A coming-of-age story expressing the feelings of two teen boys, who come from very different social climbs, but still find their way back to each other.
2 0 1 9 - All Rights Reserved @LunaThinks
B E G A N - 02 . 12 . 19
C O M P L E T E D - 02 . 22...
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Lark slammed the phone book down onto the coffee table, sitting down on his knees, as he flipped from page-to-page, skimming for the last name, Ellington. His mother stood behind him, a cigarette between her lips, she analyzed Lark from head-to-toe.
Lark was used to his mother's smoking tactics. She'd do it inside their home, or outside—even while pregnant with Lark. His father had told him so years ago.
"What are you doing, Larkin?" His mother's heels clinked onto the tiled flooring, as she made her way over, the smoke bombarding Lark's nostrils.
"Something." He muttered under his breath, continuing to flip through every page carefully.
"You ungrateful Reyes men, and your big, full heads. You're just like your father—always thinking you know better than I do . . ." Cathy's words trailed off, as she took another slow, mournful drag from her stick.
But Lark only ignored her, grinning widely, when he found, Policeman Peter Ellington, Reverend rd.
He stood from his knees, snatching the home telephone from its placement, and made his way quickly up the stairway. He remembered once when he and Joseph were at their stump, and Joseph had told him about his parents' careers.
Apparently, his father was a Policeman, and his mother was a surgical nurse. He remembered wanting to tell Joseph about his parents' professionalism, but not having much to say.
His father was born wealthy, and took over Lark's grandfathers' business when he finished his schooling in New York City. And his mother's story—was quite the story to be told. She'd met Frank when she was just a girl, married him, then had his child.
His family wasn't quite the one he was grateful to be apart of.
Lark jumped onto his bedspread, and only seconds later—he was dialing. There were several rings, until finally, there was an answer.
"Hello?" The voice said, it was a girl's—but the girl didn't sound old enough to be Joseph's mother.
"Hello," he responded, "I'm looking for a Joseph Ell—"
Lark was interrupted by the girl muffling the speaker, and shouting a quick, Joey! "He's coming." Was all that was said, until the girl was gone, and Lark was yet again—left alone with him and his thoughts.
But at least he learned one thing—Joseph's sister's?—called him, Joey.
