I woke up in heat. There was something warm beaming down on me, realizing that I should open my eyes now, I did.
I was head flat, straight on the concrete.
A man dressed in a police uniform stood over me. "Ma'am, ma'am are you alright?"
Groaning as I lifted myself onto my elbows, I attempted to get a look, at all around me.
It was familiar in a sense that I was still in my own country. Just in a very old version, one I remember seeing through years old photos, in history books.
The woman and their hair, disgustingly odd, but not entirely. My mother often times shaped her hair in one of those olden day bobs.
Confused, and completely dazed I looked at the officer before me. "What's the date sir?"
"March 15th 1964, why you must have hit your head pretty hard huh?"
"There was a man."
"Yes, he stole your purse. And you were chasing after him, and slipped."
Getting closer, he stuck out his arm in company, "alright, up you are. You alright now ma'am? I've got some questions I'm going to be needing to ask you once you're sane and ready.
Now hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this theft, and find the man that stole your satchel."
"We-wh- what is going on?" I stuttered as I was helped to my feet, I could feel him stare arguably at my sanity.
"It-it was five in the morning a moment ago. I-I."
"Now you sure you're going to be alright we've got an asylum just up the road there."
"I'm fine! Now, where is the man. I have some very important things in that bag, and I need it back immediately. Gosh my mother is going to kill me." I mumbled off into the distance as I circled my ailing eyes about.
Guiding me into the building that was once lifeless and faded, my heart continued to flutter anxiously.
"Now what's your name lady? Where are your parents, you're too young to be wandering round this city alone. You an orphan?"
Rolling my eyes at his remark I ignored him.
"Your name. I need it for my report."
Dragging on report as if Jesus himself were to reward him bountifully he staggered limply over to a desk. Where a woman in neon yellow glasses was sitting. With a pen to her teeth seductively.
"Well aren't you pretty! I fancy your hair, is that what you teenagers are wearing now a days!" Widely my eyes shot to the heavens, as I ran a hand through my reddened locks.
Luckily that still remained the same.
"How'd you get your hair that color? Did you pay for it to be that way?"
"No, I was just born with it. That's all."
"Up, up Jan. I've got work to be doing now. Now you, what's your name girl?"
"My name is Grant. Grant Everly."
Shocked by the multiple fits of laughter in the room I froze in their wake.
Wh-what were they laughing at? I seemed to question as they slapped their knees, and spank their bellies amused.
"C-co-come again? Your name is?"
Antagonizing me in a way, he proposed I say my name again, so he could feel the actual benefit of an actual sit up in his fat stomach, as his laugh strained his abdominal muscles.
"My name is Grant Everly."
"Well ain't that a strange name to be given to a lady? You're a lady aren't ya?"
"Well she was carrying a woman's satchel before that got stolen, I suppose she is one!" Keeling over the entire police department was on the floor twirling in circles laughing about.
As I stood there ultimately confused. But mainly saddened.
"Alright, that's enough mates. Why don't Sam, and Phil escort young Grant Everly, back home. I'll write up this report, and we will recover your purse very soon. He couldn't have gotten that far."
Puzzled by all that was happening, I could hardly even register the hands being laid on my shoulders, as I was being walked out of the building.
"Look, look, look, look.
I seen your mother last night Gerald."
"Oh you did now huh mate?"
"Ohhahaoh, yes. She was begging me to stop, she couldn't have a child by a colored that looks better than her own son!"
"You're drunk you disgusting pile of shit, get in there! You're lucky I know your mother!"
Outraged, and angry his eyes sputtered out of control. "Well aren't you a pretty little ginger."
Scoffing at his stupid remark I rolled my eyes.
Laughing courageously loud, he stuck out his tongue childishly.
And as I passed by him in that rush of seconds, I remembered his face, and that hat he always wore in the photographs.
It was him.
It was Stone Avils.