Vancouver Streets

Just something I wrote to kill time. I've barely proofread so good luck! Enjoy.

I think there’s one event in everyone’s lives that can change their whole future. One small thing that alters their fate. We all have this story. Mine starts when I walk into my boss’s mansion…

 

When the butler let me in, I immediately notice that the party is one of those social things, where everybody sips champagne and talks in polite, formal voices, commenting on the weather, sports, or the stock market. The entryway is absolutely huge, the floor of the foyer made of some unrecognizable dark wood. Dominating my sight was an enormous grand staircase, carpeted in red and silver.

 

Off to either side are two sets of doors. The one to my right appears to be a dining room where guests mill about drinking wine and eating small dishes. Off to the other, is what looks to be a grand parlor complete with a fireplace, but the room is so packed I couldn’t make out much detail.

 

I immediately feel grateful for my decision to wear a suit. Everybody in the house is wearing expensive looking clothing, and my usual ensemble of jeans and a t-shirt would have looked out of place. The women in the room were all wearing floor length dresses, their necks loaded with pearls. The gloss and lipstick spread so thickly across their mouths made it look like they dyed their lips.

 

The men were all wearing formal garments as well. Ties in a variety of colors, mostly blue, red, and black, adorn their necks. Their seamless black pants cover weathered legs. Compared to my brother’s hand-me down jacket and white button up collared shirt, they were all impressive.

 

Another quick glance around the room told me that I was undoubtedly the youngest one here, only a 22 in a room of  50’s to 60’s to 70’s. As soon as I step into the foyer Dr. Hallow, dressed in a grey suit, excuses himself from a conversation and moves toward me.

 

“Ah there’s my boy!” he booms. His wrinkled face forms a charming closed smile. He had cut his hair since yesterday and styled nicely to his right with only a few grey-white strands escaping.  His weathered hands grasp mine in a vigorous handshake.

 

 “Hello, Dr. Hallow,” I say trying to sound like I was going to enjoy this stuffed-shirt evening. It’s not like I have anything against these people, many of which I actually remember seeing either on campus or at the hospital. I just don’t like this style. All the formalness seems false to me, almost fake, jaded. Hallow’s arm moves from my hand and wraps itself around my shoulders. So, let the suicide begin.

 

“Jared,” Hallow said, leading me toward an erudite-looking group, “there are some people I would like you to meet.” I silently groan. “This is Dr. Hemsworth; he’s head of Radiology at the hospital.” I shake hands with a short man with brownish hair on the periphery  of his head and upper lip but none on top. “And this here is Mrs. Wyatt, in charge of Pediatrics. This is Jared Ellwood, a medical student here who’s interning under me, very promising career in front of him. Oncology…”

 

This goes on for another hour or so. Dr. Hallow introduces me to nearly everyone on the first floor before we move up to the second via the grand staircase.  Then, he takes me to another classy looking room with tables laden with an assortment of finger foods. My stomach growls when the smell comes wafting up to my nose.

 

Dr. Hallow tells me that he needs to go and speak with some people whose names I can’t match with faces and that I should stay a while, socialize, and enjoy the food. I nod, but secretly formulate a plan to leave without him noticing. Another churn in my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten. I move toward the food.

 

Keeping to myself, I pick up a plate and fill it with a modest helping of finger sandwiches and a piece of gourmet chocolate cake. Swiftly, I walk towards one of the corners of the room and eat in solitude. For a while, I people watch and my annoyance of the rich grows.

 

When I finish eating, I set my plate down on a table and make a move for the exit. Just as I near the top of the staircase, I notice Dr. Hallow starting his ascent up them. Smoothly, as if I meant to do it, I walk right past the staircase and into an adjacent hallway. Hoping that Hallow isn’t coming up to find me, I walk down the hall. Some doors were open and small groups of guests were inside parlors sitting by fireplaces or televisions and talking.

 

Feeling safe for the time being, I slow and look for an empty room where I can lie low for a while until the coast is clear. Three doors down, my chance comes. I walk in to a simplistic study, the walls lined with bookshelves and medical journals. A grand desk dominates one side of the room. Wooden black sliding doors rest perpendicular to that. Slowly, I pace around looking at books with fancy titles by unknown, foreign authors.

 

A sudden popping sound alerts me to the sliding doors. Curious as to its origins, I move toward them, and they slide quietly open under my hands. Behind them, a balcony awaits overlooking a beautiful view Vancouver’s skyline with the blurred outline of mountains resting majestically in the distance. Light from inside the room spilled onto the balcony but does not reach the railing.

 

Across Vancouver Harbor, tall skyscrapers stretch themselves out toward the night sky, the majority of their windows still lit by late-night businessmen. I barely hear the faint sounds of traffic in the city. The red, green, and yellow lights add to the whites of the businessmen. Silhouetted against the city of is the dark figure of a woman.  

 

Since her back was to me, I can’t see much. She’s wearing a short black dress that reached to her mid hamstring. Her smooth, lean legs come out underneath, ending with bare feet.  Following the curve of her legs upward, my eyes trace the outline of her back, which was hidden under a greyish black half coat. The coat wasn’t very long and only reaches the middle of her back, so I was able to see the gentle slope of her body. Before my thoughts run away, I take in her hair, which appears to be black in the night.

 

One of her elbows rested on the metal railing of the balcony, hanging loosely over the side. In one of her hands rests a bottle of wine. In her other hand, she holds a cork with a two inch screw jutting out of its center. As I watch, she raises the bottle to her lips and drains a mouthful of it, making a pleased sound when she swallowed.

 

“Shouldn’t you use a glass or something?” I ask was a way to assert that I am here.

 

She surprises me. She doesn’t gasp or try to hide the wine bottle as I expect.  She simply flicks her long hair over her shoulder and cranes her head toward me. Her thin face was beautiful, curved sharply along high cheek bones with a delicate nose and small but red lips. Her eyes look dark in the lack of light, but I can’t make out their exact color. “You want some?” she says as if it were totally normal for two people to randomly meet and share alcohol.

 

I nod numbly. She waves me forward and extended the bottle as an invitation to come closer. In three quick strides, I’m standing next to her. Once the bottle leaves her grasp, she returns her elbow to the railing, leaning on it. All the while, she looks at me, takes in my features. Her eyes slide over my blonde hair and long neck. I see the white of my shirt reflected in her eyes, which I notice to be in the grey family, possibly blue like mine. I unreasonably feel self-conscious about my six foot frame, so I take a long swig out of the bottle.

 

White wine.

 

 “So you get bored of the AARP meeting, too?” she asked, and I nearly choke on the alcohol laughing. Her voice sounds pleasant, smooth, even like a radio host's.

 

 “Yeah; you can say that,” I respond, handing her back the bottle. She takes a sip and sets it down on a small table next to her. The bottle stands along with a pair of black high heels and a worn messenger bag with one long leather strap designed to stretch around one’s shoulder.

 

 “I’m Anna,” she says straightening and extending her hand, “Anna Michaels.” She pronounces her name aw-na, which makes me think that she is of French descent.

 

I take it and shake hands for what feels like the millionth time that night.  “Jared Ellwood.”

 

 “Are you from here? You sound different,” Her head tilts slightly to the side as she poses her question. Our hands release each other’s and fall to our sides. I lean on the railing before answering, the same way that she did, with my elbows supporting me and my clasped hands hanging above the west wall of the house.

 

“No,” I answer, “I’m from the US, small town you’ve never heard of in Minnesota. You could tell?”

 

She smiles but shakes her head. “Not really; you just seemed out of place, like you just moved here.” I frown, feeling uneasy next to her perceptiveness.

 

“I have. My parents are originally from British Columbia, and my brother moved here to start a mechanics business. I wanted to be closer to him, so here I am.” I omit the fact that my brother Rich has cancer and decided to move up north for the healthcare. I ask her why she’s out here on the balcony.

 

“Avoiding my aunt and the rich snobs like her,” Anna sighs, “Sorry. You probably have no idea what I’m talking about.” She offers me the bottle back, and I drink again.

 

Once I wipe my mouth and hand her back the bottle, I say, “Go on, I’m curious. Besides, I just gave you a watered down version of my life.”

 

She eyed my suspiciously. “Sure you’re not just trying to get into my pants?”

 

Sending a silent prayer to the night for concealing my red face, I say, “To do that, you’d have to be wearing pants.” I motion down to her short dress and flash a small grin. She glances at me for a split second, her eyes moving from the dark skyline to my mouth.

 

 “You have chocolate on your teeth.”

 

I swear softly to myself and automatically brush them with a finger. When it comes away empty, I see an amused expression come across her face. She laughs .  The sound is comfortable, as if she does it often. “That wasn’t fair,” I accuse with a smile to show her I was okay with it.

 

 “Neither is your commenting on my personal life or my choice in clothing. You should have seen the one my aunt wanted me to wear.”

 

 “She sounds controlling.”

 

Anna shrugs as if to say it doesn’t matter.  Seeing that I just met her, I don’t pry anymore. A sort of silence falls between us, but I sure as hell do not want to leave. This girl’s mysterious, beautiful, and witty. I’d rather have her company than the hotshots of the elderly, but I can't think of anything to say.

 

I fish for a subject, “What do you do?” Lame. Really lame, Jared.

 

 “I’m a dance major at the University here,” she says as if she didn’t sense the abruptness in my question. It fits her. Her strong legs look lithe enough but also muscular, a combination obtained by hours working in front of a mirrored wall. She is thin but athletic enough that I don’t think "anorexic" when I saw her. 

 

“Ballet,” she adds as an afterthought.

 

“I’m a student too,” I say weirdly eager to please, “but nothing as interesting as ballet.”

 

 “Oh really?” she prompts.

 

 “Med,” I clarify, “I’m interning under Dr. Hallow, which is why I’m here. I think he wants me to brown nose up some of the hospital’s elite, ya know?" “

 

“So in thirty years, you’ll be one of them.” She jerks her head toward the closed double doors.

 

“But with much more hair,” I finish for her, “and a stunningly attractive supermodel wife.” I’m rewarded with another one of her laughs. I like this girl, this women whom I have just met.  With a silent decision, I threw the conversation ball back in her court. “So ballet? How’d you decide on that?” Despite sounding lame and awkward again, my words light a small spark in her eyes. Setting the wine down, she turns her whole body to face me, with only a single elbow propped up on the railing.

 

“I’ve been dancing since I was a little girl. I’ve always liked it, being in front of people who’re admiring how I move. It’s an art really. For me, dancing is like a living painting full with its own emotion and interpretation,” She smiles at me, not the way she did before; this smile is polite, wistful almost as if she wanted to be in a permanent, eternal dance. “Plus, there’s more dignity than stripping.”

 

“But pays a lot less,” I joke.

 

“You would know.”

 

“True.” From then on, our conversation evolves from the strict casualness that always seems to exist between strangers to a flowing, intelligent discussion among friends. After the first few awkward minutes, I began to feel more comfortable talking to Anna. That’s when, I think, I truly began to learn from her.

 

The youngest sibling, she was born in Ontario but raised here in Vancouver.  She works as a waitress at a local coffee shop. On weekends, she performs at a local studio she also works at. Anna admits that the pay sucks, but it’s worth it. She likes the hustle and bustle of the café and the intense feeling she receives at the dance studio. From her tone, I discover that she thought the city held nothing short of life.

 

“I don’t know,” she says, “There’s sort of a hum here. Like the streets are talking. I like living in a city. I just can’t imagine living anywhere else...” she searches for the correct words but comes up with nothing, “Vancouver streets,” she says as if that summarizes everything she feels.

 

I, in turn, tell her about my old life, before moving to Vancouver. I lived in a small town in northern Minnesota, just an hour’s drive away from the Boundary Waters. I like being outdoors, kayaking, canoeing. She laughs and asks why I want to be a doctor, and I lie and say that I don’t know. At the same time, I prescind information about my sick brother, but I do tell her that when he moved here to start a mechanic’s shop, I soon moved and enrolled in the University.

 

All the while, we laugh and joke. Unbelievably, I experience a laxity that I haven’t ever felt with anyone since moving here nearly 6 months ago.

 

 “Can I see the bottle?”  I ask for the 10^th time. She reaches over and grabs the bottle from the table, only to find that, with a shake, it’s empty.

 

“S**t,” she swears aggressively then apologizes. I laugh.

 

“It’s nothing I don’t say four times before I go to work.”

 

“Let’s go get more,” she says in a suddenly playful inflection. Quickly, she snatches up her shoes and fastens the bag around her shoulder.  Before I object, she takes me by the arm and half drags me through the double doors.

 

“Are you sure we really need more?” I ask with a laughing tone, not sure if it was her or the wine making me loopy.

 

“We’re fine. That’s the only wine we’ve had tonight, right?”  I can’t tell if she is being serious or lying, but I don’t really want to ask. We go through the doors and into the study. With the lights shining on her, I realize the hair that I had thought was black was actually a wavy dark brown. I was correct about her eyes though; they appear to be greyish blue in color. Some of her beauty fades with the darkness, but she is still remarkably attractive.

 

Upon entering the room, she lets go of my arm and walks at a normal pace again.  The next thing I know, we’re walking down the massive staircase and angling toward the dining room, now on my left. We weave between the guests. Once in a while, Anna glances back to make sure I don’t leave her. When she does this, I think I always notice a slim smile, now familiar, playing on the corners of her mouth. As if she is always pleased to see me.  Every time she does this, I get a warm feeling inside and my heart almost stops. It’s the wine, I think.

 

In the dining room, the noise overwhelms my ears as the throngs of people mill about together in a sea of bodies. They all talk at the same time, making it somewhat difficult to hear. I trust Anna’s sense of direction though, and soon she leads me toward a table along the far wall. Behind it, there is a man wearing the uniform of a caterer. The table itself was loaded down with an assortment of wine.

 

Doing his job, the caterer asks if we would like to have a glass. Anna ignores him, grabs an entire bottle, and turns around. Once again, she takes charge in leading the way through the crowd. The caterer looks at me once as if to ask ‘What the hell?’ but I just shrug. We weave through the crowd, making our way back to the balcony. I watch Anna’s silky hair swish across her shoulder blades as she walks in front of me, captivated in the way it moves.

 

I am so focused on Anna that I didn’t even notice that Dr. Hallow maneuver himself directly behind me. Feeling his warm hand tap my shoulder, I stop to face him. Anna, sensing my halt, stops and turns, too.

 

                “Jared!” he says, glad to see me, “I’ve been looking for you. I see you made a friend.” Hallow eyes Anna suspiciously, as if she is trying to smuggle me out of the country. Anna, for her part, seems unperturbed with the glare.

                “That’s"“

“I’m Annalisa Michaels.” She extends her hand, just as she did to me on the balcony. Meanwhile, Hallow’s unnecessary scorn intensifies at the intonation of Anna’s name.

                “Michaels, eh? I take it you’re Gertrude’s niece then?” Without waiting for any response that indicates that as the case, Hallow continues, “Oh course you are. You have the eyes.”

                “Thank you Dr. Hallow,” Anna says politely like a schoolgirl, contrasting Hallow’s cold tone. Deep inside, I’d wager Anna is actually enjoying the conversation. From the brief time I’ve known her, she seems like the kind of person who enjoys keeping people, especially those who think themselves superior, on their heels.

                Hallow turns his attention back at me. “What are you two up to then?”

                “Uh…” ‘Trying to drink ourselves to death on the balcony’ sounds like the wrong thing to say, but I suck at lying.

                Fortunately, Anna is excellent. “Actually, I was just heading home. I’ve had a bit to drink tonight, so Jared here was kind enough to offer to see that I arrive safe and sound.”

                “Yeah,” I add feebly. Anna’s eyes flash to their corners once, aiming a shot at me. Thankfully, Hallow doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes looked down at the bottle that Anna holds in one hand, her shoes still in the possession of her other.  One of his eyebrows rises in inquisition.

                “Aunt Gertrude asked me to give this to you,” Anna says, handing Hallow the bottle. Despite knowing Anna’s family name, he seems to hold Anna herself in low favor but still takes the bottle.

                “Thank you,” he says flatly, not fooled.

                “Any time. Jared, we should go.” Ready to be rid of the tension and awkwardness, I nod too readily in agreement. I say my goodbye to Dr. Hallow, trying to sound confident and ignorant to the looks he gave Anna.

After we shake hands and Anna and I start walking away, he calls, “Oh and Miss Michaels. Try to be a lady and wear your shoes.”

Anna simply turns he head and smiles rebelliously at him. She makes no move to slip into her heels.

Together, we walk to the front door, and a valet worker calls a taxi for us. We wait on the front steps with the mansion looming behind us.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, “Why did Hallow look like he wanted to eat your face?”

Anna does another one of those laughs that kills me inside. “Let’s just say I’m not like my aunt.”

Her aunt? “Oh?” I urge.

“‘Oh’ indeed.”

We stand in comfortable silence until the cabbie arrives. Anna issues him her address, -- somewhere downtown, close to my brother’s shop actually -- and the car takes off. I lean forward in my seat and raise the partition that separates us from the driver.

Conversation in the smelly cab resumes in the same style as it did on the balcony. We talk about interests and sports, music and the arts.  All the while, I see Vancouver downtown buildings loom over the cab as we either sit in traffic or turn corners. In that brief moment, I understand what Anna meant by the streets being alive. Despite being nearly midnight, there are a few people in the streets, walking to a fro. A gentle rain starts to fall, making the buildings glisten in the light from within.

The whole scene makes the streets seem like their moving and breathing, as if they hold vitality.

Absorbed in the conversation, neither of us realizes we’ve stopped until the driver knocks on the partition. His muffled voice reads out the fare, and my hand automatically moves to my wallet, but Anna already has hers out and is doling out money to the driver.  I cast a sideways glance at her and open my mouth to vocalize that I should have, would have paid.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m a woman in the 21^st century goddammit.”

With a roll of her eyes she advances out of the car and walks up the steps to the door. I tell the driver to go, and he takes off. If she notice the taxi’s departure, she doesn’t comment on it. I walk up to her and lean against the stone railing of the stairs. She already stands in the doorway. The night has grown cold, and I can see my breath escape in a fog as I breathe. The water on the streets is already starting to freeze.

“So…” I say, trying to be smooth.

“So?”

“To be honest, I’ve been trying for the last half hour to gather up the courage to ask you if you have a boyfriend?” She raises an eyebrow, which makes me blush. This time it’s visible in the light. I shift my weight nervously, feeling the sudden urge to fidget. I feel like an idiot; I usually don’t act this way around women.

“God, you’re really sexually awkward you know that?”

I feign insult. “Hey now,” I tease.

“No, I don’t,” she answers.

“Oh?”

“‘Oh’ indeed.” I stand straight and take a step forward, trying to invite myself in. She doesn’t allow it. “Goodnight, Jared,” she says with a sigh.

“Right. Goodnight, Anna.” Disappointment floods through me, mixing in with embarrassment.

Without turning, I take a step backwards down the stairs. I don’t look where I’m going. Normally, it wouldn’t have been bad if it wasn’t raining or cold. But the thin layer of ice on the step had already formed. When my foot hits it, my ankle slides out at an awkward angle, and I land even more awkwardly on it, twisting in under my body weight.

“Ow! S**t!” I rest on the steps’ stone banister, careful not to put any weight on my ankle.

“What’s wrong?” asks Anna from the doorway.

“Just slipped and twisted my ankle,” I tell her, “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be an idiot, you have to walk home. Is it swollen?” I lean down and feel around my ankle.

“Yeah. I think so. But it shouldn’t be bad.”

“Well don’t just sit out there, come in,” she orders and helps me limp into the building. The inside is dark, but I see that there’s a simple staircase and a hallway in front of me. Anna sets me down on the foot of the stairs. “I’ll go get some ice.” With that, she trots up the stairs, unlocks the first door on the right, and disappears inside.

In barely two minutes, she comes back with an icepack wrapped with a paper towel. When it’s in my grip, I immediately apply it to my ankle, and a cool, numb feeling diffuses itself through my skin.

“Thanks,” I say. Anna sits down next to me and another silent period fills the time. Unlike the comfortable silence in the taxi, this one is full of tension. This attractive, young woman is sitting next to me, barely 20 feet from her apartment. Almost without my volition, my hand comes up and strokes the side of her head where her hair hangs loosely.

It’s almost like a dam breaks. In one swift movement, my face lunges forward, and hers meets mine. Our mouths smash into each other, full of passion and strength. At first, she seems unsure, as if she was questioning something, but within seconds, she’s going full force. One of her hands reaches to grip my hair; the other pushes against my chest, having first dropped the heels.

Soon, I lie flat on the incline of the stairs with her leaning over me. I don’t fight her, I simply don’t want to. I run my hands down her sides, feeling for the hem of her dress. Just when I was growing impatient, I find it. Unfortunately, that’s when she pulls away.

“Upstairs. Now,” her voice whispers, so urgent that I can only nod.

She lets up and half runs up the stairs. I follow her at a full gallop. When we get to get door, she blocks the frame, not permitting my entrance. Her head c***s to her side like a curious child and looks me up and down.

“It’s funny how just as you were leaving, your ankle hurt so much. Now, you’re able to sprint up stairs?” A small smile plays on her mouth again.

S**t.

                “I’m not coming in am I?” I ask feeling outsmarted.

                “‘Fraid not,” she affirms and rests a hand on my chest. It was a gently touch, not a hungry one. She leans forward and up a bit and plants a small, light kiss on my mouth, “Call me. Or I will find you and chop"“

                “Okay. Okay. I promise.” I laugh with my hands held up in a mock defensive position, glad that she wasn’t mad at my ruse. She pats my chest once and backs into her apartment. “Goodnight, Anna.”

“Goodnight, Jared.” She closes the door, but I stare at it for what feels like minutes.  Finally, I turn and start the 10-block walk home, feeling good in myself. As I leave her building, I pull out my phone.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hey.”

A humorous snort. “Goodnight, Jared.”

“Goodnight, Anna,” I say for the third time, happy that I could hear her voice one more time that night before walking home alone on the Vancouver streets.