Prologue

So this story is basically about a girl. Of course not an ordinary girl you silly little billy goat! This girl has a ton of problems -I know, the suspense is killing you!- and this tidbit of her life is how she copes with them. October (Her parents were tired of all those April's, May's,and June's there are in this world) has a horrible life, an even worse childhood and is hanging around with all the "bad asses" in her town. Okay, she wishes. . .the truth is that she has no friends! Now don't give her sympathy just yet, she will rise above and beyond and be a hero for all the world to love! Doesn't it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Well, too bad. . .because thats not going to happen. But she's a pretty cool chick, she did things like talk in her middle school graduation (the person next to her told her to shut up),and she totally loves to write in third person (those last words are strictly not my own, from a website I found, so dont track me down and kill me please).

The Sorta-Kinda Autobiography of October DuBoise

Chapter 1:

Okay, so I won't explain to you how I was born. . .that might break alot of kids dream of meeting the bird that came down and delivered them. Also for the bad imagery for people who've learned otherwise. But I will tell you that my parents aren't exactly what you would call perfect, they're far from it in fact. Paul and Sunny (her real name is Mary, I'll explain later) met in the best possible place you could to find your soulmate. At a frat party in college. They apparently experienced what disney pricess addicts call love at first sight. What a beautiful thing, especially through drunken eyes. They did alot of things on the night in which they met, and one of those things included making me. Not on purpose, of course, they were "experimenting". Paul and Sunny were free spirited hippies (yes,apparently they had those in the '90s) who still didn't believe in safe sex. Whatever, I guess I should've thanked them for letting me exist in this world. So when Sunny realized that she was pregnant, Paul whipped out the wedding ring, you know, the kind you can get from the bubble gum machines, and they ran off to viva las vegas. Now they were a happy couple -okay that's a stretch-, and my mother's belly was getting bigger by the second.

After I was born my paents made the quick decision to move into a home where they could travel the world. During this stage I was a pinkish blob who couldn't even lift my head up yet, so I couldn't talk them out of us moving into a trailer. Yes, it was a comfortable living space with one bathroom and a kitchen that so conveniently held the couch and TV, at the same time. The person selling it said that the particular part of the mobile home was a King Room (the words kitchen and living smushed together with room put at the end). His hill billy charm worked wonders and the next week that was home sweet home. The three of us moved from trailer park to trailer park, only to stop to buy gas which we could barely afford. My parents home-schooled me (if you call making mud pies school), so I didn't have any friends. Not like I would have the chance to get any with how much we moved around. We resided in Wisconsin, Kansas, Oregan, Kentucky, and Georgia. If you looked up the word nomad, DuBoise would be the definition. I didn't really think of my lifestyle as anything different, I thought of it like having a lifetime of vacation. That was until I reached the age of six (when we first got a television) and saw the Brady Bunch. It amazed me that their house didn't move! I lived off crackers and peanut butter for breakfast lunch and dinner, washing it down with coke (mixed with rum if I picked up the wrong glass).

Sunny and Paul had no money, and my grandparents weren't exactly supporters of they're so called "free expression" lifestyle. But not to worry, that phase didn't last long either. After a good long dose of Oprah, Sunny decided to do something productive with her life. My mom took all the newspapers she could find, including the ones she used as my blankets (small joke, crickets, ahem. . .) and got down to business. I was playing with my barbies and trying to put a skirt on Ken; while my mother circled jobs with a big red permanent marker to regain some of the dignity she lacked. Her choices included the following: an administrator for the art school nearby, one of those people who teach yoga to old ladies (on television), and a manager for a barnes and nobles. She had to settle for wiping down the tables and cleaning the bathrooms there. But she was very determined to make it to the top, in fact she believed that she was already there. Sunny got fired after she yelled at a customer for leaving their straw wrappers on the floor, following her putting mop water in the manager's locker after they gave her a warning. Yes, she wanted to make a statement before she left. Good or bad, I'll never know.

If you haven't noticed, my mother has a bit of a problem, which is exactly why she went perfectly with my father, Paul DuBoise. He worked as a plumber for quite a bit, but decided it was time to move on. Apparently he watched a few episodes of Oprah himself and wanted to start "bringing home the bacon". Paul decided that he should be a realtor. In the job interview he claimed that he had alot of experience with selling things (he was the guy everybody came to when they wanted pot in high school). So why shouldn't he move on to bigger things, such as houses? Granted that my father had no experience as to selling things that were, I don't know, legal. Of course, he didn't land a job, but got stuck scrubbing toilets at the office where all the classy house-sellers go. This must really go great with the ladies, since my father had an affair with the head hauncho of the business herself. He didn't even keep it a secret.

Dear Mary and October,

I can't deal with this life anymore. I don't love you. So don't bother getting in contact with me, because the connections will be one sided. I'm sorry.

from,

Paul

My father ran away four days before my seventh birthday, he didn't even leave a gift. And that was just the begining. . .