What am I?
I am that unforgettable, unforgivable time in the hole between space and reason when nothing I do is wrong, because I am new, and fresh, and I can think of a million better thoughts than you have in your whole life.
I am sixteen years old.
Let's start with the day I realised who I was.
It was the end of another day at school, full of taunting and tormenting, the great churning system where if you trip, you better believe you're going to get trampled on. The bus drove me home to my small seaside town on the very edge of the Scottish hills, where the sea rages like a bad memory, even when you're not there to see it.
There was a great Magpie sitting on the roof of my Parents small cottage, glaring down at my nervous smile and pasty face. It caused me to wonder if the unlucky omen could smell my superstition, like a dog can smell fear. I crossed my fingers and turned up my blazer collar, opening the door.
I knew that there was something wrong the moment I saw my Mother. She wasn't standing in her usual spot, kneading dough and watching television. Both my parents sat at the kitchen table, each wearing an identical look of mingled fear and hurt.
'What’s-'
My questioned was nipped in the bud as a sob issued from my Mother. I froze, mid- way between dropping my bag on the floor.
My Father, stoic to the very end, his peaked cap pushed upwards so that curls of grey hair tumbled down his bronzed face, cleared his throat.
'You'd better take a seat, son.'
I didn’t bother to argue. I was concentrating on trying not to smile, as I always did in a desperate situation. I guess I'm just a nervous person.
'Dad, what is it?' I persisted, not looking at my Mother.
He was silent for a very long time indeed. His grey eyes lingered on my own brown before he reached out and took my shoulder.
'Jared, I don't quite know how to say this, but.....'
'What?'
He sighed like a person taking their last breath
'You're adopted, son.'
Really cool repetition there, well done!
