Rare, Precious, and Flighty

CHAPTER 1: MANY MONTHS TO GO

March 12, 1967
6:22 AM

De•fen•es•trate: (verb) To throw someone out of a window.

Please use, “defenestrate”, in a sentence.

The words seemed to hover above the page, their deep black popping, on the worn white, beneath them.

Defenestrate.

She pulled at the page's edge, her fingers almost squeaking, with that rubbing noise. It spread the sheet out, and with that new, flattened angle, came a glare.

“Defenestrate, eh? I'd like to defenestrate myself, right out this window. How about that?”

She scoffed, at her own thought, sitting straight. Pulling her body up, the girl rested her forehead against the cool glass, letting her eyelids fall closed. It felt good, the chill easing at her building headache. Opening her eyes, she let them wander from her book, to the backwards little cars, packed together, in the smallest parking lot, she'd ever seen. She wondered if you could even call it one. Shrugging aside the notion, her eyes ran up to the hotel, she sat perched in.

“I'm on the first floor, after all.”

Having reassured herself, she half smiled, ruefully, rubbing her bangs into a knot. A bird, grey to match the sky, swooped through her view, it's trail drawing her eyes from the hotel and it's tiny parking lot. Over towards the horizon, where it so carelessly flew, lay London, sprawled out before her, enveloping her. It's buildings were dark against the hazy sky, sharp silhouettes. They seemed so plain, their forms unimpressive, to the girl who stared them down. Indeed, the whole scene left her feeling dull, rivaling it's bleakness.

Suddenly feeling heavy, she rolled, and fell onto the bed, smothering papers with her body. She could feel their crinkling, and hear their crumpled protests. The lead smudged, here and there, in some places, onto her skirt. Letting out a long, exhale, she suddenly thrust her legs, into the air.

“Ruby!”

At her mother's voice, her eyes widened.

“Just remembered, Momma! I'm coming!”, she called.

Popping up like some prairie dog, she yanked at her socks, dragging them up over her knees.

“Jiminy Cricket, man.”

She shook her head, bouncing up, and off of the bed. Throwing her hair back, she tried pulling it into a neat pony tail, without the lunatic fringe. She yanked the elastic off her wrist, and hopped straight over to her shoes.

“Jiminy Cricket.”, she repeated, this time with more venom in her voice.

Shoving one Mary Jane on, she tugged at random strands. Each time she felt she had a good one, some lock of warm brown, would tumble down her back. She gave a sigh, that turned into a growl.

“Ruby, we're leaving!”, her mother's voice, came again.

Her tone was different, sterner. It only served to send that wave of frustration, rushing freely over the girl, now. It threatened to drown her.

“Coming!”

She slammed her left foot into her other shoe, and the world tilted, a moment.

“No!”

She rooted herself to the spot, refusing to let balance fully abandon her.

“Blasted thing. Blasted place.”

Pulling her hair back, in a final attempt, with one hand, she snatched up a purse, with her other. With the thin brown strap securely over her shoulder, she wrapped the black band, round her hair, almost in surrender. Whatever it looked now, that was how she was going out. Running now, she made her way to the door, open already. Her family, mother, father, and sister, stood in the hallway, dressed and pressed, of course.

“Ready.”, she said, smoothing down her skirt.

It's pale pink and white knitting, was noticeably tainted, by her schoolwork. Her father sighed, shaking his head, in his usual way.

“Just barely.”

His tone was harsh, but by no means cruel. If anything, it was disappointment that laced his words.

“But, I'm ready.”, Ruby repeated, flashing him her sweetest grin.

Her mother, tugged at her husband's arm, urging him on to the hallway, before he could open his mouth, a fact her sister, was glad of. They passed the plain doors, of other's rooms, and left the dingy carpeting behind. Coming now, into the tiled entryway, her mother split off from the group. With a few clacks of her heels, she crossed, to the front counter.

“We need seven more of the large towels to room 11, please.”, she informed a young lady.

Her fingers drummed across the marble, before snatching up a pen. Swiftly, her dainty hand then set about jotting things down.

“Yes, mum. We'll have it all for you, when you return.”, she spoke up, with a grin.

Her smile, was a nice one, and Ruby liked her well enough. She never made her feel a fool, when she was sent to get extra soap, or what have you, which seemed rather often.

“Thank you, baby.”, her mother replied.

Had it been anyone else, addressing her in such a way, the young lady at the counter, might have raised a brow. Thankfully however, she was used to Ruby's mother, and her very Texan ways. Why, she called everyone younger than her, “sweety” and the receptionist, couldn't be much older than Ruby.

“You're welcome, mum.”

“Mum”

Ruby had to keep herself from smirking at that pronunciation. A week, they'd spent here already, and the many different British accents still intrigued her.

Her mother spoke some final word of kindness, before rejoining her family. From there, they moved out to find their rental, no doubt camouflaged in with its duplicates. This was going to be another busy day, is this equally busy city. Might as well get it over with.