The next few days felt like a waking nightmare. My world was an empty grey bubble. I was looking forward to seeing Marie at the end of the week, but that too turned out to be a lie. Ms. Bernstein informed me that I too would be leaving Saint Michael's Orphanage for the Destitute, and like all big decision in my life, this one was sprung on me at the last minute.
I barely had the day to get my things together and to say goodbye to the friends that had become my family. Jane wept, it was terrible, her mascara ran down her cheeks like black tears. Ms. Bernstein led me down the lonely corridors as though I was sentenced to death. At the great front gates were my new wardens, Mr. and Mrs. McFarlane.
"Alexandra!" Cried Mrs. McFarlane in a high shrill voice of excitement.
She was a... portly woman... rotund maybe? She kind of looked like a barrel in a yellow dress, her arms wobbling as she enthusiastically waved to me, her new daughter. The words made me sick. Mr. McFarlane seemed the very opposite, straight-backed in a smart black suit. His hawkish eyes watched my every move in silence, their gaze so precise that you almost didn't see how far back his grey hair had receded.
"Come here, darling!" Mrs. McFarlane said taking me in a great bear hug.
I didn't know what to do. I felt so numb. My whole world was being ripped away from underneath me. I hated Saint Michael's so much that I guess I had begun to love it. I felt guilty, what made me so special to escape from these bleak walls? All my friends, my family, were here. I was leaving them. Little Marie, she was gone, but what if she came back? I wouldn't be here.
Mrs. McFarlane squeezed me tighter and my arms just hung to the sides like they belonged to a dead squid. I felt so hollow.
"What's wrong, my dear?" She said in her shrill voice, "we're so happy to finally meet you! Don't you want to meet us?"
I couldn't find words. They just weren't there.
Mr. McFarlane huffed, "Thank you, Ms. Bernstein."
He turned and opened the front doors and held them as his wife and I left the building. I didn't look back.
They led me down the cracked stone stairs to a sleek Mercedes waiting on the kerb outside the black gates. It shimmered gun metal grey in the winter sun. Mr. McFarlane looked back at me as he stood by the open driver's door.
"Don't scratch the leather." He said before slipping behind the wheel.
We took off from the sidewalk in awkward silence. Who were these people? They were strangers to me, but somehow the state deemed them my legal guardians now. Do I call them Mum and Dad?
"Oh, we're going to have so much fun," Mrs. McFarlane said as her face craned over the headrest in front of me.
Her voice had lost the shrill excitement it had when she first greeted me, but her perfect white teeth shone out in a smile all the same. She looked at me with her crystal blue eyes in expectation of a reply. I only just realised I hadn't even said hello yet.
"I can't wait," I managed to say, but even I could hear the lack of honesty in my tone.
"Neither can we, darling." She beamed, "you will absolutely love it in Williston."
"Williston?" I had never heard of the place.
"In North Dakota, our flights this afternoon."
It was at that moment that my heart split in two and a great fire spilt out from its bloody remains. I was both distraught and enraged.
"North Dakota?" I cried, "but my sister!"
Mrs. McFarlane's eyes came together in something that looked like sympathy.
"Oh come now, Alexandra," she said, "it's a new start, a new beginning, a new life."
She looked so hopeful when she said those words like she was living in a poem. But to me, they felt like death.
"But my sister..." my lips barely moved.
Mr. McFarlane bent over and looked at me for a moment. His eyes pinning me to the seat.
"We'll have no more of it," he said brusquely.
"Rodney, please," she snapped, "the poor thing is worried. She'll get used to being a McFarlane in no time."
The words made me go catatonic. I felt my head shift and blur.... a McFarlane in no time... I don't want to be a McFarlane. I am a Nicolson. I am Alexandra Nicolson. My sister is Marie Nicolson. They can't just force me to the other side of the country and expect me to forget who I am.
The rest of the ride was a blur. Mrs. McFarlane kept talking to me and I nodded and smiled while Mr. McFarlane kept his astute silence. We went from the car to the airport, to the plane, to first class. It was all a dizzying whirl of madness. I hadn't been out of the orphanage in years. I didn't know if the world had got more complicated since then or if I had gotten older but everything seemed bigger. And I felt so small.
We flew through the night and I watched the hallmarks of humanity peep out between the clouds far below me. Crisscrossed meshes of lights like neon cobwebs.
I never really knew New York, but from what I had seen, Williston was nothing like it. It was just after dinner by the time we landed. We got in another Mercedes, this one wasn't hired, and drove through the dead streets. There were cars and taxis zipping by and a few people walking the streets, but there was no rush, there was no constant heart beat like you felt in the big city.
They drove up out of the city and into the countryside. Soon enough we were met by wrought-iron gates that opened to the command of Mr. McFarlane's phone. I couldn't help but think these were yet another device to bar my freedom. The car took off again and we drove down a long bricked drive toward a house that was bigger and more opulent than anything I could have ever dreamed of. It was your classic old-money style of colonial mansion. White paint, two great columns out the front, the sure-to-be-haunted tower that craned up above the entrance.
They guided me inside. I was lucky that my entire life belongings could be packed into a single sports bag because Mr. McFarlane disappeared pretty quickly. I'm sure he would have offered to help but he must be a busy man. Anyway, Mrs. McFarlane gave me the guide. The house was an empty mansion. But it wasn't creepy, it was warm and well laid out. Everything was immaculately clean. Old family portraits hung on the walls, the floors were tiled, rooms ran off to the left and right in a dizzying maze. She took me upstairs, I was ensured that I would love my room. And I did. It was huge. For the last half of my life, I had shared something that resembled a prison cell with my sister. There's no privacy in an orphanage, that's just how it is. But here was my own room. I wrapped my arms around Mrs. McFarlane, I couldn't hide my excitement.
"It's all yours to do up as you like, Alex." She smiled.
The words were hard but I got a thank you out and that's when the much-needed awkwardness of fostering a teenager came out.
Her quick little voice rushed the sentence all at once, "you don't mind if I call you Alex do you? Or would you prefer Alexandra?"
"Alex is fine," I smiled but really my stomach was being ripped apart because I didn't know what to call her or Mr. McFarlane, but my mind kept screaming... not mum and dad!...
"Oh good," she laughed, "and don't you worry. We don't expect you to call us mum and dad yet..."
I sighed in relief.
"...unless you wanted to of course." She quickly slipped in with a hopeful smile.
I think my face must have given me away because she assured me that Rodney and Sharon would be fine. She let me go after that and closed the door on the way out.
This room was amazing. For the first time in my life, I had a double-bed! And my own cupboards and desk. Everything was so beautiful too. White colonial-French style furniture with its elongated legs and twisting iron. I walked over to my window and drew back the heavy curtains. It was beautiful. The full moon cast silver light across the yard and I could see the green gardens trailing off to some woods not too far off.
What did I do to deserve this? I sat down on my bed and looked at this amazing room that was mine but still felt so empty inside. I had everything I had always wished for but was lost in a sea of loneliness.
Unpacking was easy, I threw my bag onto my bed and started pulling everything out. The few clothes I had I hung up in my wardrobe. It looked so empty by the time I was done. I rummaged through the rest of my bag, I put my mother's old Bible and my journal on the desk and found the only photo I had of my parents. It wasn't anything special. I used to hold it every day and cry at the memory of them. But over time I looked at it less and less and now even their memory had faded somewhere in the back of my mind. I'm sure that if I tried I could force them back to my mind's eye but why would I want too? Still, at the same time, I didn't want to throw the picture away. I put it on my desk, maybe I would get a frame for it sometime.
That was pretty much it. All my worldly possessions had been unpacked and the room looked the exact same as when I walked in. It didn't really feel like mine.
A knock at the door announced the entrance of Mr. McFarlane... urgh... I mean Rodney... into my room.
"How are you settling, Alexandra?" He asked in his sturdy voice.
"Fine, thank you." I couldn't meet his intense eyes so I just looked at my feet.
He wandered around and looked at the desk.
"It's a good book," he said picking up my Bible, "and well thumbed, you read it often?"
"No, Sir. Not often, it was my mother's." For some reason, Sir came more naturally than Rodney. He didn't look like a Rodney.
He grunted at my reply and picked up the photo as he put down the Bible.
"This is them?" He asked.
"Yes, Sir. My Mum and Dad."
"I wouldn't hold on to hope anymore," he said putting the photo down, "if they hadn't picked you up in six years, then I'd say they've forgotten about you."
I wanted to cry. I already knew what he had said, but a hard fact like that is something you don't need to be reminded of. There's nothing more belittling than having been forgotten by your own parents.
"Tomorrow," he said, "Sharon is going to drive you into town to get your stuff ready for Monday."
"Thank you," I replied looking back at my feet.
He stopped at the door and looked over me with his hawk-eyes as though he was measuring me up. He turned the light off and closed my door.
"Good night." His deep voice called matter-of-factly as he walked away.
I guess that meant it was bed time... at justafter eight o'clock. My head began to wander as I crawled into my new bed. Iguess he meant I would be starting school on Monday. I hadn't thought about ituntil now, but I would have to meet new people. My stomach dropped at thethought. I don't hate people, but I'm notexactly fond of meeting new ones either.