Becoming Anne Again

Prologue

The seven  year old's chubby legs swung against the bus seat, the top of her creamy thighs gaining a red line with every hit against the plastic. She didn't mind, though, she was far too busy looking at everything around her to worry about such trifle things.

"Mrs. Hammond, I don't think I very much like public buses. But they are nice, because I can imagine so many things about them! Like, Mrs. Hammond," Anne said, tucking her legs underneath her and smiling sweetly up at her foster mother, even if that same mother refused to look wholly at Anne. This did not bother the high spirited redhead, whose eyes lit up as she looked around at the crowded bus, filled with people who were too busy to notice little girls who were trapped inside the system. That's what the Pastor's wife, Ms. Bennet said. Anne thought she quite liked the old fashioned phrase of being an orphan better. "Mrs. Hammond, I think he's a prince from a faraway kingdom!" Anne said happily, pointing to a man dressed sharply in a black suit.

Mrs. Hammond was quick to press Anne's hand down, and quicker to glare at her. "Don't point. It's rude."

"Oh." Anne's legs came untucked, and she swung them underneath her once again. "Mrs. Hammond..."

"Child, you talk too much," Mrs. Hammond hissed, lightly slapping the girl's arm. Anne curled into herself again, looking demurely up at her foster mother. It would have been harder if people weren't around, Anne knew that.

"Okay."

Anne looked out the window, at the blur of the store fronts and people and baby carriages and cars, all mixed together in one glorious kaleidoscope of color. She smiled, resting her chin on the back of the seat. Days like this were meant to be cherished, Anne thought, because even if public buses were smelly and too loud and not anything like grand horse carriage rides, there was still plenty of scope for the imagination.

She hummed happily, until the bus rolled to a stop. "Last stop!" The driver called, and Mrs. Hammond grabbed Anne by the arm and practically dragged her down the aisle. She stumbled for a moment, and Mrs. Hammond jerked her up and lifted her off her feet until they had descended the bus steps and were around the sidewalk. "Come on," she said, pulling on Anne's arm, while Anne tried her best to keep up.

However, besides have legs much shorter than Mrs. Hammond's, which, although they looked like toothpicks, had quite a bit of height, there was also so much to see. It wasn't often that Anne got to go to the city. Or anywhere that wasn't the tiny Hammond backyard, the street outside with crumbled pavement, or the worn down school where the books were all dog eared and the pages were shredded. Anne thought it was awfully disrespectful to shred pages, but she wouldn't have minded it so much otherwise because the very appearance of the book seemed to have a story too.

But the city. It was new and full of stories, and princesses who were banished by their island kingdoms. She let go of Mrs. Hammond's hand for a moment, admiring an imposing structure made of black stone that glittered in the sunlight, and gold that rimmed every doorway and rim, and the sign itself that said Breccinger Hotel. Anne gaped at it, not noticing that Mrs. Hammond had walked ahead.

When Mrs. Hammond realized she was missing a certain obnoxious seven year old, her mood became even more sour. With firm steps, she walked towards Anne and grabbed her harshly by the arm. "What..." Anne gasped, but before she had time to stuggle, Mrs. Hammond sharply swatted her arm. Color crept into Anne's face, and her hands flew to protect herself, but Mrs. Hammond quickly pinned her arms to her side. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to wander off. What did I say before we left?" Anne opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Hammond hit her even harder, a resounding smack echoing in the air that caused passerbys to turn and look at the red faced child, and then hurry on their way. "What did I say?" Mrs. Hammond raised her hand again, but Anne shook her head.

"You—you said don't dilly dally," Anne stuttered, wiggling uncomfortable in Mrs. Hammond's grip.

"Stop it!" Mrs. Hammond smacked her arm, and Anne stilled, her eyes drawn to the pink now forming on her bare skin. "Do you need me to take you into the bathroom?"

"No ma'am!" Anne squealed, and it took everything in her will power not to pull away. Anne liked to think she had a lot of will power—she had to. But it wasn't so hard if you could imagine yourself away from this place. For instance, now she wasn't in the city with Mrs. Hammond gripping so tightly on her arm it was sure to leave a mark, she was being knighted by the Queen of England, the firm hold on her hand being that of a nation forever in her debt.

Even Anne couldn't keep imagining though when Mrs. Hammond began roughly shaking her. "Oh, for God's sake, girl! You're lucky you're not going home, or Mr. Hammond would whip you real good for being so cantankerous." She began to drag Anne once again, but this time, Anne dug in her heels.

"Wait, what?" Anne squeaked, her grey green eyes growing wide, and her pink lips quivering at the thought. "No, you said you're going to keep me!"

Mrs. Hammond groaned. This was not a conversation she was going to have with a seven year old girl. And Mrs. Hammond knew only one way to get that through Anne's head—well, one way that was at least mostly legal. "That's it. You've exasperated us to no end, Ann." Anne was sure that whenever Mrs. Hammond said her name, it was without the E. That was always how it sounded. "But, darn it, if you're going to burn your bridges here, no one could say I didn't do right by you by teaching you what's right." And to prevent Anne from further resisting, she scooped Anne roughly up, looking for a more private place with less questioning eyes. It was a shame it had come to be this way. It used to be, you could whip your child, as they needed it, right in front of everyone, and get approving nods. Now people would rush to call child services. It was all a joke.

When the two emerged once again into daylight, Anne's sleeves were tugged a little further down her arm, and she hung her head low. She felt terribly tired.

But her mind was far from it. She could still imagine that she was wearing a purple chiffon dress, with a long train that made her feel like a princess. She was still about to embark on a carriage to journey to her castle by the ocean.

The imagination may never leave, but there is a point that the imagination stops being your friend.