I don't know exactly where I was born, no one but my real mother really knows that but no one knows who she is or where she could possibly be. You see, me and my brother were one of those 'left on a doorstep' baby stories. It's pretty cliché but fire stations have those safe drop off places for a reason. Most people wouldn't guess though, they think we're test tube babies or something because we look like our adopted parents, but that's just some weird coincidence. We were adopted about two weeks or so after our actual birthday so my parents decided to make the day they brought us home for the first time to be our birthdate, the first of July. When we got older my brother, Alfred, didn't want to have the same birthday anymore because he thought double birthdays, especially ones with me, were, and I quote, "hella lame." After that he made our parents throw two parties, the first for me on our actual birthday, the second for him on the Fourth of July.
When I think back to my first memory, I think of my first plane ride. I don't remember how old I was, or where we were going but I do remember it was the first plane ride because of how afraid I was. We'd been in the airport for a while and I had lost my favorite stuffed toy somewhere while going through security. I have always been sensitive, and that toy was the best thing in my life at the time, so I started crying. The attention I was getting while trying to explain that my toy was gone made Alfred jealous, so he started crying loudly and running around, gaining all the attention. By the time our Dad and Papa calmed him down they'd forgotten I had been crying. I never got that toy back. The actual plane ride was less eventful, I'd gotten a seat next to my Dad, who was no good at calming my first-plane ride nerves.
By now you've probably realized I didn't get adopted by a straight couple but rather a gay couple. I love my parents, they're great and I'm grateful to have them but they're both pretty unique. I call them Papa and Dad.
Papa's name is Francis Bonnefoy, he is an artist, he has always worked from home to take care of us so he is the more nurturing of the two. He's great at cooking and baking, he does most of the cleaning, yet somehow he isn't that responsible. He likes to act inappropriate with Dad, which is gross, along with not caring much for education and grades because of how he got successful without college. He's carefree, lovable and humorous, so why would he ever marry someone like my Dad.
My Dad's name is Arthur Kirkland, he's a strict guy. He demands we do as we are told, that we get all our chores done, we finish all our homework. He's always preaching about alcohol and drugs being horrible but me and Alfred both know that he drinks, so does Papa but they are never drunk in front of us. Dad went to college, got his degree, and is now this cliche grumpy businessman. He's an accountant, which makes sense because he is possibly the smartest guy I know. Dad is horrible at cooking, so much so that he is not allowed near the kitchen, unless he's making tea, that's the one thing he's good at making(even though you barely make tea.) He tries to be as nurturing as Papa, but he's more of the scolding type. I still love him just as much, though.
He loves to teach us to be "proper" though, it's probably the best part of his life as far as I can tell. He basically trained us to speak in a perfect British accent like him, never mispronouncing a word, only using proper grammar, always using manners, but I don't mind, it's fun. Makes us 'unique' in a way.
I feel my brother is the exact opposite as me, which is why I find it strange we look so similar. As a child, Papa would dress us up in the same outfits, to make us match, even if Dad didn't like it, which is why Papa allowed him to give us the same short haircut until we were old enough to pick our own. No one could tell us apart by just looking, they were surprised that our parents could tell us apart. Once someone got to know us two it was like we were positive and negative, I was nervous and quiet, he was confident a loud.
Now-a-days we seem like bigger opposites than before. I became skinny and pale, with long hair and my eyes darkened in colour. My brother became "buff," as he describes it, he's got shorter hair and less sickly looking skin along with keeping those bright blue eyes. Really, I seem to be the only one who changed.
I call Alfred 'Alfie' but he hates it, demanding I call him by his full name or 'Al' but I like to tease him. He's weird, he doesn't like our parents as much as I do, he doesn't really like them at all, really.
He craves attention and has always needed it since he was young yet he calls Dad and Papa by their names and constantly reminds them that they aren't his real parents. I kind of hate him for that, how can you just do that to your own parents, they cared for us since we were just weeks old, how can I love them so much while he seems to hate them.
My whole life has been traveling around, since as long as I can remember. Dad wasn't an accountant then, he had this job were he managed things from branches of his company all over the world. We'd pick up everything and move from country to country, renting new apartments in each place. We were homeschooled at that time.
Our first few years were spent in Seaside, Oregon, but I can't remember any of that. I can, however remember my time spent in France, the one country I actually made lasting friends since I speak fluent French. I'm still friends with them, we write letters to each other because we believe it is better than using phones to text. We'd walk around the city together and get foods from different restaurants, just talking and eating great food. I made my first crush in France, but I was never able to get close enough to him to send him letters after I moved away, which is a real shame.
Now, we're back in Oregon, this time in Portland, because Dad decided he wasn't going to travel anymore so we can go to public school. We moved here at the beginning of July, right after we turned 15, getting an apartment a few blocks from the high school. We were going to start school at the end of August, going into Sophomore year with everyone else so we're not much of the 'new' kids.
Everything was going well, we were moving in fine when I fell down the stairs carrying some boxes a few days after we arrived. I got hurt pretty bad, broke my right wrist and messed up my leg pretty bad. The wrist needed a cast but the leg needed surgery and lots of time to heal. So I couldn't get to school on time. I couldn't get the school until about halfway through October, though I still had a brace and a limp when I arrived.
I came to school in the thick of things, my brother had already made a reputation for himself but I was the weird new kid with a limp. I have no idea what there is to come but I can't say I'm not terrified.