gets out there's no turning back. But there's nowhere else to go. There's not much money in her bank account. Her mom and dad made her new guardians executors of their estate. Everything is tied to these people she doesn't know. Supposedly she met them when she was a kid but she doesn't remember. Tears splash her hands and the wallet. She wants to crawl inside, make herself small like Alice.

"You have money?" the driver asks, his voice rising.

"I do, I do. Sorry." She swipes the card in the machine and opens the car door.

The cool October breeze is a relief as she steps out. She wipes her hands over her wet cheeks, brushes them against her jacket. On the sidewalk, people move around her in a constant stream, unsmiling, focused on cell phones, seemingly unaware of one another, though their bodies and bags make contact as they pass. She can't imagine why anyone would want to live in New York City.

The taxi screeches away and she realizes the driver deposited her suitcases at her side. Hesitantly, she wanders forward, gripping the bag handles tightly. Her feet are unstable on the cobblestones. It feels like she's in another country. The buildings are ornate, big stone facades that remind her of history books. No one seated at the outdoor tables seems to take notice of her as she attempts to find the building number, 57 ½. Finally, between awnings, she spots it. A skinny, four-story brick house that she somehow missed the first three times she walked past. With a deep breath, she approaches.