Forks was where I was headed, in about half an hour. I turned on my iPhone's Bluetooth, opened up my Macbook and ran a Google search for Forks.
"Forks is a city in Clallam County, Washington, United States. The population was 3,120 at the 2000 census. It is named after the forks in the nearby Quillayute, Bogachiel, Calawah, and Sol Duc rivers.
For many years, the city's economy was fueled by the local timber industry. With recent declines in the industry, however, Forks has had to rely on the nearby Clallam Bay Correctional Center and Olympic Corrections Center as a source of jobs. Forks is a popular destination for sport fishers who fish for salmon and rainbow trout in nearby rivers."
This all meant nothing to me. Reading this excerpt from Wikipedia's page on Forks made me realize that I was inordinately excited about my relocation to this inconsequential town.
All I could remember from my childhood was that it rained. A lot. And it was a sleepy little town, a town full of sleepers.
This was exciting. Sleepers could never see what was right in front of them. I hoped their lack of sight would hide my strange emotions that I didn't even understand.
What was most exciting was the fresh start this small town provided for me. No one knew my story. No one had any inclination that I was warring against what might just be my true nature.
Phoenix had held many hellish nightmares that were actually a part of my reality. I can clearly see the last day that I was present at Saint Mary's, and hell it was. I had been caught doing something I had done every day, something that wasn't against the law, but something that was looked down upon as if it were illegal.
There was a boy that I had been interested in. James, they called him. I saw him every day, and I never could help sneaking a peek. As long as I was always sneaky and stealthy. And I was. Except in one instance.
Their looks of disgust were palpable. I could feel the disgust, anger and hatred radiating off of all of the boys in the locker room, but James' was almost painful. They attacked, and I felt physical pain then. I was knocked out after a kick to my gut hit me so hard that my head collided with a locker. I ended up in the nurse's office somehow. They called my mother, and I told her everything. I detailed my confusion and my anger against the unknown. I told her it was not a part of my nature, that I wouldn't accept it. I could see the war between her eyes. She wanted to go with her new husband, to travel with him as he played baseball, but she knew she needed to stay with me. I made the decision for her. I told her that I was going to Forks. That I needed a fresh start, that it would be good for me. She didn't believe it, I could see that, but her desire won her over, and she accepted it. I don't fault her for this. I needed Forks just like she needed Phil.
"Flight 110 to Port Angeles, now boarding at gate A7."
Here goes.