The Meanings of Lost

Chapter 21

Ambrosine:

Wonder Woman is dead. Not officially, but I haven't heard nor seen hide nor hair of her since that building collapsed.

In my room, when all the adults who now swarm my life are safely out of ear range, I let myself cry. I cry for the world, for how will they react? and I cry for my friend, Diana Prince, who died along with the worldwide heroine.

It smells like her shampoo, a unique blend of tropical flowers and fruit. So unique, in fact, I only ever associate the smell with Miss Prince. She had been like a mother, as close as one could get next to my own anyhow, though I'd never told her that. And she'd never know how I felt, for she cannot read a letter if she lays hurried under what used to be the Stonewall science building. My favourite.

My green Swatch watch beeps a telltale sign that I have an hour to be somewhere important. Wednesday nights are spent at the Apollo Victoria, across from the Victoria station. I move about my room, seemingly exhausted. This new data floating around in my head seems to have drained the energy from my limbs; removed the resolve from my actions.

I'm such an idiot! Never get attached, the one rule in the system, and I disobeyed it. I disobeyed it, and now I must face the negative consequences. Idiot. Moron. Slightly above average Jack. I clench my fists tighter with each insult I throw. None of them seem harsh enough.

I grab my bag and say my leave as I exit the door. First, I take a left, then I take a bus. I swipe my Oyster card then climb to the top level. I chew on a nail, something I've never done before. I remove it from my mouth then study the dismembered nail hanging by a thread. I take your my nail flippers and remove it. What is wrong with me?

I get off the bus and walk past the Shakespeare restaurant. I look towards the ShakeShack. I'll probably have a second supper there.

A slight trickles through the crowd on the sidewalk, painfully similar to Diana's. No, not painfully similar. The laughter is exactly alike. Stupid synaesthesia. I'm remembering when we were here, experiencing every detail as if it was the first time.

I shake my head and continue towards the Apollo Victoria. Instead of its usual green lights advertising Wicked, the building is illuminated with white and pink lights. A poster for the production covers the circle with Elphabla and Galinda.

"Has Wonder Woman left us?" A newsman bellows in my ear as I walk past him. I take a quick glance at his paper. Propaganda that I have no time for.

"Miss, hey missy." Someone beckons me over. It's a beggar. I give him some two-pences from my change purse as I walk by. He blesses my soul, then, unexpectedly, takes my sleeve.

"You." He says. I yank my coat back.

"Try anything and I'll scream."

"No, not like that." He mumbles. "You think she's dead?" He asks. "That wonder gal?" I make no reply. "You do, don't ya? Here." He hands me something wrapped in newspaper. "You got yerself a kind heart lasse and a good sense of self-preservation.  It's people like you she caught for, not olduns like me. Go on now, open it." He jesters to the parcel.

Wary, I unravel the paper slowly. A cold metal object falls into my hands. A gasp escapes my mouth.

"I can't take this sir," I say, handing it back to him. He takes my clean young hands in his dirty, wrinkled ones and closes my fingers over it.

"Keep it." Says he. "It is my dying wish. The pence will ease the passing but there ain't much I can do with that. You, you've got a future. That's your face up there, lasse." He points towards the Apollo Victoria. "It's gonna be you people'll be lookin' too with her gone. And I betcha you knew her eh? So Keep it, make an old beggar happy will ya?"

I nod. "Okay."

"God bless your soul." He says, letting my hands go.

I walk towards the theatre and unveil the treasure I carry. The man had given me a stunning necklace with a thin gold chain. Attached to it, no larger than my index fingernail, was Wonder Woman's insignia, her trademarked W with a delegate while head and wings set with jewels. I have no way of telling if they are real or faked, but it is the prettiest piece of jewellery I own. Not that I have much else to compare it to.

I tie it around my neck, almost at my destination when I pause, catching a familiar face in the crowd. It's that man Diana had cried over, the one who appeared out of thin air that night at the museum. He sees me and our eyes lock. His blue yes study mine and they suddenly lose their lossed and dazed look as he walks towards me. Something clicks as he walks towards me as the scent of fish fills the air.

There won't be a show tonight. I realize, for I've already turned on my heel and ran.