The Coat

"Watch where you are going, imbecile!" he hisses, infuriated.

I am so focused on glaring at the paved stones beneath my feet that I am not paying attention to where I am stumbling. I trip over a stone that juts out of sidewalk like the bastard it is, and fall smack into a man wearing a black trench coat. The haughty man steps over me, with a look of total disgust plastered on his face and continues walking to god knows where. I don't disagree with him, I don't look particularly well off at the moment.

If I were to look into a mirror, I would see my slightly dirt-caked face staring back at me, black rings under my eyes and lips cracked from the harsh, cold wind coming from the North. My hair is still a mostly appropriate length but it's filthy. It's not long before all kinds of rodents make it their home. It's all over the place. I would burst out laughing if only it wasn't me who I would be laughing at.

I push myself up not wanting to examine the rough surface of the pavement any longer and shakily rise on my unstable feet. This new life is taking a toll on me. Something jingles in my sweatshirt pocket. I stuff my calloused hand into it and caress the last of my money, trying to feel each type of coin and it's value. Someone bumps into me and I decide to stop standing in the middle of a busy street and start walking. I walk until I reach a dead end. Here, in this street all is quiet. A little alley to my left catches my attention so I drag myself there.

I find a little shop in front of me and I manage to make out the faded name: Second Hand Shop for All. I tug at the door but it doesn't budge. I keep tugging until I notice a half moth eaten sticker that says PUSH. Mentally kicking myself I push at the door and it gives away easily, almost making me fall inside. It's dusty and I immediately start coughing because of my allergies. A lonely lamp flickers in the middle of the ceiling.

Normally, if something like that happened to me or I would have stumbled upon something of the like, I would high tail out of here. But now I have nothing to lose.

I look around and take in the shelves upon shelves, the racks upon racks of trinkets, clothes and other whatnot of all shapes, sizes, and colours.

"Are you looking for something in particular, young man?" A voice right behind my shoulder says. I scream in a very unmanly way and whip around to find myself almost touching noses with an elderly man with a friendly face.

"Oh pardon me, I did not intend to frighten you!" The man softly said.

I shake my head and assure him that I wasn't scared too bad, even though I was. Every little thing lately makes me almost jump out of my skin with fright. "I stumbled on this shop accidentally, so I don't know what I'm looking for. All I know is that I am looking for something."

"Oh! Then I can direct you to that corner there-over by the bookstand," he points a knowing smile playing on his face, "and just observe, something will call to you." I give him a look, one that even I can't describe. Something in between surprise, astonishment, and even a hint of fright.

My body moves towards the corner without even me deciding first and positions itself in front of a few shelves and a clothes rack. A "whoah" spills out of my partly opened mouth. I look around, absorbing the trinkets. There was an old alarm clock, rusty and barely held together; a stuffed rabbit, darkened with age, fur matted and dirty ( a toy well loved ); a book with a dark, tattered cover and title long dissolved into the depths of the carcass; and other similarly old objects.

I direct my gaze to the clothes rack. On it hangs a single coat, light blue and seemingly in good shape. It has three pockets, two on the side and one on the left breast. I try it on. It is exactly my size. Still wearing it, I walk to the counter, dazed from the lovely colour of the coat.

The elderly man chuckles, old eyes sparkling with interest and consideration. I ask for the price. My eyes bulge upon hearing the low cost. I questioningly raise my eyebrows and open my mouth to object, when the man repeats his cost and gives me a little glare, as if to say he won't take more. Automatically I put my hand into the pocket of my new azure coat and feel a couple coins. I pull them out to examine. The coins add up exactly to the cost of the coat. I look at the man, my mind racing. He probably looked in the pocket and that's how he knew, I reassured myself.

I finish the transaction and wander off, stumbling, hitting my shoulder on the door frame on my way out, embarrassment crawling up my face, enveloping my whole face on fire. I quickly hurry out and shamefully slip, ungraciously falling on the wet stones (Jimin style-on my back, my feet flying to where my head was a second ago), right in front of the doorway. I pick myself up, groaning and hurry away before I see the man's maw open wide, the last of his teeth showing as he roars with laughter.

I walk down the street and check the other pocket. Nothing. I keep walking, rubbing my hands, when I remember the third little pocket. I slip my index finger and thumb and feel around the fabric. Nothing. Then I feel something that reminds me of paper. I grasp it and pull it out. It, in fact, is a pice of folded paper. I unfold it and see these words stare back at me: FIND ME. I WILL BE AT THE SPHERE AT THE PEAK OF NIGHT. I CAN HELP YOU.

Perplexed, I keep rereading the few words on the slightly tattered paper. I knew exactly what the person was talking about. There is a sphere-shaped installation in the middle of Central Park.

I keep staring at the paper. I want to make sure my eyes are not deceiving me. I decide to indeed, go there since I have nothing to do and I'm awfully curious. I could be kidnapped or killed but it doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm bored out of my mind and I want something interesting to happen to me; anything, just to entertain myself a little bit.

I walk further until I reach a bookstore, my eyes yearning to read at least a chapter of a good classic. I head over to the classic section and let my fingers skim the covers and their pages.

I find a red leather bound book that looks as if in it a very interesting story could be hidden. My eyes ravish the prologue but start to slow down when I realise what the book is about. Ironically, out of all the books in this giant bookstore I could have chosen, I chose "Daddy Long-legs". A story that starts very much like my own, but continues differently. Jerusha gets an education, finds love and a new future, meanwhile here I am.

Yesterday I sneaked out of St. Mary Home. I couldn't bare to be mistreated any longer. Both my parents gone, passed away in 9/11. The wound is still raw. It happened only a year ago...I tear rolls down my cheek, making the page wet, and I realise this is the first time I'm not numb anymore. Now I just want the feelings to stop. They're too overwhelming.

I slam the book shut and sniffle angrily, stuffing the book in the wrong place and storming out without looking back. I find a dark corner in a side street, sit down and start rocking to calm my nerves and pain.

--------

I wake up at night and I frantically get up and rush to the nearest public clock. I still have time left. I sigh, not knowing how I feel about that. Do I still want to go there? Yes. I begin walking to the direction of Central Park.

The park is dark and illuminated by only a few lampposts. I stop in the middle of the bridge and look at the rippling stream beneath. so peaceful. I envy it.

I keep walking until I reach the sphere. It looks different at night; majestic and somehow sad. I stare at it until I hear a voice behind me.

"You came."

I slowly turned around, shocked at the person in front of me.

"...Dad?!"