Biography | Quentin Beck

[Introduction] - Tuesday, January 8th, 1976

A young boy at the age of twelve waited patiently as his toast popped up out of the toaster. This was Quentin Dean Beck, the son of Elmore Beck. Sadly, the kid was not the father's first priority. Instead, he'd talk to his deceased wife, Henrietta, and would only acknowledge the other family member to ridicule or make it known how much of a loser the boy was. The only nice thing the father ever did was gift his son a bicycle, but it wasn't a birthday gift or anything along the lines of that.  

He refused to take Quentin to school, having him ride the bus to and fro, which worked for a little bit until the eight-year-old boy walked in sobbing. Gum in the curls of his brown eyes, along with some bruises on his fragile body. If it wasn't well known, Quentin didn't have any friends. Elmore tried to ignore the mistreatment, not caring that his only child was being dangerously bullied on the bus, but he had to do something when the kid came home with a note from the teacher. 

So instead, he had the child walk to and from school. That didn't work either, another note with Quentin's attendance and concern for his well-being when he would always arrive exhausted and thirsty. That's when he had finally bought the kid a bike, and it had been doing the job ever since. That was the life in California for the youngest Beck. There was the rare occasion, where the kid had made a friend, but it didn't last long.

Eventually, he and his father moved away from the state to the much smaller state, New York. Elmore wasn't the best guy to be around either, for anyone. After his wife had died, he really let himself go. The once sober and slim man became a heavy alcoholic who most of the time complained and sat around. At first people let it slide, after all, the love of his life was dead and though mourning can last forever, he was slacking off at work and losing the business money. They couldn't have that. 

Now it was all on his son to try and make money in any way he can while being his father's servant. He was commanded like a dog. Get me a beer, bring me the paper, clean the house. And no, he never got anything in return. Quentin never got to know his mom, she had died in childbirth, dooming the poor lad from the start. 

Being ignored made Quentin feel just as dead as his mother.

With the piece of toast hanging out of the young boy's mouth, it was time for another miserable day at school. He huffed as he ran off the front porch to the garage to wheel out his bike. Flipping the kick stand upwards with his heel and riding off onto the path. The two Becks didn't live in a city, that would be too expensive. Instead, they had moved into a broken down cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

The only reason why he could go to such a fancy school was because of his cousin, Maguire Beck. She didn't like the boy's dad, she considered him a loser, in which reality, he was. They used to hang out all the time back in CA, but now they were restricted to being pen pals. With the help from her parents, they were able to pay so that their family member had a chance at getting a good education. He would not let them down.

Once he arrived, the first thing he noticed was a disagreement that seemed to be happening off in the distance between a girl and an older man. She seemed to be screaming at him before storming off from the vehicle. Quentin was never good at conflict, he was the type to just agree to anything to avoid a fight, but he felt for whoever that was.

The young boy had tried opening the door for someone, he was always so kind to everybody, but sadly it seemed his father's loserness had rubbed off on him. It was no different from his other school. On the first day there, he was instantly an outcast just by how he dressed. The stains and small holes in his shirt instantly making him a black sheep as all the others were dressed nicely. He remembered riding home crying, begging his father for help, but he only got the same response every time.

"Shut up and get me a beer."

Thankfully, Maguire and her family came to his rescue. Giving him enough money for new clothes and even a much nicer backpack. But no matter what, it seemed he was doomed. The person he had opened the door for only laughed at him. Calling him desperate and a people pleaser. He could never win.

The classes were born as usual and though he didn't look it, he was a smart and bright kid. Always on his best behavior and turning in his work and homework first thing. He was so sweet and kind, he'd never understood why nobody wanted him. When the bell had finally rung, and he was making his way down the hall, he saw another strange conflict. A boy about his age was blocking a girl from entering her next class.

Quentin couldn't make out any features other than his obvious fancy clothes and brown curls. His body language seemed desperate as he reached out to the student and become distraught when she pushed past him to enter the classroom. Beck started to walk over there, he wanted to see if that boy was alright and if he needed anything, but instead he was stopped by a different student. She seemed to dress differently from everybody else, more black than bright colors. But the piercings and jewelry on her body was probably the thing that stuck out most, apart from her blonde hair. 

Looking at her a bit longer, he actually recognized her as someone who sat next to him in most of his classes. 

"Can I help you?" Quentin asked with confusion. He had never been stopped in the hallway, at least not like this. He had been shoved and pushed but blocked? That was a new one.

"I think so," The young girl responded, "You're new here, right?"

The boy frowned, "Is it that obvious?" 

"Oh yeah, but, I think I can help you out, and I think you can help me out too." 

"Well, I can try my best I suppose. What is it you'd need me to do?"

"It's really simple, actually. I just need you to be my friend. You don't have any, right? I mean, I've seen you in class. You're more of the school's spitball target and punching bag, right?"

 "Unfortunately, I guess you're right." Quentin sighed. "Well, I've only ever had one friend before, apart from my cousin who is kind of like a friend, but, sure! I'd love to be friends with you!" He announced excitedly. "My name is Quentin, it's nice to meet you." 

"Quentin, that's a unique name, I've never heard it before. My name is a bit more basic." She approached him closer before sticking her hand out, "I'm Tiffany, but my friends call me Tiff."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven't heard that name either until now." The boy smiled. "I like your nails, did you paint them yourself?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, and thank you... say Quentin, are you busy in the mornings?" Tiffany fidgeted with her hair, twirling it around her fingers. She seemed nervous.

"Uh, not really. I mean I have to leave way earlier than most people since I ride my bike here but, I am on my own schedule I suppose. Why?"

"Do you think you could meet me in the woods by the playground tomorrow?"

"I guess so?" Quentin questioned, "Is there a reason?"

"No!" She panicked, "I mean, of course not. It's just I want to get to know you, but I have plans today, I was hoping we could get to know each other before school instead."

The twelve-year-old didn't really know what to think. Was this normal for friendships? Maybe it was normal for this school? Well, who was he to question. "Sure!" His response made her smile.

"Awesome, I'll see you tomorrow, Quentin! It was lovely to meet you." And before Beck could respond, Miss Tiffany Bambi had already left his sight.

That was a bit strange. 

This was the first time in a long time when Quentin felt happy leaving school. Sure he had to pick spit balls out of his hair and he'd have to put band-aids on the scrapes that he had got from the other kids pushing him and of course he'd have to deal with his father's verbal abuse... but it was going to be fine. 

He had a friend again.