Secret Identity (A Marcel Fanfic)

Chapter 2

I sat at the table, quietly observing everyone and I shoveled crispy greens into my mouth. My mom was such an amazing cook; I cannot even begin to describe how well off I was in that department. She had traveled a bit after college and had somehow landed in Paris where she took a cooking course at a gourmet chef school. Bless the souls of that establishment, they had taken her in free since my father had fancied her. After just two months of classes twice a week my mom and dad had fell madly in love, thus I was created. Apparently when my mom was just 3 months pregnant she had come back to the states because my Grandma Beth had gone ill. My mother stayed with my grandma for months trying to nurse her back to health, while also trying to take care of herself and little me inside her.

                I was born October 3rd in great health, but unfortunately my grandma didn’t have such luck. Just a week after my glorious birth, my grandma passed away. My mom was heartbroken, but she held it together for me, and for my dad who had stayed in Paris to continue teaching. This is the part of the story that really makes the heart burn, and the eyes sting, the moment my mom tried to go back to Paris with me my father broke all contact. She tried to calling him every single day up until our flight. The day we landed in Paris she took us straight to the chef school and demanded to know where my father was. The owner told her he was very sorry, but my father had quit a month ago and he had not heard from him since. Completely heartbroken my mother brought us back home to Donald, Oregon. Since then my mom and I have lived in the same house, and everything had been normal.

                About a week ago an old stoner, hippy couple had lived across the street. They had been there for 7 years, and I had become quite close with them. Sure they had been a little weird and not your average old couple who goes to bingo every Wednesday and goes to bed promptly at 8 every night, but they were nice. They had something a lot of people in this town didn’t have, they had heart. They were part of the few people in my life that made it special. I live a stereotypical teenage party girl life. I go to raves, me and Kat cause damage to everything within feet of us, and I don’t have many worries other than what’s for breakfast in the morning. I guess that’s why Mr. and Mrs. Morgan were so special to me. They didn’t let me run around ruining my life, they had expectations for me. Mrs. Morgan always made sure I had at minimum a C in every class and was at least halfway applying myself, and Mr. Morgan always made sure I had someone to talk to. They both had a big role, a good role model figure, and then a friend.

                Well, after they had decided to pack their bags and move to Maine to open up a fishing business on the coast (Mr. Morgan’s lifelong dream), I had decided I was going on strike. Kat, a few of my other friends, and I all stood in front of my stoner neighbors’ yard with big posters protesting their departure. We chanted for about an hour before just lying across their lawn until they came out to tell us to go home. Eventually though, everyone got kind of bored and one by one headed home or somewhere more exciting. After about another hour Mr. Morgan came outside and took a seat next to me on the front porch steps. He had looked at me with a sad smile.

“Chin up pumpkin. You had to of known at some point we’d have to go, whether that be moving or by nature.” He said softly tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

I looked up at him, a small tear forming in my eye and said in a trembling whisper, “Everyone disappears. That doesn’t mean we have to be okay with it.”

He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze, “You’ve always been wise beyond your years, Stacee. Be a warrior for me, please?”

I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his shoulder. Fortunately only the one tear had escaped my eye and I wasn’t ruining another shirt of his. Just the night before I had walked over sobbing and had wiped all my tears only his shirt, he hadn’t minded but I still felt a little bad. He rubbed the back of my head softly. I took a shaky breath, loosened my grip and leaned back to get a good look at him.