2047: Part I [Elise]

“Elise”

The first installment of the multi-part “2047” series of short, surreal tales of a distant future reality rooted in the American past.

By

Katharyn R. King

January 2nd.

I saw you again today. Standing on the street, waiting for the bus. We waited there in silence. All I did was stare; you probably think I am following you. But I'm not. I'm really not. I don't mean to follow you. I'm not really following you so much as going about my business. But I do watch for you. I see you everywhere, because you are everywhere. Some sort of guardian angel, I thought to myself today. The sun glared in my eyes. You stepped up onto the bus. Exact change only. You turned to me and asked if I had a nickel. I did. I gave it to you, placing the shiny coin that I had just received as change from the some other purchase at a department store a few blocks away, and grazed my fingers over your soft skin. You smiled. Everything stopped. My heart beat faster. I don't even know her name. Faster and faster. Smile again, I thought to myself.

You did. I deposited my fare as you took a seat by the window. I'm glad you sat there. Everyone should see how beautiful you are. I took the seat next to you because you invited me as a courtesy for having provided the quarter for your fare. You said 'thank you' in a soft accent. English, maybe Australian. I wasn't certain. But it was beautiful nonetheless.

I smiled and said something back. I can't remember what I said, but I said something that made you laugh. It was a polite laugh, infectious. Perfect. But I had made you laugh; I had said something that made you smile. The sun glided over your reddish brown hair. It shined. I smiled again. I told you I'd seen you several times all over town. Maybe we lived nearby one another, I suggested. You said you had never noticed me before. My smile faded away and my heart sank.

You had never noticed me before. Not in the elevator, at the shop around the corner, in the lobby or standing on the street waiting for the bus. You saw it in my eyes. Disappointment. You knew how I felt, and I knew this by the way you looked away out the window. Streetcars, shops, people hurrying from place to place all blurred past us. Even the people on the bus faded away. All I saw was you.

Your mahogany hair pinned up in a light, trendy bun with small locks curling around your face in a fashionable motif-and your soft white skin. Your azure eyes. You caught my gaze just as the bus slowed to a stop. We both stood. It was my stop. You beamed once more and apologized for wasting time with silence. English. It was an English accent. You must be descended from royalty, I thought, with a voice like that—and hands like that. Absolute royalty.

I started to leave and as I took to the steps and started for the pavement, I noticed you begin to follow after me and then hesitate. You stopped and looked down for a moment nervously, as though you were trying to make a quick decision. Stay or go. I continued to walk away. Further and further. I turned back. The bus lurched forward.

Just as I gave up, it stopped. The brakes screeched and the driver shouted loudly at you. You apologized to him-twice-once for not having had the correct change and again for not having gotten off at the designated stop. Then the click of heels and you hurried down the steps and over to me. The bus screeched again and lurched forward. We walked together and talked together.

Your name is Elise and you are English. You said you come from a small village in Essex. Greater London. The daughter of a Duchess. I knew it. It had been your hands, those ornate hands. I smiled broadly at the thought of them. Nimble, delicate. Soft. Royal hands.

Rain began to pour down upon us out of nowhere. The sun was peaking through the windows as the drops continued their race toward the Earthen ground beneath us. I hadn't even noticed. My thoughts had been more clouded than the threatening black sky above. Time doesn't stand still for us. It only moves faster and faster everyday. Every moment is faster than the one that came before it. I know that now.

You stepped out into the street with me, dodging pools of water that were rising higher and higher as the storm swelled above us. Rain drenched your black coat, your skirt as well. We laughed like children at play, dancing in the water-drenched streets. I drew you close as it grew colder and we crossed to the sidewalk, as if we had known each other for years. As if we were already old friend with nicknames. As if we knew each other’s favorite colors and our most inner sacred wishes.

When it rains in New York, it rains, and the whole city seems to come alive and wink at you. It is one of the most beautiful things to see. And when it snows, even moreso.

We came to a stop beneath a red awning. My apartment building in Manhattan. The bellhops passed us by, carrying large suitcases and greeting us politely as they went along. You began to shiver, still laughing from our escapade in the street. We breathed heavily for a few minutes in unison, our cheeks warm and pink. We argued over whether Ginger Rogers or Cyd Charisse was the superior dancer. We debated between Dali and Kandinsky, Dali and Picasso.

Before we knew it, we were standing in front of hotel as if 20 years had gone by in my mind. But you were grounded, feet firm and sure.

“Well,” you said, “it’s been truly an insightful adventure, meeting you-“

The doorman interrupted you just then, smiling jovially and making a comment, gesturing to the sky. Something about how amazing it is that the raindrops can even find the ground in New York City. You laughed. I smiled at the wit of the notion. I asked if I should wait until it stopped raining, or at least until it let up a little more before I abandoned you to find a taxi cab back to your apartment in East Village.

The doorman said he could wait with you but you said 'no, thank you'.

“You’re so polite...?” I paused, waiting with bated breath to hear you say it.

“Elise.”

Elise. Knowing your name warms my heart beyond measure, and makes me smile now ever more brightly. I’m certain I’ve stopped breathing. Elise.

“And yours?”

I never had the chance to tell you. Just then, shouting could be heard coming from with the hotel lobby.

The doorman nodded, snapping into action as yet another streetcar was arriving presently.

A streetcar, this one a taxi, came hurtling to a stop and he hurried to help you in out of the rain. You looked at me briefly as if to say, “What madness has ensued around us?”

We watched in awe as the doorman, affectionately called Alfie, struggled to carry several hatboxes and other packages while the woman scolded him, warning him not to drop anything into the gutter below.

The woman guarded her mink coat closely, petting it gingerly and still shrieking at the doorman, who was doing his best to transport all of the utterly insufferable woman's purchases through the glass revolving door and into the main lobby. No bellhops in sight. The woman followed after the doorman, grumbling about 1947 being the worst year ever so far. You drew up to me very quickly, pulling me in close.

Our lips met for only a few moments before you were off. Off to hail a taxi. I caught a glimpse of your red hair slipping into the open cab. And then you were gone. I smiled to myself. That old woman had been wrong; 1947 would be the best year.

My eyes drew away from the sight of the taxi as it lost itself among the many other yellow taxis and streamed through the watery streets of New York City. My hands were cold now. I slid them into my coat pocket and my fingers fell upon a small object that had not been there before. I looked down. It was a strip of white paper and on it was a note:

“I lied. I saw you long ago before today and I've loved you ever since. -Elise”

The End