Chapter Text
Saying Anne’s father had "bad" memory was too little of a word to describe this. His memory was so atrocious to the point it was fetid. You could even do so much as look at him and he'd think you were the mailman.
Her dad had gotten the time wrong. Not the first time, though. He'd gotten the time wrong years throughout Anne's life: When they went to Thailand, the movies, even his own wife's baby shower.
The plane, in fact, wasn’t set for departure at 9:05, but instead, 10:30. Fortunately for the both of them, There was traffic due to a crash on the route they took to the airport, drastically extending their arrival to 9:40 and using up some of their time that would be put to waste, had that woman on the road not refused to walk on the sidewalk and demanded that cars hurt the atmosphere and were bad for the environment. (Not that Anne thought she was wrong. The drivers seemed to, though; for some reason, they all had a sack of rotten tomatoes in their car.)
Unfortunately for Anne, she could have saved an extra hour making sure she had everything in her suitcase and having at least 20 minutes to hold Domino and say goodbye for the next two months.
Other than that, the airport buzzed with blaring noises (mainly screaming children) as Anne and her dad navigated through the sea of people and luggage. The scent of coffee mingled with the hum of conversations that gave Anne a feeling of a mundane routine or déjà-vu. To try and pass time, she hopped over the outlines of the beige tiled squares as she and her dad sauntered over to 50A. She counted every tile within the black outlines that made one square, adding 16 by 16 within every one she jumped on. Occasionally, she would look up to find the stares of young toddlers or children staring at her with points of their finger, probably asking their parents or siblings why that young girl had small blue streaks that grew from the roots of her hair. She acknowledged them by waving with a soft grin, and the few (literally one) that didn’t hide away in embarrassment waved back, flashing her a gap toothed beam.
She wasn’t bothered; she did it too, when she was a child. She and her mother were at the train station, and Anne was listing off every color she could think of while a stubby hand remained firmly clasped in her mom’s.
Not her, you know, Oum.
She remembered curious eyes landing on a hipster dressed in a kaleidoscope of colors with blonde hair that looked neon from afar at the time, adding on to his high appearance. He swayed side to side, skipping and spinning and doing everything a child would at the park.
To Anne, at the time, he reminded her of a skittle. Therefore, she asked her mom if he liked skittles while using her free hand to point at him. He didn’t notice, though; her mom brought that hand down as soon as it went up. Anne wondered if all kids had an experience like that.
Kids, she grinned.
Glancing around, she realized her mind had wandered from counting tiles to observing the bustling airport crowd. Her eyes darted shortly at the diverse array of travelers — families with kids, business professionals engrossed in their laptops and phones, and teenagers laughing as they clutched their boarding passes. She wondered where they were headed, but looked ahead of her, fiddling her hands with the yellow hem of her shirt, making up random names for the shades of yellow on her shoes.
It was ten more minutes of Bee scrunching up his nose and scowling when the wafting scent of coffee grew too strong, causing him to be distracted, and forget where they were headed before they finally made it to 50A. Because it was 9:50, He found it a great idea to buy snacks for the plane and had the nerve to smile, earning an exasperated groan from Anne, who’d just flopped down in one of the seats.
That was how the pair ended up at a Grab-and-Go shop. Anne dreadfully watched her dad take every ounce of his time shaking two bags of jelly beans stark to each other, meticulously counting every known jellybean he saw, all with a calm expression. She was sure he’d counted the lilac one in the bag with the orange sun with sunglasses at least thrice now. She clawed at her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, not even bothering to acknowledge the judging stares she got— because hey, they might as well be here until September! And besides, if it was anyone they were staring at, it was the man wasting his time over something way below his age.
“I heard that,” Bee said, narrowing his eyes while shaking the bags. “Anne, it’s important you have enough jelly beans to last the plane ride— Ha! That’s 6 grape, 10 orange.”
“You’ve counted the same jelly bean six times," Anne deadpanned.
“You mean I’ve counted six jelly beans of the same flavor.”
“Hey, if you guys don’t mind, there’s a family with a kid who wants the bag you're holding,” a clerk awkwardly whispered, pointing to the red bag of jelly beans in Bee’s hand. Anne looked to the side to find a sobbing toddler with a death grip on his mom’s hand to where the latter was trying to pry it off, and the other making grabbing motions to the bag.
“Oh, sorry.” her dad chuckled, handing the bag over to the blonde in a way that Anne could tell he was surely embarrassed. However, her snicker subsided and her mouth hung open as she watched him pick yet another bag off the shelf. Waving her arms about as she sputtered for a remark, she clawed at her hair in desperation. “Dad, I love you, but please save me the embarrassment and time here.”
Bee laughed, clearly enjoying his daughter’s suffering. (Seriously, who is this man?) “You don’t like spending quality time with your dear father?” He cooed, feigning sadness as he pouted.
“We had the whole day! Can I just look around at least? I won’t go far, pinky swear," Anne said, making a cross gesture with one hand above her chest.
Bee grumbled, but reluctantly turned back around to face the shelves. “Just be back by 10:30.”
Anne mentally thanked the Guardian, or whatever it was for answering her wishes. She let out a breath and side hugged her dad.
“Thank you! Bye!” She dashed out of the shop as fast as she’d walked in.
-
Feeling awkward with her hands doing nothing at her sides, Anne adjusted her headband. She wandered around, looking at small stores to go in next. It was 10:10 now, and she’d already been to about three.
She had bought a small souvenir shaped like a globe that she let sit in her pocket. It wasn’t really the Earth, per say, but rather Uranus. She wouldn't call it her favorite planet, but it's bright teal color and vertical rings made it all the more enamoring to look at than the others. She preferred Earth over any planet, though. She lived there, after all, and she had learned her lesson after abandoning it for 5 months.
Poking through the gaps of people as to not even graze their expensive fabric (seriously, it looked majestic), she found her feet guiding her to a bookstore called Simply Books, the sign in a plain white color in bold. Her teachers always said something about reading being knowledge. She thought that only applied to car manuels for a very specific reason.
The place was extremely cozy. And warm. Anne didnt even know she was cold until she stepped foot in the area, which was strange, as the place didn't even have a door. Or front walls, for that matter. Most of the wooden shelves came in the same size, so Anne assumed there were the same amount of books. She walked around the marble floor, feeling pillows and looking at book titles. Incandescent orange bulbs with tiny sunset and umbrella stickers hung above the pine colored ceiling, which Anne assumed was to add an aesthetic vibe to the whole area, as they weren't even turned on. She knew the whole phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” but it was never really about books to begin with, so that didn’t count. At least not to her. At one point, she even stayed 5 minutes to just watch the TV in the middle of a stacked bookshelf. She and a person across the sale were the only people there, so she didn’t need to worry about not doing anything that people would find weird.
The first book she found was about Greek sculptures. To put in simple words: They were ethereal. Most of them appeared dilapidated, but she could gently trace out where the cheekbones, jaw, eyes, and for some, smiles on their faces once were. Anne stared in awe at the pictures longer than she intended to, but by frog, they were beautiful. How did the Greeks even make these? Even she couldn't imagine herself making them. (Which made sense. She kind of sucked at that, but you get the point.)
She then found a book titled Kingdom Of Souls. She read the back and something red caught her eye that slipped between the sepia pages–
Huh. She bent down and saw a crimson red passport on the wooden floor that'd dropped with a soft Thud.
“Someone dropped their passport,” Anne said under her breath. She gently picked it up and flipped it open to see who it belonged to. In the photo was a woman with short brown hair in coils and diaphanous skin with dimples that rested on her cheeks. Her eyes pierced into Anne's, causing her to shudder and grimace. She looked as if she were in her twenties. Céline Lright. There was an even smaller photo, with a little boy, but it was blurry. His face was smudged with some dried red liquid. Was it taken a long time ago? He seemed to look like her, though. Her son, perhaps?
“1967? Dang, she aged well,” Anne joked, surprised. It was 2017, after all. She'd have to take tips from her once she found the woman. Last week, she gawked at her reflection in the mirror for so long with a horrified expression on her face. One cupping her chin to keep it from actually dropping on the floor, and the other holding ten strands of gray hair. Ten!
Before she could ponder any longer, Anne caught a glimpse of another person leaving and dashed to run after them. “Hey–” Anne shouted, “You left your passport!”
They were a fast walker. A bit too fast. It almost seemed as if they were speed walking. Or running? It didn't matter. She swerved left and right, shouting "excuse me!” and “move!” to get past the crowds of people to catch up to the person who left the booksale. People shouted and swore at her, but she didn't feel discouraged. How would they feel if they lost their passport?
At one point, her foot barely missed a coffee cup and she stumbled. Hard. Her ankle banged against a nearby counter, having all pain jolt from said ankle to her shoulders. She wheezed and closed her eyes, clutching her knee to her chest and using her two hands to hold the damaged leg, really wanting to throw herself onto a bed. She grumbled, reaching one hand out to the now sprinting person, now limping. But as soon as her hand did so much as graze the their shoulder, they turned around and shouted:
“Stop following me, creep!”
A few bypassers glanced their way in confusion, some intrigued. The person gave them a long glare, unblinking.
Anne was floored. Abashed. She slowly backed away with her hands in the air, one still holding the passport, and still limping. She’d messed up. The girl looked nothing like Céline. One, or Anne, could have confused her with the 50 year old from a far away glance, but this girl’s hair was light brown, not dark brown. It was medium, not short. Her skin was a light caramel. Not diaphanous.
“Sorry, man,” Anne said, “I just thought this was yours.”
“Man? Do I look like a man?”
“No! It's just that I call everyone–”
“You call your mom a man? Your sister is a man? I smell, huh? Is that it? Is that why I’m a man?”
“I don't have a sister?–”
“How disrespectful can you be? Who raised you?”
“Look. I'm confused. I don't know you–”
Grumpy scoffed. “And?” She shook her head, retracting her answer. “So why’d you come up to me?–”
Anne shoved the passport in Grumpies face, her voice louder than it should've been. “Have you seen this woman?”
Inside voice, Anne. Inside voice.
The girl yanked the passport from her hand and opened it, studying the image while cursing under her breath. She practically threw the passport back at Anne, leaving her befuddled.
“Don’t just assume I was that woman because I look like her.”
“I wasn’t – well – you were at the sale‐”
“She was at the Grab-and-Go. Don't let me see your face–”
“Olie!”
Olie's expression changed and she whipped her head to the man who called her. “On my way!” And with that, she left.
However, Anne's embarrassment stayed. She placed a head over her eyes and grimaced, shamefully walking back to the store.
-
“Dad.”
“Yes, Anne?”
“Why are you still here.”
“That didn't sound like a question, honey.”
Anne stared at her dad with a stoic look. The grimace on her lips never went away- in fact, it only deepened when she realized he’d been there since she left. She preferred him to at least have moved on to another sweet, or be kicked out for holding up the line of children who wanted jelly beans. and to be honest, a small part of her wished she never left in the first place. Maybe she would have been able to drag him out of the area or apologize on his behalf. Maybe she'd be able to avoid this feeling that she'd been stabbed.
But the man was now sitting on the floor with a calculator that he pulled (out of what, his back pocket?), and a Hello Kitty ruler. She would have laughed, had he not been in deep concentration, brows furrowed and his tongue poking out from the side of his lips. Needless to say, Anne was now at a loss for words.
“Honey, why are you still staring at me? Help me find the area of this yellow bag right here.”
Anne slowly backed away until her back hit the cash register. She turned around to the same clerk that was the reason for her second hand embarrassment.
“Hey,” she whispered, resting her elbow on the side of the counter. With her other hand, she pulled out the passport of the woman. “This lady hadn't happened to stop by here, right?” The boy raised his eyebrow, unimpressed and most likely questioning her existence, but inspected the picture nonetheless. He muttered something under his breath about hippies and tapped his chin before raising his finger into the air. Anne perked up, expecting a response that could hopefully tell her where Céline went. After a second of anticipation, he glanced at her expression and finally said:
“You're asking the wrong person. My memory sucks,” he drawled, smirking. Anne sucked in a breath. Loggle vibes.
“Well, thanks for the help,” she said, sarcasm dripping like a faucet in her tone, turning away. A moment later, she went back up.“Sorry. I've had a rough day, man.” And she turned away for the second time.
“Weirdo,” the clerk muttered.
Anne didn't rush walking back to her dad. She swayed side to side until she yawned and flopped down on the tiled floor next to him, still rubbing her injured ankle, not caring how dirty it was anymore.
“Tired already? It's only ten,” Her dad said.
“Ten-nineteen.” She checked her phone. “And I still haven't found her,” she whined.
Bee hummed. “Her?”
“A woman left her passport in a book and I'm trying to find her to give it back.”
Bee paused, looking to this daughter in concern. “Why do you care so much? It's not like you know her.”
Anne hesitated to answer, but shrugged. Why did she care so much, anyway? The woman could have just retracted her steps to the bookstore, remembered which book she had picked up, opened it, and her problem would be solved. Anne didnt need to get involved; heck, she chose this! If she had just stayed back–
“Maybe you've lost something, too.” Anne paused. “Like what?” she asked, but her dad shrugged, smirking. Anne huffed, turning away from him, not being intrigued in his calculations anymore.
“Hey - why don't you just go to the lost and found department and leave it there?” Anne hesitated, thinking of all the possible scenarios of that. That was actually a good idea. Why didn't she just leave it there? Why was she so set on returning it herself?
“I'll…” Anne paused, vacuously getting up. “I'll go do that.” She slowly walked to the exit.
-
Anne had left the passport at the department one or two minutes ago. It didn't mean she felt weird about it. She frowned and looked down with her tail between her legs, wondering if the woman would find her passport.
Funny fact about Anne: Anne didn't like losing things. She also didn't like leaving things unsolved. Strange, since that was usually Marcy's thing, discovering. She fiddled with the hem of shirt walking back, trying not to think about it, knowing full well that if she did, she'd go back headfirst into the storm and find the woman herself.
She knew what to do - imagine something random! Let's see… rainbows? No. The same thought appeared a second later, overriding any previous memories and distractions in her head.
Marcy? Definitely not. She'd try the exact same thing as what she was doing not more than a few minutes ago.
Anne huffed, walking past the peering stares of children yet again as she blew a raspberry to no one in particular. Maybe herself. The way back to 50A had never felt longer. Maybe, to pass the time, she could stop at a Starbucks, or go back to that Grab-and-Go and actually buy something instead of directly embarrassing herself and show respect to the other kid who works there, despite their last encounter. That guy was getting on her nerves.
“I found who you're looking for,” Grumpies – or Ollie's voice said from somewhere behind, trying to catch up where Anne sulked, lightheaded from the consequence of worrying too much, rubbing her temples and eyes to the point where she saw phosphenes. Maybe if she sped up a bit, she could catch up with her mom, which meant throwing in an extra hello to her sweet, baby Domino–
Ollie's words finally registered, and Anne's eyes snapped up to meet the indifferent stare of the supposed teen who hated her, and probably did, with the amount of venom that seeped through her words in their previous encounter. “What?”
Ollie shrugged, not meeting her befuddled stare. “It's not like I know her.” she mumbled, stuffing her hands in her pockets, even though it was late spring. “But I saw her leave Simply Books like, 4 minutes ago.”
Anne blinked. This was fine. This was fine, this was fine, this was fine– “Ok– but you didn't stop her, why?”
Ollie got real quiet– she almost reminded her of Marcy when she was caught up in her videogames, and Anne can put down ten dollars– wait, no. She only had-like how many? Scratch that - Anne could put down one cent that her answer will be–
“I didn't wanna cause a scene, okay?” Not the exact sentence, but that one cent belonged to her now.
Anne sighed, refraining placing her hand on Ollie's shoulder as she would with Sprig, and settled for a gentle smile. “Well, thanks,” she said.
Ollie hummed in return. “She went that way,” she said. With that, she left Anne to ponder once more on why she cared so much. What was her deal?
Anne shook her head out of the clouds, making her way back to Simply Books, subconsiously glancing at different sightings. Families, a crows gathering at an unexpected proposal, a woman squirming out the crowd with a scowl–
Wait. Anne stopped in her tracks and did a double take. Her eyes landed on the said woman in particular, who'd succesfully detached herself from the crowd in which the commotion originated. Anne brought up the photo of the woman again, holding it to the side of her vision so it would seem as if the two were side by side. She looked back and forth, forth and back, and back and forth again. It was a match. It was her. It was Her!
Oh, she’d finally found her! She finally wouldn't have to carry this sickening guilt that she couldn't help anymore–
Wait, again. What was her name? How could she call her if she didn't know her name? She swore she knew it- she just needed a minute or two– but she didn't have the time!
Oh, God, the woman walked fast. Her running speed was Polly’s walking speed, and Polly walked surprisingly fast, once upon a time, for a tadpole with no legs. How could she catch up? Would she fail again? Why did she always screw everything up? Couldn't She just help for once? Why is it always her? Why couldn’t she call out any louder?
Time stopped. A wave of helplessness washed over her. No, no– don't get on the plane. Don't walk through, She hasn't reached you yet. Please– don't ignore her. Listen to the brunette clerk who's pointing to Anne! Why can't her legs drag her any faster? Why is her gem glowing?–
“Hey!” a little, high-pitched voice shouted from behind. “Just breathe. You'll be fine. Mom won't go anywhere without me.”
Some things sounded muffled. Far away. Anne choked on her breath a few times, inhaling sharp breaths and exhaling through her mouth, counting to four like some cartoon– Daniel Tiger–once said on a screen years ago. Why did she allow herself to get so worked up over A passport? She prayed her shirt covered up the glow of her gem, fully knowing it wouldn't because of its bright color.
Wait. Mom?
“Yes, mom.”
Anne looked at the child for once, and vaguely recognized him as the young boy who didn't shy away like the rest of the children whom she waved to.
“She’s your mom?” Anne had actually breathed when the child nodded. It was short lived, however, when he called out to her in something that sounded French. Suddenly, the woman turned back. Her smile disappeared when it looked as if she was piecing together a complete stranger with her son. She walked up to the two. Anne silently watched them converse in the foreign language, as well as silently beating herself up over making a fool of herself over something so stupid. She– Céline (Really? Now she remembered?) looked at her with soft eyes that matched her smile, a stark contrast to the picture in her passport. She recovered her passport from Anne's shaking hands, and placed her hand on her sweating shoulder. When was Anne shaking? When was she sweating? She hadn't realized she was so cold before she felt Céline's hand.
“Vous êtes un enfant. Rappelez-vous cela. Trouvez le bien avant de le faire,” said Céline with her remaining smile. Anne blinked.
“She said thank you,” The boy translated with the same smile. He grabbed onto his mother's free hand and led her to their plane.
“Really? That seemed way too long for a thank you–”
“Bye, crazy glowing lady,” interjected the boy with his gap-toothed grin, now a smirk, leaving Anne tongue-tied. What had just happened? Anne placed her hand on the now cold shoulder in which Céline placed her hand on.
What?
A moment or two passed in silence until she huffed out a breath and softly laughed, letting herself sag against a nearby pillar, her laugh growing louder and maniacal as she grabbed even more people's attention, as if they weren't already watching from her semi-breakdown earlier, and slapped her forehead with the hand that wasn't wiping the waterfall that poured from her tear ducts - she was definitely the airport's deranged person of the year ‐. She sighed, content.
Still dazed, she checked the time on her phone– 10:25! Baffled, she looked over to the number of the departure gate– 35A. She mentally apologized to the seventeen bystanders who’d landed on their foreheads shouting with a fist in the air as she practically flew through the sea of people.
-
In five minutes, Anne realized running from Praying Mantis’ taller than a bungalow paid off. She made it back to her gate just on time; twisting and turning her body to make it past different families and solo travellers. There was a foreign feeling that rested at the pit of her stomach. What was that, what she pulled earlier? She had a breakdown over a single passport that a woman would've never gotten if Anne didn't return it in time. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that took place in her heart, no matter how hard she tried to think of what Delmarva would be like, or more specifically, Beach City.
Another funny fact about Anne: She liked to help.
Anne passed different stores, now very interested in her shoes. She avoided the stares of others, pushing the same feeling in her body deeper. At last, she made it back to the Grab-and-Go. It was finally time to apologize. But, as she turned the corner for a pack of jelly beans, her eyes twitched as they landed on–
“Dad.” Anne guwaffed. There he was, in all his brazen glory, now in the middle of a ring of several packs of jelly beans, on his knees, palms spread on the tiled floor, leaning in close to inspect every. Single. Jelly. Bean. It seemed as if with each one he spotted, he wrote it down in a pocketbook at his side. But now, he looked like he was bowing down to some sacred being and offering eight packs of Jelly beans as a sacrifice.
“Ok, you know what–” Anne marched over to her father and gripped the hand reaching for his pencil. She knew just how to break this curse, no true love kisses needed.
“Dad. It's ten-thirty and there's jelly beans on the plane for free.” Suddenly, Sleeping Beauty awoke from his cursed nap. He looked to his savior in all her red-eyed and cheeked puffiness.
“For real?!” he cried out. He jumped to his feet with the hem of his turqiouse dress that took the appearance of a shirt as if he were a cartoon character who'd just survived a natural disaster and dragged Anne along with him. “What are we waiting for?”
Anne Snuck a bag of jelly-beans into his pocket and tossed the change to the ground as she allowed herself to be hauled out the store. Now He'll have his jelly beans, Anne thought. Wait, this doesn't count as stealing, right?