Chapter Two
In Which We Discover Where My Nonexistent Parents Are
In Which We Discover Where My Nonexistent Parents Are
So, my very first stupid decision occurred after waking up one Christmas day. I was at an age where running into my parents’ room and jumping up and down on their bed screaming insanities about presents at around 4am seemed rational. Okay, not rational or even logical – just downright fun.
As I made my way into their room and I was about to commence operation Umping-Jay Astle-Cay I noticed something weird. Yeah, I was eight at the time. Everything that isn’t your average day is weird. Like finding a slug in the garden. That was described as weird at that age.
So, seeing your parents like that at that age can be described as weird.
♫ On the first day of Christmas the cruel world took from me – two parents who used to love me. ♫
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Of course, this wasn’t one of the choices I had made. Why the hell would I have killed my own parents? No, this led to the decision that was probably wrong. Notice the strange use of “probably”. I think I do that because I know that no choice can be entirely right or wrong.
There’s a spectrum of infinities. Negative being wrong and positive being right. There’s only in betweens, at least in my thoughts.
When you’re (or if you used to be…) part of my family you’ll know nothing is left to chance. It’s sort of something my parents drilled into me when they raised me.
Often they said that there was too much chaos to make plans, but one need to make plans out of the chaos. When growing up, I thought this had been normal learning. That this was something everyone did.
Of course, it wasn’t. I have this vague sense that they knew what was going to happen. That they knew some day they were going to go to sleep and not wake up the next day. It’s like they had been preparing me to be… okay.
I had called the police, I know the ambulance probably would’ve been a little better, but hey, cut me some slack, my parents were dead. Days passed, how many – I’ll never know. I won’t go into details. It’s still all a little bit confusing even now. My memories are too painful, if that’s any excuse. It’s safe to say that my heart had shattered and my life had fragmented into millions of tiny pieces of shit and mess and crap.
I don’t remember their funeral. Just their bodies in their coffins; they were dressed in their favourite going out clothes. Mother wore her red cocktail number and father had his tuxedo with a matching rose in his pocket. They weren’t smiling. Not alive. Still. Because they had ceased to exist.
I’ve told you I’m terrified of dying. Partly, it’s because I know I’ll end up like that. Propped up like dolls for the world to see, even though I’ll be gone forevermore. Onto less mortifying thoughts, we turn back to the first decision I made.
The will my parents had left gave me over to one of two people. One was a person I had never met, claiming to be my godfather and had been to jail several times. The other was my next door neighbour, a nice old lady who used to babysit me when my parents when out on their date-nights.
I don’t know if I made the wrong choice. But it made my life interesting.
I’ll never know why I picked them as my guardian. I was distraught, I suppose. But still… Yes. Just guess who I chose. You’ll never be able to. Actually, you would considering I’ve only really given you two options and I highly doubt you guys would be all picking the same one.
Remember, my guardian likes nature.
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Yes. I chose my “godfather”. It’s strange to think of him like that. Since the cats out of the bag, so to speak, I might as well tell you everything I know about him. When I was first put into his custody he was too young to legally be my guardian. What? I can hear you thinking blankly.
To my understanding Lark Kage Jack led a pretty normal childhood. If you count him understating the fact he was an orphan as ordinary. I never understood why he didn’t ever tell me more about his past. I told him everything about mine.
Well, maybe not everything. Okay, I probably not even most of it. My life is a private thing, alright?
Perhaps he knew this and that was why he kept his own secrets.
He’s only three years older than me. What in the name of all that is logical in the world made my parents make a boy only a few years older than myself my godfather? The reasoning is beyond me. I think it will be for a long time.
He’s more like my older brother or best friend than anything. We were raised by his (foster) father, in legal terms, my (foster) god-grandfather, Craig. I never knew what happened to poor Mrs. Abernathy (my other potential guardian), but I hope she lived a happy life.
My real last name isn’t Jack. It’s Daniels. Ballow Lee Daniels. It’s too painful for me to write so I took up Lark’s last name instead. I’m Ballow Lee Jack now and I think I’ll be him forever.
Lark is… well… probably the most influential person in my life. Seriously, I can remember the first time I met him. I think he effects me everytime we talk. I’ve turned into… well, basically a younger version of him. Except when he was my age he was probably a lot more awesome than me. I’m pretty sure he keeps on changing to keep opposite me and annoy the hell out of me.
Technically, our first meeting went something like this, even though he doesn’t know I saw him.
Mum took me to a playground one day. However I, like the lonely and unsociable person I was (my normal friends were gone for the summer), only sat in the sheltered sand pit playing with a spade I wasn’t sure anyone owned entirely.
At this time in life I was amazingly partial to sunlight and if I was left out in the sun for more than a few minutes I would look like a lobster. Mum had fixed this problem by completely covering me with different materials, including my face. Amazingly, this didn’t help much with my (blabbing) social skills.
I was five. Lark was eight, of course. Nowadays, sometimes I swear I act more mature.
He had run away from his foster parents, his seventh pair in fact (not Craig.) Apparently, according from what I heard from Craig, Lark always looked so sweet it didn’t matter how many times he was returned some other couple instantly picked him up. I’ll take my time describing him the first time I saw him.
He was running, sprinting full pelt towards the sand pit and just off in the distance behind him was his foster father right on his tail. I won’t ever forget the way Lark looked. Even now I think back to it warmly. I won’t ever tell him about it. He’d take my allowance for a month for sure. And he’d probably ground me for some good measure too.
This is perhaps my only ever singly entirely happy memory.
His mahogany is hair trailing behind him, little wisps flying every which way as if trying to escape in the opposite direction, his eyes were cobalt blue – so intense I could feel their conviction from where I sat, his mouth was caught in a moment of happiness, of freedom… of his own; it was a smile of doing something which makes you so completely happy and whole.
Even after years I still remembered it, because I never knew of or had seen anyone I knew smiling like that. I remembered it when my parents died.
With his arms pumping and legs tearing up the asphalt walkway his eyes met mine; they met even through the yard of material wrapped around my head. As he ran past he winked at me. He was only eight, but he looked so… full of joy and so cheerful.
That one second changed me.
Lark always managed to. I don’t know how, but he did. It’s a memory I cherish. I keep it close because no matter what happens to me I try to remember to be happy, because Lark – running for his life – could look happy just… running.
Of course, when I was younger I didn’t know it was him. Just some random stranger in the playground who I found extremely extraordinary. When I met him again, formally as my “guardian” I was both shocked and slightly pleased.
Craig died when Lark turned eighteen – legally old enough to be my real guardian. It was like he was waiting for that moment that both of us would be safe. Like… building plans from the chaos. Because chaos was what his life was. I won’t go into detail now. However, the chaos became evident when I made the second stupidest choice.
He never told us he had cancer. He didn’t want to “worry” us. God, I hate adults. I’m going to hate being one in two years. Yeah, that’s right. Sixteen and a half years old. This makes Lark nineteen… and a half (I regrettably admit.)
No ones really sure when Lark’s birthday is. His birth record has been lost. He and I tend to celebrate on the same day. You know thinking on it; this probably wasn’t that bad of decision. Choosing Lark.
It’s probably one of the best smartest stupid decisions I have made. Lark is my father, my brother and my best friend all rolled into one annoyingly idiotic, loyal and know-it-all ball. He’s the only person I have left now. After my second decision I realised he’s the only person who’ll ever stick by me.
He’s the only one I can trust after the repercussions of my third idiotic choice. Except I don’t even know if he’s still alive… However, you know I have that memory now.
I think of it as I close my eyes most nights. Pure happiness helps me sleep.
Anyway, I'm here now. I can see I'm the first one to review! Oh, before I start, you probably know that I have no idea what happened in the previous chapter because, well, you told me to review this; but I'll try my best to give out a good review for you. 
I love the way it sounds so casual. Is this teen lit? IDK. IDC. It's cool! So I didn't really know what has happened, but this sure was hooking even though I haven't read the previous chapter. 
Some phrases I didn't point out because they were fine; but you really should consider the nitpicks above.
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