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She blinked her eyes open to Alfred watching her, she smiled. His stopped her hand stretching to reach for her phone. “What are you doing?” She questioned.
“I know what you’re checking, let it wait, we don’t have to worry about that yet.” She pulled her hand from her phone, repositioning herself on the bed, their faces nearly touching. Her blue eyes bore into his matching ones, no tells of her feelings in them as she ran a hand through his hair tucking some behind an ear.
“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t like the results, you conform, but what happens to me?” The words held nothing but interest in tone. There was a pregnant pause, and when she retracted to take her phone again, she wasn’t stopped.
Alfred turned his head sharply away when the light from her lock screen illuminated her face, like he had with the screens in the city displaying the news as they walked back from the Broadway show they’d seen the night previous, talking louder to not hear anything. He missed the red tint as she viewed the map, and the expression she failed to keep impassive.
“I don’t want to know yet.” He requested.
“You can’t hide forever, they’ll call for you soon, just you.” She whispered the last two words.
“What does that mean?”
“You can figure that out when you decide to get up.”
She slipped off her peignoir, taking the clothes from the floor. She buttoned her top instead of tying it, leaving it untucked so she could pull the waist of her skirt down further.
“That’s not how you usually dress.” Alfred noticed.
“No, it isn’t.” She unsnapped the clips in her hair, the metal clicking against the glossy wood of the nightstand as she dropped them there. Alfred looked up questioningly. “For your night, keep dreaming Alfred, some stars to make it easier because it’s hard to in the city that never sleeps.”
“I’ll face it soon.” He promised.
“Soon’s not good enough, you don’t get to avoid it, you’re a nation. Arthur’s not here to do everything for you anymore.” She wasn’t facing him, rather the door.
“Where are you going.” Her face contorted, he couldn’t see it.
“I’ll stay in New York, but not with you, I’m not tired.” She opened the door, lingering for a moment “You’re not a Sally, Alfred. Don’t start now.” She said before leaving.
Breathing polluted air, her eyes opened to the Statue of Liberty, they should send her back to France, America failed her. Her poem’s promise had vanished with her color. The Mother of Exiles forced into the role of brazen giant of Greek fame welcoming no one with her torch, burning them instead. The green brought a melody from the show to her head, what was the lyric, ‘the branch of the linden is leafy and green?’ She smiled sardonically, the world had turned green, but the linden was wilted and there would be no tomorrow.