Bloodcurse

Perfect Day

If you didn't grow up with siblings, you don't know what it's like. Or at least that's what I hear whenever people tell me about their brothers and sisters, and how they annoy the living hell out of each other while still managing to be close. I wouldn't know what it feels like to have an indestructible connection like that, but I guess that's just what happens when your parents give you up for adoption. Deep down, I suppose I know they did it for a reason, though it stings to think about how easily they could have given me a chance and chose not to. Maybe they would have liked me, and that I always keep my head down and out of trouble. In theory, that is, since trouble seems to follow me around like a rabid dog that's picked up my scent. 

Which is why I'm not the least bit surprised that, yet again, I'm finding myself in a situation that could have been avoided if anyone would put their trust in me, but alas. Who are your foster parents going to believe when you tell them that it wasn't you who stole their Chevrolet Camaro and sold family heirlooms in order to buy enough gas and weed for the infamous joyride that ended with said Camaro in a ditch? 

Well, I can tell you it's not the foster kid. Those spoiled brats of theirs totally threw me under the bus, but I can't say I'm sad they kicked me out. It's been a week since then, and I'm still alive, with or without cool displays of feigned sibling equality and the acrid smell of lilac laundry detergent all over my body and clothes. And to be brutally honest, I'm pretty sure I would have killed someone if I would have had to listen to one more story about the finance world. The Olsons may have boats and vacation homes, but they sincerely miss even the merest lick of a personality. Either way, that's how I ended up on this bus that is said to reach its last destination in four hours - a backwoods town called Village. Yes, really.

Thankfully, the repetitiveness of the bland country outside the bus's dirtied windows has resulted in an uneventful nap that made sure to swallow what was left of my journey in pleasant darkness. Unfortunately, that means I have to vacate the bus now, which is unironically not a bad place to find rest and solace. Everywhere outside of moving vehicles, there is a good chance that someone will try to harm you in your sleep. Inside of them? Still a chance, but a slim one. I've pretty much mastered the art of sleeping with all of my belongings hidden underneath my shirt in a way that looks like I have perhaps the weirdest body shape in the world, but not strange enough for anybody to want to lift it up and check. Also, I think people see me and feel bad. Not bad enough to help me, but just enough to leave me alone. There are too many scruffy, unlucky 18-year-olds out there to help them all, so if they started with one, who's to say all the others wouldn't come running and demand assistance, too? I'm getting cynical now, but isn't it true?

On second thought, maybe deciding to travel this close to nightfall was not the best idea I've ever had. In Chicago, there are street lamps and signs and advertisements that make you feel like somebody's stabbing your eyes with bright blue and white needles, but in Village, Indiana, there seems to be absolutely no evidence of modern life whatsoever. Who knows, perhaps the good people of this town have yet to discover the wonders of electricity, or - more likely - I'm a complete idiot, who made the mistake of buying a ticket to a rural area in the middle of the night in late summer.

It becomes exceedingly difficult to not scream at the top of my lungs the longer I walk along the side of this empty road. There are billboards every now and then, I can't make out what they're trying to sell, not that I could afford it, anyway. Sometimes, a fox or a possum will make an appearance and skid past me as if I was just another obstacle on its way. I mean... I am, but I guess I just had slightly bigger plans for my life than being wildlife's nuisance. A weary sigh makes me remember I have a voice. 

I do wonder what my parents look like, and if I'm shorter than my Dad. It's incredibly strange not to look like anyone you know, even when you're used to it. Every day, you see people pick up their kids from school, or you see cousins catching up on their front porches, aunts and nieces going shopping together and giggling... I've never really done that with someone I bear resemblance to. Well, I bear resemblance to Seth. I'm not sure if that's a compliment to my uniqueness or an ode to my inherent sense of displacement. If I was an optimist, I would probably say the former, but my brother was the positive thinker between the both of us. Always smiling.