Invisible String ☆|☆ QUACKITY

Alexis (in plural)

Authors note: All characters in this story, while they are based loosely around real life events, are all figments of fiction. In no way do these characters (nor are they supposed to) represent the real beliefs, thoughts, and actions of those real life people. I obviously know practically nothing of Quackitys real family, nor the dynamic, everything is purely made up by me.
I love you, enjoy this story.

How many people were born on December 28th, in the year 2000?

I don’t know. A lot probably. I can't count that high.

Do you know how many of those people were named Alexis?

I don’t know that either. Not exactly. But I know at least two. One was a boy, and one was a girl. One was born in Mexico, and one in California. One called himself Alex and the other called herself Lexi. And everyone else called them that too. But really, their names were Alexis.

Separately but together.

They were both the youngest children in their families. They both had an older brother and an older sister. They both had single mothers who worked hard, who inspired them to do so much. They both had parents who weren’t together. Fathers who didn’t make enough time for them, their whole lives.

They were a little different in that sense i’ll say, because for the first 6 years of her life, Lexi did spend ample time with her father. The only time she got, for a very long time. He would visit every other weekend, taking Lexi (and her brother Patrick and sister Mackenzie) to Mcdonalds or something, then to the beach or the park.

“I wanna dye my hair,” Mackenzie was saying one afternoon. Mackenzie had the lightest, most platinum blonde of heads in the Vivianti family. Lexi and Patrick both had light brown hair. The older two had gray-green eyes, but Lexi’s were brown, like her fathers. He said, to Lexi, that she was his "mini-me."

The four were sitting on a bench, watching the sun set over the water. They each had ice cream, Patrick and Lexi having a contest on who could eat their’s faster while it was upside down.

As the sun set over the Santa Monica pier, sticky ice cream dripped down the arms of the two siblings, as they shrieked and giggled at each other.

They stood in front of a bench their sister and father were seated on. 

“Mom’ll say no,” Their father was saying. Nine year old (9 and a half, sorry) Mackenzie huffed, pulling on the necklace she had on. It was a little yellow duck, that was shiny and had pink hearts for eyes.

“What about when i’m twelve?” She asked, hopeful. Their father smiled, ruffling her light hair, before pulling her in for a small hug.

“Sure, kiddo.”

His phone was buzzing. It was Mom. He was late again. Late to bring them back. He was always doing stuff like that, being late and being forgetful.

In the car on the way home, Mom’s home, it was more silent than usual. The three young kids; 6, 8 and almost 10, were unaware. Unaware this was the last night they would see their father.

Somewhere south, in a mexican household, a woman was yelling on a phone in spanish. She had started the conversation in angry whispers and her rage got the better of her.

“¿Y dónde estás? ¿Se suponía que debías estar aquí hace una hora? Cada vez, lo juro, cada…” The woman said, huffing and making her way to a seperate room.

Alex streched himself out on the couch, along his older siblings.

Adrian pushed the younger boy’s legs off of him, and Alex scoffed a dirty word at him, Adrian only spitting back four more. Alex looked up, his head in his sister’s lap, his big brown eyes saddened.

“When’s Dad coming?” He asked, his little six year old self filled with sorrow and hope, both emotions he couldn’t name.

“Soon,” Amelia spoke back in spanish, and Adrian scoffed and rolled his eyes, a nintendo DS in his hands.

“That’s code for never, pito,” Adrian said, and Amelia threw the closest thing, a half empty plastic water bottle, at his head. She looked back down, fixing Alex’s beanie on top of his head, pulling his bangs out over his forehead.

“Soon, don’t worry Alex,” She said. Alex nodded, not wanting to cry or to even be sad. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be strong.

He didn’t cry until a few nights later, after his father blew off again, leaving their bowling trip to yet another rain check. After his brother was asleep in his own bed, Alex let all the tears he had been holding in in spite of himself.

Further North, Lexi did the same in her own bedroom, after a postcard received from her father. He had apparently went to whereever Campenche was, and said he would keep them posted. He offered to “let the kids come stay over the summer.”

Mom shook her head, and she tossed the postcard out. Patrick had later taken it out of the trash, pinning it to the bulletin board in his room. Mackenzie had shut herself in her own room, angry and upset.

Campenche, the word was written in shiny, glisenting black ink. Ink that looked wet yet was dry.

The two wept, seperately. But together.

Unknowing.

♡ Authors closing regards ♡
I already have a bunch of preset written chapters for this story, and a loose-leaf plot.
I do have a problem with starting stores and then just...not revisiting them, because the story is already written in my head. Therefore, writing it out is...more work than it should be.
That doesn't make a ton of sense, but I love this story and the plot so I'm posting it!
Much love,
Alyce