Identity Crisis (Boy x Boy)

Part Two

"Ah, yes, sorry," I uttered while stepping up to the counter. "I'd like the usual please." I smiled at the barista. She blankly stared while waving the marker around. On second thought, my realization of being a nobody again wasn't completely stuck to my brain. The familiarity I received from the barista threw me off.

A nervous chuckle came out of me as I rubbed the back of my head. I was certain that my cheeks flushed as well. "Uh... what I meant to say was I'll have a caramel mocha latte, twelve ounces." It took me not only a ton of caffeine to wake me up, but also a ton of sugar. That was apparent given my screw-up.

"Name?" the barista asked. She reached over and grabbed the appropriately-sized cup.

"Derek," I replied. As the woman began to write down the name, I caught her midway from making a mistake as she began to spell it with two r's. "Uh, r-e-k, not r-r-i-c-k," I corrected. Leave it to my parents to give me a name with multiple spelling interpretations.

Walking out of the cafe a few minutes later with a drink in hand, I headed towards the outskirts of the city to where the local park was. It always made me sound like an old person, but there was nothing more relaxing than sitting on one of the wooden benches and watching the vibrant lives of various individuals transpire before my view. There was only one reason I could think of for such a behavior, and it had everything to do with the fact that my life felt like a prison.

As liberal as I was allowed to be with my daily adventures, there was always a leash for my parents to tug on whenever they needed me to walk back to them like an obedient dog. I came out of the womb with this leash on, and the day that it wasn't going to be on any longer was far out of reach as far as I was concerned.

Though, it brought up an interesting theory. My parents were involved in crime for years before I emerged into existence, making me question their real motives for having a child to begin with. Was I only to serve as their puppet?

That was how I felt growing up, anyways. I was the third-wheel who did the tasks that his parents didn't feel like dealing with, all while shedding my identity every year or so for a completely new one. Go fetch these drugs from our supplier, Nick. Don't forget to be our lookout on this assassination, Jeremy. We need you to make some sales at your new school, Tim. It was always the same thing, just with different names.

Unfortunately, there was no retreat either. Being born into a felonious family meant staying in a felonious family. My parents corrupted me too much to ever get out of the indentured servitude that was my life. In the same mud pile that my birth givers got their hands dirty, my hands got dirty as well. If I were to ever try and tear away at the collar on my neck and run away, my parents would know how to put me in jail. After all, a crook always knew how to screw over another crook.

That was why I never exposed my parents to anybody. I didn't have the knowledge, connections, or the experience behind my back to take them down without locking myself behind the same bars that I wanted to lock them in. My parents were - and I always hated to admit this - masters at their craft. Playing with them resulted in a game where they always won.

So, sitting on a park bench and looking out at the people who weren't run-ins with illegal activity became a pastime of mine. It was simply a renewing experience to fantasize what my life would be like if it wasn't dominated by the nefarious individuals who called themselves my parents.

I sighed as I took a drink from my coffee and observed the park's wonder unfold in front of me while sitting on the closest bench that I could find. The flavor from the sweet, warm concoction smoothly traveled down my throat and graced my taste buds with its delicious presence. My mouth suffered a bit of discomfort due to the temperature, but it was so worth it to immerse my tongue in the taste.