Dvorak: Chapter 1
Apr. 1st, 2013 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
memorialrainbowThere’s more to this world than meets the eye.
Sure, you’ve heard that one about a hundred zillion times, in one way, shape, or form. From science fiction to drama to action thrillers to mysteries (especially mysteries) and no matter how the story is retold, art reflects the fact that the world we inhabit is prone to excitement and surprise and wonder and fear. Go figure that so many people would run from life then.
But what does it mean to take advantage of life? What is life?
The answer you will soon find out for yourself.
--
So where was that blasted cup holder?
She pushed aside several old glasses, cups, plates, even digging around in the silverware for a few moments. Not finding what she was looking for, she let out a sigh. It had to be in here somewhere. She had just seen it this past weekend! Although in this house, who knew where it would have gone in that amount of time. She was just lucky that at this point she would still make it to school on time.
Behind the dishwasher...up on top of the cereal boxes...past the cans of tuna...there! She grabbed the plastic red cup holder and stuffed it into her white duffel bag. With one more adjustment, she made sure her duffel was good to go and she was off.
It was a short subway ride downtown to her school, an academy on the west side that her parents paid extra for each month. With today being the seventh of January, it would be the first day back to school after the winter holiday recess. Leaving a bit early like this meant that she could stop at Saint Arbucks Coffee and grab her favorite drink: a medium sized chai with an extra shot of espresso. Sometimes she met up early with her friends and they would all go out for a drink together, but they had already left her neighborhood by the time she got out her door. That was the danger of sleeping in -- that, and possibly being late to school, which she never wanted.
She walked into the Saint Arbucks Coffeeshop on the corner of 72nd and Broadway exactly at 7:16 in the morning, per her smartphone, which she was constantly glued to (even in class). The shop was unusually quiet for this time in the morning, and there weren’t a lot of people sitting at the tables, though there was a nice long line (as usual). After waiting in line for what seemed like hours (as it always does at this time in the morning), she got to the cash register and ordered her chai, then ducked into the bathroom while the chai was being made for a quick morning post subway makeup checkup.
She brushed a few stray strands of dark brown hair out of her chocolate eyes, honing in on the mascara through the small mirror, harsh ceiling lights magnifying her every feature. Her short stature meant that she had to stand on her tiptoes to get it just right. She balanced herself with her left hand while applying with her right hand. Her duffel bag sat on the trash can, precariously perched much like its owner. With one last swipe, she fell back on her heels and straightened out her starched white uniform shirt, making sure it covered her all the way to her waist and the seams of her blue skirt.
With a satisfied sigh, she smiled at herself in the mirror just as she heard her name called outside the bathroom by the barista.
She ran outside the bathroom and up to the counter with her smile still on her face, reaching back for her duffel. But it wasn’t there. Horrified, she looked behind her just as the bathroom door closed, somebody else occupying the room. Drat. How was she going to get her duffel back now?
“Excuse me?”
She turned, and there was a businessman with her duffel in his hands. “You left this in the bathroom,” he said to her.
Her smile returned. “So I did,” she said and took the duffel from him, reaching into the front pocket and pulling out the red cup holder. She grabbed the chai cup by the edges and placed it into the cup holder, then took the holder in her hands. “Thank you.”
“Oh, no problem.” And with that, the man grabbed his own coffee, though by the way it was labeled it looked stronger than hers, as well as a small paper bag, and headed to the nearest wooden table. She shouldered her bag and sat in the front of the cafe, on a stool, setting her bag below her feet. There was a huge window in front of her, the only such window in the cafe. Most everybody else liked to sit in the back, where the fancier chairs and lights were, so they could carry on private conversations without being heard as much. But there was something special about this window. Here, she could watch the people of the city go by, heading wherever it was they were going for their workday. This was one of her favorite pants of her day, because she loved people watching. There were eight million people in the city, and each and every one of their lives was on display one way or another.
She could see the subway entrance outside the window, just across the street, and the crowds of people hurrying up and down the stairs, papers in hand. Most of the time, she had found, those women who took the subway to work wore tennis shoes with their pencil skirts and nice blouses until they actually got to the office, at which point they switched out for their heels. Kids walked alongside the sidewalk in groups, ready to learn their numbers and letters. One woman walked by with three dog leashes in hand, and three different dogs pulling at her, intent on seeing the world and investigating as much as possible.
The world is full of possibility, she told herself. You just have to know where to find it.
She jumped and almost fell off of her chair when she heard a noise behind her. Turning, she saw that it was the same man in a suit who had retrieved her duffel for her. It looked as if everything was fine, but --
With no warning, the man tried to grab for his throat and fell off his own stool, it clattering against the tile. This time, the sound startled everybody in the coffee shop. Bystanders immediately got up from their chairs to help and to see what was going on, and even she was curious. What was the story here?
Then again, there was never a dull day in New York City, she told herself. She turned back to her chai and was mid-sip when she heard a woman scream.
Almost dropping both her chai and her cup holder, she turned back around. The man was sprawled out on the ground, his coffee spilled everywhere, and the woman who had screamed was standing by his body with a look of utter horror on her face. A barista came up behind her, and she leaned on his arm, grateful for the support.
Most of the other patrons of the busy Saint Arbucks decided at that moment to leave, packing up their belongings and racing for the door. For some reason, she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the stool, the image of the man who had helped her with her duffel bag frozen in her mind. He just fell over on his stool, right? Realizing that she was seated on a similar stool, her legs unlocked enough to move her to a nearby empty table. She put her duffel on top and watched as a few more workers came into the room.
Finally, a few minutes later, the ambulance showed up and everybody else was herded out of the coffee shop. She grabbed her duffel and walked out onto 72nd as a crowd continued to gather, mostly consisting of people from the shop itself. The lady who had screamed was talking with one of the medics as they strapped the man to a board and loaded him in.
“You know, it’s not going to matter what they do,” a voice from behind her said. She turned around and saw an older woman sitting on the sidewalk with an apple in her hand. This woman seemed like the type of person who would sit on the sidewalk all day asking for money. The woman’s grey hair was done up in a bun, and she was wearing a red and green tracksuit.
Normally she did not associate with anybody like this -- mostly because she knew from previous experience that a lot of people who asked for money were scams. But there was something about the way she had just said that sentence that piqued her interest. She clutched her chai. “What do you mean?”
The old lady looked at her apple, not looking up at all as she spoke. “It’s a waste of time, taking that man to the hospital. He’s already dead.”
Her brown eyes widened as she put her chai down. How did she know that? She didn’t want to provoke her. “All he did was eat a bagle,” she finally said.
The little old lady with the apple nodded. “Of course. All he did was eat a bagle.” And, as if to drive home a point, she took a bite out of her apple.
That did it. She grabbed her duffel and, hanging on to her chai, hoofed it the rest of the way to school. Dead? Just like that? She would have to watch the news later that night...sounded like something that would be covered, even in a passing report. The sooner she got to school, the sooner she could finish her chai, the sooner she could forget about the creepy lady outside the Saint Arbucks.
But she couldn’t forget.
Sure, you’ve heard that one about a hundred zillion times, in one way, shape, or form. From science fiction to drama to action thrillers to mysteries (especially mysteries) and no matter how the story is retold, art reflects the fact that the world we inhabit is prone to excitement and surprise and wonder and fear. Go figure that so many people would run from life then.
But what does it mean to take advantage of life? What is life?
The answer you will soon find out for yourself.
--
So where was that blasted cup holder?
She pushed aside several old glasses, cups, plates, even digging around in the silverware for a few moments. Not finding what she was looking for, she let out a sigh. It had to be in here somewhere. She had just seen it this past weekend! Although in this house, who knew where it would have gone in that amount of time. She was just lucky that at this point she would still make it to school on time.
Behind the dishwasher...up on top of the cereal boxes...past the cans of tuna...there! She grabbed the plastic red cup holder and stuffed it into her white duffel bag. With one more adjustment, she made sure her duffel was good to go and she was off.
It was a short subway ride downtown to her school, an academy on the west side that her parents paid extra for each month. With today being the seventh of January, it would be the first day back to school after the winter holiday recess. Leaving a bit early like this meant that she could stop at Saint Arbucks Coffee and grab her favorite drink: a medium sized chai with an extra shot of espresso. Sometimes she met up early with her friends and they would all go out for a drink together, but they had already left her neighborhood by the time she got out her door. That was the danger of sleeping in -- that, and possibly being late to school, which she never wanted.
She walked into the Saint Arbucks Coffeeshop on the corner of 72nd and Broadway exactly at 7:16 in the morning, per her smartphone, which she was constantly glued to (even in class). The shop was unusually quiet for this time in the morning, and there weren’t a lot of people sitting at the tables, though there was a nice long line (as usual). After waiting in line for what seemed like hours (as it always does at this time in the morning), she got to the cash register and ordered her chai, then ducked into the bathroom while the chai was being made for a quick morning post subway makeup checkup.
She brushed a few stray strands of dark brown hair out of her chocolate eyes, honing in on the mascara through the small mirror, harsh ceiling lights magnifying her every feature. Her short stature meant that she had to stand on her tiptoes to get it just right. She balanced herself with her left hand while applying with her right hand. Her duffel bag sat on the trash can, precariously perched much like its owner. With one last swipe, she fell back on her heels and straightened out her starched white uniform shirt, making sure it covered her all the way to her waist and the seams of her blue skirt.
With a satisfied sigh, she smiled at herself in the mirror just as she heard her name called outside the bathroom by the barista.
She ran outside the bathroom and up to the counter with her smile still on her face, reaching back for her duffel. But it wasn’t there. Horrified, she looked behind her just as the bathroom door closed, somebody else occupying the room. Drat. How was she going to get her duffel back now?
“Excuse me?”
She turned, and there was a businessman with her duffel in his hands. “You left this in the bathroom,” he said to her.
Her smile returned. “So I did,” she said and took the duffel from him, reaching into the front pocket and pulling out the red cup holder. She grabbed the chai cup by the edges and placed it into the cup holder, then took the holder in her hands. “Thank you.”
“Oh, no problem.” And with that, the man grabbed his own coffee, though by the way it was labeled it looked stronger than hers, as well as a small paper bag, and headed to the nearest wooden table. She shouldered her bag and sat in the front of the cafe, on a stool, setting her bag below her feet. There was a huge window in front of her, the only such window in the cafe. Most everybody else liked to sit in the back, where the fancier chairs and lights were, so they could carry on private conversations without being heard as much. But there was something special about this window. Here, she could watch the people of the city go by, heading wherever it was they were going for their workday. This was one of her favorite pants of her day, because she loved people watching. There were eight million people in the city, and each and every one of their lives was on display one way or another.
She could see the subway entrance outside the window, just across the street, and the crowds of people hurrying up and down the stairs, papers in hand. Most of the time, she had found, those women who took the subway to work wore tennis shoes with their pencil skirts and nice blouses until they actually got to the office, at which point they switched out for their heels. Kids walked alongside the sidewalk in groups, ready to learn their numbers and letters. One woman walked by with three dog leashes in hand, and three different dogs pulling at her, intent on seeing the world and investigating as much as possible.
The world is full of possibility, she told herself. You just have to know where to find it.
She jumped and almost fell off of her chair when she heard a noise behind her. Turning, she saw that it was the same man in a suit who had retrieved her duffel for her. It looked as if everything was fine, but --
With no warning, the man tried to grab for his throat and fell off his own stool, it clattering against the tile. This time, the sound startled everybody in the coffee shop. Bystanders immediately got up from their chairs to help and to see what was going on, and even she was curious. What was the story here?
Then again, there was never a dull day in New York City, she told herself. She turned back to her chai and was mid-sip when she heard a woman scream.
Almost dropping both her chai and her cup holder, she turned back around. The man was sprawled out on the ground, his coffee spilled everywhere, and the woman who had screamed was standing by his body with a look of utter horror on her face. A barista came up behind her, and she leaned on his arm, grateful for the support.
Most of the other patrons of the busy Saint Arbucks decided at that moment to leave, packing up their belongings and racing for the door. For some reason, she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the stool, the image of the man who had helped her with her duffel bag frozen in her mind. He just fell over on his stool, right? Realizing that she was seated on a similar stool, her legs unlocked enough to move her to a nearby empty table. She put her duffel on top and watched as a few more workers came into the room.
Finally, a few minutes later, the ambulance showed up and everybody else was herded out of the coffee shop. She grabbed her duffel and walked out onto 72nd as a crowd continued to gather, mostly consisting of people from the shop itself. The lady who had screamed was talking with one of the medics as they strapped the man to a board and loaded him in.
“You know, it’s not going to matter what they do,” a voice from behind her said. She turned around and saw an older woman sitting on the sidewalk with an apple in her hand. This woman seemed like the type of person who would sit on the sidewalk all day asking for money. The woman’s grey hair was done up in a bun, and she was wearing a red and green tracksuit.
Normally she did not associate with anybody like this -- mostly because she knew from previous experience that a lot of people who asked for money were scams. But there was something about the way she had just said that sentence that piqued her interest. She clutched her chai. “What do you mean?”
The old lady looked at her apple, not looking up at all as she spoke. “It’s a waste of time, taking that man to the hospital. He’s already dead.”
Her brown eyes widened as she put her chai down. How did she know that? She didn’t want to provoke her. “All he did was eat a bagle,” she finally said.
The little old lady with the apple nodded. “Of course. All he did was eat a bagle.” And, as if to drive home a point, she took a bite out of her apple.
That did it. She grabbed her duffel and, hanging on to her chai, hoofed it the rest of the way to school. Dead? Just like that? She would have to watch the news later that night...sounded like something that would be covered, even in a passing report. The sooner she got to school, the sooner she could finish her chai, the sooner she could forget about the creepy lady outside the Saint Arbucks.
But she couldn’t forget.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-03 02:07 am (UTC)