I wanna fly

The plane ride was long and stuffy. It wasn't only Miss Smith's breath that smelled fishy.

The pretty stewardess smiled profusely at him and offered him apple juice. He thanked her and that was the only words he uttered. Miss Smith didn't try to converse, as she was wholly immersed in a magazine.

Matthew was happy she didn't. The clouds they flew over interested him. They made a solid grey blanket he couldn't see through. He knew they were made of vapor, but they looked like a solid, grey ground. The plane could crash against it. He would fall to his death.

Or maybe the snow under would save him.

He closed his eyes, tired of staring. He easily imagined the snow falling and pilling up under the concrete sky. Under them.

He was higher than the clouds.

He was back on earth too soon.

"I wanted my daughter's body, not the fucking kid."

His grandfather was already there, bent on a desk, when they hastily arrived in that airport's room. Matthew could only see his round back, clad in flannel.

The old man brusquely signed paperwork without giving his grandson a sidelong glance. When finally, he looked up, it was to give the papers to an executive. Then, he made a move to leave the room. Miss Smith blocked the door with her plump body before he could.

Then very, very bad words Matthew hadn't the right to say had left the old man's chapped lips.

"Sir," Miss Smith blocked nimbly Mr. Williams' incensed movements to exit, "you're his only family."

"So?"

Miss Smith smiled mechanically before droning on the administrative procedure. Matthew heard things about support, Crown wards and what not. His eyes were fixed on his grandfather. His scraggly white beard swallowed his cheeks and his weak chin.

His mouth spat words Matthew couldn't misunderstand.

I don't want the bastard child.

Why should I take care of him? I'm too old.

Send him to an orphanage or whatever.

I don't have money to raise him. Children cost a lot these days.

Send him away from me.

His grandfather's reddened face tensed when he opened his mouth to spew insults. He sponged down his forehead a couple of times with a grey handkerchief as he roared. The executive officer who received the paperwork glanced disapprovingly at the ruckus, before staring back at his knees. He fiddled mutely with his pen.

Miss Smith's smile seemed to be carved in her fat face.

Matthew was in the middle of the adult's group, but he could have been a ghost, given how everybody thought nothing of him.

Finally, his only kin alive shoved aside Miss Smith with a rude nudge and exited the small room.

His grandfather left the room without looking at him even once. That habit had to run in the family.

[The one we wanted to live died. What is left… is a bastard no one wants. ]

In the end, his grandfather somehow proved he really couldn't take care of a child, especially of Matthew. Even if, according to Miss Smith, he was filthy rich and healthy as a horse. He must have handsomely greased the judge's hands, she grumbled sometimes. The judgement had been too quick, too easy, to be normal.

(Matthew learnt he was the one who paid for the tiny house in the middle of nowhere. For his daughter's health. To hide the bastard. To be a good father.) The boy decided he would never, ever have a beard.

For the case, Matthew thought it fine. He was content. He didn't want to live with the old man. There was no love between them, so why should they force things? Matthew would not have tolerated his booming voice and wild antics. He liked Miss Smith's awkward silence and prattle a lot better.

His grandfather wouldn't have tolerated his existence.

The outcome had been good for the both of them. Had it not? They were free from each other's presence, weren't they? They could happily live the rest o their life without thinking about each other, right?

Right?

Matthew found out the very night after the judge's decision that he was wrong.

Nothing was more terrible than to picture what could have been but would never happen. Matthew had a lot of practice in that domain. He still tried to imagine his mother's smile when sleep eluded him.

He still couldn't do it properly. He could only feel her cold skin and see her condescending pout.

Thus he spent his nights in the dormitory, dreaming of a family that never existed and waiting for a home.

That run down place belonged to an old couple who took problematic children in for a short amount of time. Matthew, a girl who preferred to be mute and a youth who screamed at everyone and smoked joints were roommates and said problematic children.

Matthew didn't like his hosts. The old couple laughed at the youth's "energetic" behavior. Matthew saw the husband smoke a few joints with the youth.

Adults weren't supposed to do bad things, his teacher had once told him. Adults did not care about rules, Matthew had learnt.

The aged pair didn't really talk or interact with Matthew or the girl. Matthew lived in a corner of the building, turning the yellow pages of the available books. The girl –he never learnt her name- spent her time next to him.

He stared at her sometimes. She stared back.

They understood each other, without a word being exchanged.

She had the habit of playing with her cuff when she was deep in thought. She knew, and Matthew would have liked to have the same power, when the teenager would show up. She would disappear somewhere until silence came back.

One day, she left. The couple gave no explanation.

Matthew missed her silence.

He missed her grey, melancholic eyes.

Miss Smith, when she finally visited him after the judgement, saw the shadows under his dropping eyes everybody else overlooked. She took him to McDonalds to cheer him up. He forced the food down his throat so she would smile.

Matthew decided that Miss Smith, even if she smelled bad and smoked too much, had a good heart. She fought for him more than anybody else had. More than his mother had.

The food clogged at the back of throat.

"We found a family for you." She said, her eyes focused on the fries between her index and thumb. She turned it around before globing it up.

"It'll be better than the dorms. I don't even know why they still have the right to-" Miss Smith stopped herself. She took a sip of her pop and cleared her throat.

"Anyway, you'll meet the couple tomorrow. Normally, if every goes well, you'll stay with them for quite a long time."

Miss Smith had explained to him before what awaited him. It was not adoption and he could be moved to another family soon enough, but it was apparently better than the dormitory where he was living. Matthew finished his fries slowly, his throat no longer a vice.

He wouldn't have to smell the heavy scent of joints anymore, then.

"That couple's real nice, you know. They had other kids in their custody and all of them were well treated."

What did 'well treated' mean? Would the husband offer him a smoke? Would the wife cook soggy noodles? Would they talk to him, once in a while?

"They have an older boy with them right now. Hmmm – his name's Abe, I think."

As long as the older boy didn't scream at him, Matthew would be content. Miss Smith continued to talk, telling him how it would better there. He would live on a farm, in the wilderness. He liked the countryside, didn't he? Of course he did. He would be in his element.

Besides, the other boy, whose name she couldn't quite remember, would certainly be as sweet as Matthew. The couple was beyond adorable. She liked that word; everything was 'adorable' for her.

An adorable family. An adorable farm. An adorable boy.

Matthew nodded. He hadn't much of a choice, anyway.

The couple met Matthew the day after. It was a middle aged couple, and as Miss Smith explained to him in hushed tones, they couldn't conceive. So they took care of other people's kids.

They liked Matthew almost immediately. Chloe –that's how he was supposed to call her- thought him cute. Mister John assented to everything his wife said. Thus, after a few days and boring, tenuous paperwork, Miss Smith took him to their farm.

She blabbered during the whole ride to the Martin's farm. She blew her nose with an old handkerchief and cleared her throat quite a few times during the trip. Matthew gave her tissues from the box on his knees from time to time. When they finally arrived in front of the house, her white knuckles made a stark contrast against the black wheel she held tightly.

She stopped the car. She made no other movement.

Matthew gently put the last tissue he had in the gap between the steering wheel and her trembling hand. He took his bag and opened the door.

The hard snow made a crackling sound when he put his foot on it. "Matthew." He turned back, his second foot already on the cold ground. She stretched her hand out and gave him a slip of paper. Her puffy eyes were still locked on the house. "Call me if you ever need help, OK?"

Matthew knew she shouldn't do that. He took the slip anyway. He shoved it in his pocket. A moment later, her old car left the parking with a cloud of black smoke.

Just in time.

"Matthew!" Chloe stood in the doorstep of the side door, in her slippers on the salted ice. She waved wildly. He walked to her and she engulfed him in a hug. "Welcome to our humble home, buddy!"

She didn't let go of him until they were inside, comfortably sitting next to an antique wood-burner in the living room, a cup of tea in hand. "John couldn't be here to welcome you- you know what it is, working on a farm."

No, Matthew didn't know, but he nodded anyway. She chuckled, before kissing his forehead. One second later she was in the hallway. "Abu! Get down there! Your brother is here!"

Feet pounded down the staircases. A gangly teen appeared on the threshold of the living room. "Do try not to be an elephant when you come down, dear." Chloe said, before turning to Matthew with a smile.

"Matthew, here's Abu, our resident adolescent." She said, smiling broadly.

Matthew knew what she wanted him to do. He got up and offered his best smile. It hurt his cheeks.

Chloe ruffled his hair. She stared pointedly at her older boy. He immediately muttered a greeting and bobbed his head in Matthew's direction.

Abu's frizzy dark hair stuck in every direction after Chloe ruffled it. He took a step back to escape her hands, grumbling under his breath. His brown eyes briefly ogled at the younger boy before he turned to Chloe.

"Chloe, what's for dinna?" He said.

She nudged him gently. "Everything you hate; lots and lots of veggies."

"Hamburgers, then." He said, eyes twinkling. Matthew thought the sight beautiful.

"Indeed! How did you know?" She smiled sweetly at her older boy.

"I can smell your hamburgers a mile away." He grinned.

Chloe laughed, before a strident alarm rang. "The buns!" She exclaimed.

The thin woman walked quickly to the kitchen door, but stopped on her track before she was out. "I'll let you boys get to know each other. Dinner will be ready in a few-." Another alarm rang. The rest of her sentence was lost as she flew to the kitchen.

The wood cracked. Sparks fluttered around before dying in the burner.

"Hey, you." His brother's broad smile had disappeared. The teen leaned against the threshold, tanned arms crossed on his chest. "If you call me Abu, I'll break your legs. My name's Adelio."

Matthew waited for Adelio to crack a joke or just smile. That was clearly a joke, right?

The teen stretched out nonchalantly, before approaching the couch where Matthew sat with long strides. "By the way... I'm not your fucking brother." Adelio was so close Matthew could smell the earthy smell of his shirt. "Understood?"

Matthew nodded.

"Good." Adelio patted his cheek and rough met delicate in a gentle movement. It could have been a caress. It wasn't.

The rugged teen retreated a few steps and calmly left the living room. The wood, devoured by the fire, cracked in the silent room. The lukewarm tea inside Matthew's cup tasted bitter.

His eyes stung. The paper slip in his pocket burned his side.

When, finally, he got up and step after step, made his way to the kitchen, Adelio was setting the table. He put down each utensil with precision, in an unhurried manner. On the other hand, Chloe was a hurricane, twisting and whirling everywhere around her kitchen.

Adelio took a step back every time Chloe approached him, just to make sure he wasn't in the way. When he was done setting the table, he sat down. He observed briefly Matthew who still stood alone, in his corner, before he engrossed himself with his glass of water.

"Matthew, come here." She relieved him of his cup. He chose the seat next to Chloe. It would be safe there.

As he pulled the chair, Chloe called him. "That's John's seat, darling. Come sit next to Abu."

They had chosen seat? Matthew pursed his lips. What was different between that one and the other one? And why couldn't John sit next to Adelio? Why couldn't he sit next to Chloe?

The middle-aged woman pushed him to the other side of the table gently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Adelio's quirked lips as he tilted his glass. Matthew sat down. Chloe put down the dishes.

A door was slammed on the other side of house. A second later, John entered the kitchen, some snowflakes still stuck at the end of his sparse, gray hair.

The middle-aged man, who looked older than he really was with all the wrinkles he had around his eyes, smiled kindly at his two wards before sitting down. Chloe sat down too.

Everybody took whatever he or she wanted to make their hamburger. Matthew copied the family. "Abu, could you help me with the truck after dinner? McMillan is sure it's done for, but I disagree." John plastered his buns with ketchup, before munching on his hamburger. Matthew imitated.

Chloe nudged her husband. "That thing is so old. I don't even know why you don't just buy a new one."

The master of the house gulped a mouthful. "Because it worked just fine until McMillan decided it was a good idea to open the engine."

Matthew didn't understand how John could eat so much ketchup. It was nauseating. He ate his hamburger anyway, albeit in small bites.

"That thing asphyxiates everybody with its black smoke." Chloe commented.

"If we have to buy a new one, we will buy a new one. I just think McMillan is blowing it out. Abu and I are going to work on it tonight." John said while he poured everybody water. Matthew thanked him quietly.

Adelio finished his second serving. "Sure."

Matthew finished his first hamburger, fragmenting the last bits of buns into smaller morsel to make them last longer after he finished the meat. He wouldn't take a second serving. Adelio and John were wolfing the remaining ones. Besides, he wasn't hungry.

The hamburgers were delicious though, even if he had ruined one with ketchup. The buns' exterior was crispy while the inside was squishy. The meat tasted like nothing he ever had before. It was even better than the McDonalds' he had with Miss Smith.

Chloe smiled sweetly at him. "Good, isn't it?"

Matthew half-opened his mouth, a yes lodged somewhere in his mouth. "They're the best!" Adelio exclaimed. John grunted his agreement as he munched on his fourth hamburger. Chloe served the very last one to Adelio with a smile. "If they're so good, you better finish it all."

Adelio, Matthew had noticed, smiled a lot at their hostess, got up every time she needed sometimes or made a movement to get up, and joked with their host. John grumbled about this and that softly, but rarely interjected in the conversation.

Chloe asked Matthew questions and Adelio answered.

"Do you like to read?"

"Ye-"

"We should totally repaint the old barn." Adelio interjected.

"It's true the paint is a bit old." The farmer mused. "But I think it can wait a year or two."

Chloe hummed in agreement. She turned toward her youngest –and cutest- ward. "We're going to show you the whole farm tomorrow. I hope you like to work!"

"Abukcheech here will help ya." John reassured Matthew.

"My name's Adelio." The teen grumbled under his breath.

Chloe laughed, high and loud, before she patted his hand. "Sure it is, Abu!"

"Abukcheech means mouse in Algonquin." John said helpfully to Matthew, as if it explained everything.

"Since he is such a big, mature boy, he doesn't like that name much." Chloe added as she put down an apple pie. "We just call him Abu for short. You can use his nickname too, Matthew. He doesn't like it, but he really is our frizzy, big mouse."

The glare Adelio sent his way told him how much he would suffer if he did.

John wolfed down a slice an instant after it arrived on his plate.

"Thanks for the dinner." John muttered. One second later, the middle-aged man was up. He murmured something to his wife, nodded at his wards and left. He muttered things about work and old truck on his way out. Adelio gulped down his slice with a glass of water and followed suit.

"Do you want some?" She asked, staring pointedly at her homemade pie. It smelled good. Matthew liked apples very much.

But Chloe hadn't taken a slice. "No, thank you very much." Matthew said.

She nodded and put it back in the fridge. After, she cleaned the table and Matthew immediately offered his help. She accepted with a delighted smile, telling where this and that went.

Soon, they had finished. Chloe then dragged him through the whole house. They stored John's tools and 'junks' in a part of the basement: he promised to not play there. The other part of the basement was filled by an enormous freezer, an old kitchenette they never used and different machines such as a washer, a dryer and the heating system. Spiders were the persistent tenants of the cellar Chloe couldn't quite get rid of.

The first floor comprised the living room, the kitchen –Chloe's kingdom, so to speak –, a small bathroom with a shower, a guest room and the garage where a four by four rested. His hostess called it 'our red beast'.

Narrow stairs led to the second floor. Another, bigger washroom awaited them, and four bedrooms. The most interesting thing on that floor was the wall bookcase. It was a perfect blend of chaos and balance. The books looked like they would tumble down at any moment, yet they didn't. Matthew saw titles and coverts he had never seen before. He wanted to pounce on them.

There was problem though: how was he going to take one book without all of them falling down?

Chloe slowed down an instant, silently happy someone finally understand the wonder of reading. How many times her husband and Abu had grunted answers and absently listened when she talked about her favorite books...

Finally, they saw the bedrooms.

One, which was marked by a blue door, belonged to the couple. One belonged to Adelio. The two other were free.

Yet, Chloe led her young ward to Adelio's room. "I'm sorry, but you will have to sleep with Abu tonight." She opened the wooden door and a weird stench immediately assaulted their nose.

Messy would be a good way to describe the state of the room. Clothes had been scattered across the room. Matthew had never seen so many clothes. He never had so many either. Did all of it really belong to Adelio?

The weird stench, he noticed, emanated from several heaps of...food? On one side, buried under tons of papers and other objects, a desk or something which looked like a desk stood. On the other side, a wooden bunk bed, also covered by clothes, took the entire wall.

"I told him to tidy up his room." Chloe muttered as she entered the toxic territory. She went directly to the window with quick steps and opened it.

Cold air entered the room. "Well, let's tidy up all this."

Matthew wondered why he couldn't just sleep in the guest room or one of the unused bedrooms on that floor. Why did he have to sleep with Adelio? He didn't want to. Adelio didn't want him there either.

But Chloe had already squatted down and gathered dirty clothes in her arms. So he did the same. They tossed the dirty and clean mix into a round hole hidden in the bathroom's closet. Apparently, it would fall directly next to the washer. It was nice. He wouldn't strain his back carrying all his stuff downstairs. Well, he didn't have much, but he suspected he would tidy Adelio's mess again.

After all, Chloe could have just called his roommate to tidy all of this, but she didn't. They did it for him instead.

Next, they swept the parquet until no weird scraps was left on it. They could move freely across the room now. Chloe eyed the desk, massaging her back absently.

"We will not remove this heap of rubbish today. We just might chuck an important paper hidden in this..." She trailed off, before sighing. "Sorry about all this, darling."

"It's no problem, Ma'am." Matthew muttered. The cold breeze that flew through the bedroom chilled him.

"Call me Chloe, dear." She patted his cheek, just like Adelio had done. His head jerked away from her cold touch as her hand left his face. She didn't notice, too preoccupied with the mess remaining. Her hands were itching to finish the job they had started.

Finally, she left his side to search for clean bed linen and his bag. "You will sleep on the top bed. Abu prefers the lower shelf." She said as she re-entered the room, hands full with covers and his only possession beside what he was wearing.

Chloe gave him his black bag, a tiny thing that contained everything he had. That is, a few clothes and two books. He stood in the middle of the room, bag dangling in his hands as she made his bed.

She cheeked her watch. "Oh my, it's getting late. Thank you for your help, Matthew. You should sleep now."

With a kiss to his forehead, she left him alone in his cold room. Well, it was not really his. It belonged to Adelio.

The young boy closed the window.

He went out and with slow steps he approached the two unoccupied rooms. The first one looked like Adelio's, without the junks scattered everywhere. It looked pretty clean and ready to be used. The beds were made.

The second one was perhaps a tiny bit dusty. Matthew would have still very much liked to sleep there.

However, his hosts wanted him to sleep in Adelio's bedroom. So Matthew would. Even if it didn't make sense. He hadn't much of a choice, anyway. They could kick him out if he made too much trouble.

He quietly closed the doors to those bedrooms. He went to the bathroom, changed and brushed his teeth. When he got out, the lights had been turned off in the hallway. Soft music came from downstairs. He sat on the stairs and listened, head against his knees.

He listened to English lyrics, but he could only hear an adored French accent spoke of murders and terrible things in his ears. When John's voice rang under him, Matthew remembered he should have been in bed since... a long time ago. He almost fell down when he tried to get up. His legs were numb.

He waited a bit in the darkness, massaging his legs until he could feel his feet again. Then, he ran to his bed. It was cold.

Thus his first day with his new family ended. At least, the walls of his temporary bedroom were not blue. Everything but blue would have been fine, really. The dark red painted on the walls was really a pretty colour though, Matthew mused.

Time passed. Adelio went to bed a long time after him and bumped into everything in the dark before he arrived to the bunk bed. He stood silently there, near Matthew's head. The child closed his eyes.

In the darkness, the older boy striped, the bed cracked and he started to snore soon after.

Matthew didn't sleep. He thought of his old dreams of a normal family. How perfect, he had thought a long time ago, to have his mother kiss him on the forehead or ruffle his hair. How nice it would be to have siblings. How wonderful it would be to eat with his mother and talk and – do the stuff normal people did.

He wanted to laugh (weep). A "normal family" sucked as much as his did.

Matthew didn't want Chloe's hamburgers or her hand ruffling his hair or her kiss. He didn't want a bunk bed that smelled like detergent. He didn't want a grandfather who did not care. He didn't want a brother or whatever the hell Adelio was supposed to be. How did you call someone who threatened you but was supposed to be family? Matthew didn't know, but it couldn't possibly be 'brother'.

Matthew wanted his crumpled bed sheets and his sagging bed. He wanted to be in the small house in the middle of nowhere, not in the Martin's farm.

He wanted to see his mother's pout. Not one he imagined, but the real one.

He wanted to hear her speak French.

Matthew bit his covert and cried.

Brown eyes stared unblinkingly at the wooden bed slats above his head.

They closed when Matthew's whimpering stopped.