Gift of Life
Chapter 1 - Guilty Celebration
Seven syllables. Renesmee Carlie Cullen. Six if you used the shortened version of my peculiar name. 'Nessie'. Like the Loch Ness Monster. Deep and dark and murky. A mystery. But I wasn't in any way dark and murky, though for my age I seemed a bit too deep. And then, many of the aspects my life remained unexplained and difficult to fathom on my part.
The questions asked in the classroom were all very simple and easy to answer. Unfortunately, mine, were not. Why was I the same height as last year? And my photo ID card almost identical to that of last springs? It seemed I'd stopped growing, and for some reason Dad had taken down the height chart in the hall. The same chart he'd so studiously taken to examining year after year, reveling in my rapid growth. The rate at which I grew was also mind-boggling, to say the least.
Inch after inch, I rose in stature, gaining at least four or more in a month or even less. My hair grew at such a tremendous rate that mother never bothered to take me to the hair salon. Too expensive, and I never did like those silly fru fru hairstyles all the girls and women sauntered around with. I always thought that people would want their hair to be out of their faces, but apparently I'd been mistaken. Almost every person I looked at had somehow hidden away either their right or left eye beneath a stretch of hair. Was that supposed to make a statement? It obviously had some meaning, though unbeknownst altogether to the likes of me.
So I just kept my hair simple; No silly bangs, side, or not. It felt good to rant about something as unimportant and flimsy as the way you keep your hair. Made it seem like I had something normal to think about. But I digress, the real problem wasn't really my hair, but the growing suspicion that my parents were hiding something from me.
Charlie and Renee were divorced. I'd never held it against them like most kids with separating parents. If you love someone, you love them. If you don't, you don't. It didn't make sense to force two people to put on a show just to ease your own pain. Kids these days were so selfish. Anyhow, the two had never really cleared up any of my probing searches, wether they were in love, or loathe. For example, when I'd asked why I had a different last name than the two of them, they'd answered slowly, "Just a.. minor detail honey, it doesn't mean anything. Don't think about it."
'Don't think about it" ?? How could I abstain from pondering about what could possibly be the reason for completely un-similar last names amongst family? I only had the basics really.
I woke up in a hospital bed around the age of 15, they said. They, being the doctors and medical staff, of course. I was told that I was in a car crash - a reasonable enough explanation - , that I had suffered a concussion, and my growth hormones may have unbalanced themselves, possibly causing them to overreact, and take effect on my growth rate. It was a rather frail explanation compared to the pages long saga of events I had expected, but nevertheless, had proved true.
And so today was my seventeenth birthday. A day of celebration, a day of hugs, and presents wrapped in bright colored paper. Another thing about myself; I'd never had a birthday party before. It was the norm with the others, as I so frequently called them. The 'normal' ones. For some reason Charlie and Renee didn't want people seeing me before I turned sixteen, and had begun attending the local high school amongst other children my age. I couldn't see why, but didn't press for information; it was easy to see I wasn't going to get any. Though there were never any parties, mom and dad always put up a fuss with cakes, fizzy drinks, and gifts of all shapes and sizes. I hated the food and drink as always, but the presents never ceased to amuse me. At least for a week or so. Then, I would shove them back into the recesses of my closet, the game system or whatnot no longer of use to me. I went downstairs waiting for the hugs and squeals to ensue on mom's part, a warm,"Happy Birthday, kid.", from dad. Mom always visited on holidays, and she was absolutely enraptured with what I had to say if I called. Unless of course, I had another one of my 'questions'. That was not the case this time. Mom hung back on the couch, and too quickly to seem normal, Dad busied himself in the kitchen, once the sound of my footsteps announced my arrival.
"Well!" I felt my brow furrow in confusion. "Isn't this, a nice reception?"
No reply.
"Er...Hello? Am I invisible here, or what?"
Finally, Mom spoke up. "Um..Sweetheart? Your.." she coughed nervously, "Father. And I. We have something to tell you..."
Good old mom, always succinct and to the point, whereas Charlie preferred burying bad and awkward news in a good long conversation completely of topic.
I now watched my mother wring her delicate hands, waiting for her to continue. "Yes...?" Realization hit, and I sighed. "Is this about the 'don't touch anyone' thing? I swear, I haven't made contact with anyone but you guys. Though you could explain why I've been required to act incredibly anti-social.."
Again with the coughing and hand wringing. "Oh no, it isn't that.." She artfully dodged my question. "It's about....Well. About your growth rate. And appearance...And us. And your parents."
All those 'ands'. How ungrammatical, I'd secretly chided to myself. The height/growth regiment didn't surprise me, we had that talk every year. Keeping my condition secret and all that. Appearance fit into the same subject matter of course, since growing alters your looks. Ninth grade AP Science. But it caught my attention how she classified "us" and "your parents", into two different categories. And of course, it was exactly that subject on which my 'us' were so bravely encroaching on.
This was it, though at the time, I didn't know it. The conversation that had already been delayed a year, letting my suspicions sink in just a little further. The fact that for the past five years, and not seventeen, I had been living a lie. A gift so precariously wrapped in yards of deceptive gauze, and taped up tight. One that had been hidden away from my knowing for so long. That couldn't wait any longer. Seemingly much too dangerous to unwrap at a younger age..
The gift of life. My life.
A.N: Tell me what you guys think of this story, please! And if I should continue it or not. Wrote this on a whim, and I can assure you I have plenty of ideas for this one, if you'd like me to extend it further. All critique is welcome. Thanks for reading!