Between Worlds

Part 1

Christophe looks around at his family for the last time before he heads off on a new adventure. His parents were standing close together, his father's crazy sweater was one that could rival that of Neal's from the Santa Clause. His mother was wearing her usual work attire, her nice black slacks paired with the white button-down, her blonde hair pinned up in a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Are you sure you have everything you need? Do you want us to go with you? I don't think you have any swim goggles! Let me go get—"

"Mom," Christophe cut his mother off, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. "Why would I need goggles? I don't like swimming. I'm going to be fine, don't worry." He gives her an encouraging smile, and she looks at him for a moment before yanking him into a hug. "Mom. I'm too tall for this. You're only, like, a midget."

"Don't tell me not to hug my son," she scolds. "And don't tell me I'm short. I am a perfectly acceptable height, not everyone is a giant like you." Christophe chuckles lightly before gently prying her arms off him. I'm going to miss this, he thinks as he holds his mother at arm's length before letting her go. She may not be his biological mother, and that may not be his actual father, but they love him like their own and that counts for more than blood.

Bending down to pick up the last of his bags, Christophe opens the door. "I love you guys. I'll visit every holiday and call you as often as I can!"

His parents look at each other briefly before launching themselves at their son for one last hug before he leaves. "We're going to miss you, son." His father tries to be strong, but Christophe can see the unshed tears in his eyes.

"Wait!" His mother runs off into the kitchen, leaving Christophe and his father standing there, perplexed. "Here," she says as she returns.

Christophe just about chokes on the fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie she shoved into mouth. As his taste buds exploded with the chocolatey goodness that came from his mother's homemade cookies, his favorite kind of cookie.

Giving his parents and the home he grew up in one last look, he gives them a bittersweet smile and walks out the door to his beat-up, gray car. He puts the last of his bags in and begins the drive to college hoping that, for once, no one will feel obligated to acknowledge his height. He doesn't want anything to happen to anyone else.

After their son left, Stacy looked to her husband. "Do you think it'll happen again?"
"No," he responds, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him. "He's a smart boy. He won't let his emotions get the better of him. Not again."

Three-and-a-half hours later, he gathers his array of mismatched belongings from the back of his car and makes his way through the overcrowded hallways filled with parents giving last minute goodbyes and students pushing them away, pretending to be annoyed. The crowd moves out of his way, but Christophe was used to that by now, his height of 7'2" paired with his shoulder-length black hair really gives off an impression on people. An impression not helped by his average wardrobe of jeans and a dark hoodie.

On his way to the elevator, Christophe sees a child looking for her mother, she is on the verge of tears and as soon as he sees her, Christophe knows that he has to help. He askes about her parents and her response is muffled by the tears streaming into her mouth as she attempts to speak. Christophe feels his heart pull in favor of the little girl. After a moment of gently calming her down, he finds out where her parents last were and takes her there. Her parents were in a panic until they saw their daughter rush towards them. Christophe, seeing that his work is done, leaves to continue his search for his dorm room, content in himself.

As he nears his dorm room, he fumbles around with trying to get his key and not drop everything in his arms. Christophe has a split second of victory as he grabs his key before he tumbles into the door and, miraculously, it swings open.

I hope no one saw that. That is not a memory I want burned into anyone's brain. Christophe struggles to stand under the weight of his bags that just happened to land right on top of him.

"Whoa there, who are you? Are you my new roommate?" A voice calls out from behind him.

Christophe turns and freezes when he sees a bespectacled guy with light brown hair and an inquisitive look on his face. "Ummm. That depends. Are you Michael?"

The guy steps forward and holds out his hand. "Mike. You're Christophe, I presume?" Christophe nods, shaking his hand. "They never told me that my new roomie would be so tall!" Mike rocks back on his heels with his hands back in his pockets and whistles.

Turning away, Christophe gives a slight nod and puts his bags on his bed. Mike positions himself on the other bed and looks him over for a moment. "You're not much of a talker, are you? Well that's fine. I can talk enough for the both of us."

Realizing he was not going to get a response, Mike continues, sounding a little dejected. "Okay then. I'm just gonna... head out... See ya." He scurries out the open door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Christophe heaves a sigh. Why do they have to mention my height? It's not like that makes me who I am. Soon, he finds himself drifting off to sleep.