Perception

Red eyes should be creepy, they practically scream dangerous villain or evil mastermind, but my own eyes remind me of a warm hearth on a cold winter night, the dancing flames of life-giving fire, it's almost like they are beckoning me to come closer.

I freak out, this is not me, this is not my face, it can't be, this, this stranger cant be me. But she is copying all my movements perfectly and now that I am staring directly at the stranger in the mirror I notice the similarities between her and the way I am supposed to look. The same eye shape, the same nose, even the same teeth in this stranger's mouth. It is me, but not, enhanced with weird eyes but still somehow me, Taylor, the ugly duckling, just not ugly anymore.

I cant deal with this, too much to fast, I need to go cook something to calm me down. Yes, I should cook something to eat for my Dad, I haven't cook for him for months. We always eat takeout these days. I should cook him a good stake, I know this particularly tasty sauce which will go wonderfully with the steak and potatoes. I could even make Tiramisu for afters.

That thought stops me so thoroughly I almost fall down the stairs to the first floor. I have never made Tiramisu in my life. I can't even cook, Mum was the cook in our family, Dad and I can barely follow her recipes, there is no way I could ever make Tiramisu on my own. Or al least yesterday I couldn't, today I feel like I could even cook a 7-course menu without any trouble. The recipes and the knowledge of how to cook them perfectly are simply there, I can even remember myself cooking and improving all of them.

Suddenly I am itching to cook, it almost like a physical need. The worst part is, that there is nothing in the kitchen I could cook with, Dad hasn't been to the market in weeks, judging by the content of the fridge, the only thing inside is expired milk, which I throw away immediately. I am desperately trying to think of a way to get the money necessary to buy at least a few basic ingredients. I don't have an allowance, never had one and even if I had had one before Mum's accident my Dad would not be able to afford it now. There is just no money to be made from being part of the Dockworkers anymore, not that it has ever been a lucrative job.

But worrying about the economy or my Dad's dead-end job does not help either. I don't have money, Dad is out, Emma ... no, don't think about this now. I don't have grandparents or any relatives, at least to my knowledge. I haven't seen any of Mum's friends in years and the college is too far to get there on my own. Dad's friends are all Dockworkers and they probably don't have enough money for their own use. Except maybe Kurt, he is part of the Dockworkers, but I think he was part of the military before. His wife, I think her name was Lisa, told me once that he got shot and was discharged because of his injury. He may get a pension. It is worth a try at least and his house isn't that far away. Only 2 streets over, not even a 10-minute walk away. I could go there easily.

I wear my nicest clothes, they are barely acceptable, but at least clean enough and my freshly cleaned shoos. When I leave the house I notice, that the front step of the porch is askew and decide to tell my Dad about it later.

It is a beautiful day and even though I am eager to cook there is enough time for me to appreciate the beauty of the area. Admittedly Brockton Bay is not a beautiful city and the area close to the Docks where we live is even worse than the majority of the city, but it still is a port city, full of the smell of the sea and the sound of waves in the distance. There are even a few seabirds in the air and while not the most eloquent of songbirds they certainly have a very elegant flying posture.

Even the people are not all that bad, granted there are a few gangs, but during the day the people seem nice. The few people I meet on my way are friendly and return my smiles with greetings or at least nods of their own. Some of them do have an awful lot of tattoos trough or a fashion sense that is best described as dumpster inhabitant. They don't seem bothered by me trough and they seem to always cheer up a little when they see me. Some of the more unassuming dressed people even join me in my cheerful humming. My mother's death must have hit me even more than I thought, I used to think going out alone would be dangerous, but my bad mode must have affected my perception, on days like this the city seems almost bustling.

There are quite a few groups of similar dresses people in the area. Maybe they are having a gathering somewhere, trough there does not seem to be any social building or outdoor area in the vicinity.

That thought pulls me out of my own thoughts and forces me to actually look at my surroundings. I have no idea where I am, it looks like I am in the Dock somewhere but I don't know how I got here. I mean I have only been walking for a few minutes and there is no way I could get lost in my own neighborhood.

One look around me forces me to accept the truth trough, there is no way I am still in my neighborhood. The buildings are way too run down and not at all residential. I can even see the Boardwalk in the distance with its nice and tall buildings.

I guess I am going to the Boardwalk, I don't really recognize any other landmarks and there is something comforting about the clean and tidy look of the area.

The Boardwalk isn't that far away so it only takes me a few minutes to reach the more tourist-friendly zone. This part of town is patrolled regularly by both the PRT and the Protectorate as well as the Enforcers, an independent organization that may or may not be a Gang in its own right.

The view from here is even more beautiful than I thought. The sea is so close you can taste it with every breath. There are even a few kids playing close to the water. I wish I had some money, I could sit here and drink a tasty cup of tea from this quite little open-air restaurant close to the seaside.

"Hello little girl, do you want a cup of tea?" On of the tea-shops patrons, an elderly male must have noticed my longing stares. Normally I would never speak with a stranger in such a situation, but today I feel like nothing could go wrong so I answer him in my most enthusiastic voice: "Oh Yes please, I would love a cup."

The stranger laughs, he has quite a nice laugh, a little booming and quite smooth, it's the kind of laugh an actor would become famous for. Now that I am looking closer at him, he does look quite handsome in a rugged kind of way. A little weary and time has left its marks, but still a very jovial and expressive face. He beckons me to come over.

"Here little girl, let this old man buy you a cup. You look like the kind of girl who would enjoy a good cup of tea, maybe a Gyokuro?" The stranger offers me a seat at his table. I delightedly accept his offer, but I have never heard of Gyokuro before. "What kind of tea is Gyokuro?" I can see the old man's face brighten at my question. "Gyokuro is a shaded tea original from Japan. After the attack on Kyushu, a few immigrants managed to grow it on US-Soil. The tea is quite rare and this little shop is the only one in this city that sells it. It is also known as Jade Dew in the US" He beckons one of the waiters and orders a pot.

A new tea from Japan sounds interesting, but I still have questions: "I thought Japan is famous for its green teas, are shaded teas a special brew?" Judging from the man's face I just made the right command. "Yes, exactly, shaded teas are green teas which are grown by shading the tea bushes in order to increase chlorophyll production in the plants by reducing natural photosynthesis in the leaves. The increased green chlorophyll pigment changes the natural balance of caffeine, sugars, and flavanols within the leaf giving the tea processors room to manipulate it, pulling out additional sweetness. Gyokuro is my favorite of all shaded teas."

I am very impressed by the detailed knowledge this old man has about teas, but as the daughter of a true tea lover, I am no slouch myself and soon we are in a heated discussion about the differences between Asian and American teas as well a the different drying methods.

When the tea arrives it is just like the nice old man said, a little sweet for a green tea, but very tasty nonetheless. Time flies and soon we have finished our tea as well as our discussion. We continue to sit in peaceful silence while enjoying the aftertaste and the calming sea breeze.