Stand up for what you are

Well? What are you guys looking at?

"Stand up for what you are," Charles whispered in my ear, before kissing my cheek and coming to rest behind his sister, who looked at me with a funny look.

Probably not the best way to start a story, but this is my perspective, my way of saying, what I think I want to bring out into the world, and that's alright because you know what? The only person who will never judge you is yourself. At least, that holds true for me.

So, probably I should start right from the beginning.

I'm Alex, your average high-school guy, and if you think that I sound like an '80s guy, you probably are correct. Not about the time factor, but about me being from the '80s. No, not time travelled. I did not freeze in ice either, or at least that is what people here seem to believe in when they look at me, although not many do that.

Let's go way back. A time a little longer than four decades. The time when you didn't have to worry about anything like being too famous, or too unpopular. When did the internet arrive into this world again? No idea, but it wasn't as portable as it is now.

Again, I'm drifting off-topic. Sorry about that.

So, what I wanted to talk about was what I am, and that is still a sixteen-year-old and not some sixty-year-old dude, with a white beard and a big stomach. Probably a huge stereotype, but that was how my father was.

Anyway, I think I drift off-topic too much, but the point is, I have no idea where I am going with this either. Also, what's up with smartphones? Yes, I know we wished for portable telephones, but this wasn't what we thought about either. Or, maybe, people nowadays are smarter than we are. Like, have you seen smart cars? They open with what? Voice control? Isn't that like a little scary?

Whatever.

What I had in my mind when I started this was a rant, leading to where I am now.

Also, what happened to type-writers anyway? Sorry.

So, how do I come through with this without bursting into tears? My parents are dead. Probably not the saddest thing I had heard, but it is still sad to know that anyone I used to know back then is either grey-haired, buried in a grave or burnt up in ashes.

And also, I don't have a home. Did I say that already? So, I'm hoping to build up a band, but there seem to be people who only look down upon me for the way that I dress. Like, you deserve it, freak, they say.

Oh well, if only they knew how freaky they themselves were. Like, why would you want to wear shoes and click pictures of them to post them on your profile if you don't even want to go out? And by the way, for your information, it isn't as cold as it used to be during my time, but I think it is all subjective.

Also, I'm craving a drink. Do you have any? Soda? Water? Juice? Milkshake? Anything?

Right, even if you did, you are probably just sipping on it, and not caring about what happens to this dude. But, that's probably okay. Honestly, I'm no better than you.

The sun is too scorching hot for me to be on the streets. At least, this place doesn't really have many buildings, for people to peer at me sympathetically while deciding that I wasn't worth the money.

Oh, I finally found a place. It seems to be almost abandoned, but I don't know. Some people do not care to maintain their living place anyway. So, why on earth would I settle here, if I was already suspicious about people living here anyway? 'Cause if it wasn't already obvious, I'm tired, exhausted, and looking for a nice cold shower.

Just as I had settled on the porch, I heard screaming inside the house, and before I had time to get up and walk away, the door opened, with a male voice shouting, as did another voice, which seemed to be way older than the former, and the guy walked backwards, and obviously not seeing me sitting like the fatigued fool that I was, he would have fallen if it was not for my intense reflexes, reflexes so intense that they only managed to grab to the back of his head, to avoid him from getting knocked out with his head colliding on the sharp edges of the stairs.

However, doing so, put me out of my equilibrium, and I jerked forward, the boy now coming to my rescue, holding me in place, and he looked at me in surprise and amusement, as his eyes travelled down to my clothes. Yeah, fashion is quite replaceable.

He smiled slyly, before shifting our positions, where I was the one looking up at him.

"Now, what did we talk about, young man?" The source of the voice appeared in the doorway, a beautiful woman, whose face had lost some of its youthful glow, but was still magnificent, and I took a look at the boy who had forgotten that he was hovering above me, and was instead staring at the woman, who coughed, seemingly embarrassed. He laughed, before looking towards me, and with an alarmed gaze, he jumped off me, and I pushed myself off the porch, motioning my head to the left and then to the right, before rolling it.

"That was not nice, young man," I told him, and he looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Is this the boyfriend you were talking about, Charles?" He looked at her in surprise, before looking at me, and his face morphed into a pleading tone. Apparently, this homeless guy would have to be an actor. Well, good for me, then. I could persuade his mother to give me a roof until I found a home for myself. However, I somehow knew the idea would not work.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine, and I looked at his mother who seemed to have a smile on her face, for what reason, I dared not imagine.

"Then, you should definitely go to the prom." She squealed. "Like, look at him. He's so adorable." His eyebrows raised slightly, but ever-present, and I looked at him with an annoyed look, which his mother mistook as an issue between lovers. "Oh." She smiled again, before inviting the both of us in.

"You both can hang out in Charles' room." She told us, as though the whole idea of her son dating a guy who seemed weird as hell, and was wearing a hat, and carrying a stick along with a guitar case was an amazing prospect.

"Why is your mother so happy to see me?" I asked him as he locked the door to his room, and came to sit on his chair, while I sat on his rug, trying really hard to not soil anything in his neatly kept room.

"You match her idea of a boyfriend, to be honest." He replied, with a laugh, then sobering up, he continued. "She used to have a crush on this guy, whose name was Alexander, but he mysteriously disappeared."

"Did she ever talk to him?" I asked, almost curious.

"Yes. Apparently, his girlfriend was her sister, and she used to love it when he came along to pay visits to their family. He used to always focus his attention on her, going to parks with her. One day, he took her to the amusement park, and then to the Ferris wheel, where both of them got on the same seat, but what he didn't know was that she had motion sickness. She puked all along the way to her house. Maybe not all, but yeah, and her parents were pretty livid, and they scolded him for not taking good care of her, but when he apologized, they were so easily calmed down, you can't even believe it." He laughed.

I frowned when I realized something, and he, noticing my change in expression, asked me if everything was alright.

The only reply that I had, however, was a question. "Does your mom somehow have the name of Carla?"