DISCLAIMER: All the characters that were in The Matrix belong to WB or the Wachowski brothers or whoever. They're not mine and I'm not making any money of this yadda, yadda. Any characters that are not in The Matrix belong to me. If you want, you can use them but please e-mail me and ask. It's only polite…
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this because I've read stories on Trinity's life but none on Neo's, which struck me as kinda strange… I mean, he's the main character in the movie! I'm sure there are some out there but I wanted to write my own.
I want to apologise for the title… It sucks but I couldn't think of another… Suggestions are always welcome!
This is set during, pre and post Matrix. I will be updating this fairly regularly, as soon as I finish each chapter. Probably not the best way to write but it works for me. ;)
Rated for language and other stuff that little kiddies should not know about.
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I had a happy childhood. How many computer hackers can say that and truly mean it? By definition a computer hacker shuns the outside world and remains, locked in a dark room, trying to hack their way into everything and anything. Most of the computer hackers I know try to blame it on their upbringing; I wasn't given enough love. I was given too much. It makes me sick. Stand up and admit your own mistakes, for Gods sake.
Anyway, my childhood was good. It wasn't fantastic but it was better then most. My parents loved me and I had friends. So I wasn't great at school, big deal. Things like that don't matter much when you're kid. I have good memories stretching out like a golden shimmer in my mind, an endless road of memories. Everything in childhood has a golden glow, even the bad stuff. In my mind though, there was one dark spot that lurked below the shimmer. Hidden but always there.
My dad was a truck driver. He was typical stereotyped truck driver, except he was thin. His body and face were tanned from hours spent on the road, driving in the blistering sun, but he was so thin. Clothes hung of him like a hanger, shapeless and slightly wilted. He was a good man; he looked after us well. He told me that he loved truck driving because it allowed him time to himself, to think. It wasn't that he wanted to get away from us, he was a loner. Preferred to do things by himself, without involving other people. A loner, a spectator of other people's lives.
But his truck driving didn't really earn enough for us to live on. So my mom had a job as a marketing consultant for some big company. It was hard work and she used get bad backaches. When my sister and me were still little kids, she moonlighted, only coming in when someone was sick or on holiday or something. When my sister turned ten she took the job permanently, after we convinced her we could get ourselves to school on time. I looked up to Caitlin like a second mom. She made sure I had enough to eat and got me off to school on time.
We lived on the edge of town, the last house before you entered the highway and left the town. Even then, I was a spectator of other people. I used to watch the cars pass my window, wondering where they were headed. If I had been fast enough, I might have run after them to ask them, maybe even beg them to take me with them. I was my mother's child in looks but my father's in personality. I always wanted to see the world beyond our little town. So I watched the cars, until they were just a pinprick on the horizon, shadows stretching down the road, wondering.
So you see, I had a good family. We cared and looked out for one another. But we were always slightly detached. We never asked about each other's day unless it was obvious something had happened. I was closer to Caitlin then to my mom because I saw her more, at school. I was never really close to my dad because he was driving all over the country all the time. I often wondered later on if he was looking, just as I did, for something that he couldn't explain. Searching for a truth, an answer to a question he hadn't asked. The idea that maybe I had answered that question for him often makes me feel… proud I guess, for some of the things I do.
Things started to go seriously wrong when I was 13. I wasn't doing too well at school; all the teachers said I could do better, I wasn't applying myself; I just wasn't interested. The things they taught me seemed so pointless. The two things I was good at were maths and science. I liked maths because there were rules that you could always rely on. I say that I liked science but I only really did well at physics. In fact my teacher was convinced that I would become some kind of physics scientist. I hated chemistry and biology: there were too many variables in: things could get contaminated too easily or mutate. Physics was stable – who would doubt the law of gravity?
Mom and dad were disappointed in me but I couldn't really explain why I wasn't applying myself. They asked me what I thought I would do with my life; I just said that maybe I would become a truck driver like my dad. My dad blushed slightly when I said it. It's still the clearest picture of him I have, the way he turned his head slightly and how he turned his eyes up at me. The idea appealed to me because I liked the solitude of it: just me and the open road. But we all knew I would never make it as a truck driver. As my principal put it, I had an authority problem. I challenged what the teachers said and they knew I would do the same when told to drive anywhere.
Caitlin had just turned 16. She still looked after me when mom and dad were busy. She teased me and did all the things a big sister is supposed to: if any kid threatened to beat me to a slimy pulp, she always found out, even if I didn't tell her and stuck up for me. The only thing that really annoyed me about her was that she was sometimes a little too protective of me. Once I forgot my lunch and she chased me down the hall at school in front of everyone shouting, "Tommy, you forgot your sandwiches!" I was mortified, especially when she kissed me on the cheek and ruffled my hair. I always pretended to hate it when she called me Tommy at school. I never really minded but it was one of those brother-sister arguments, that no one can remember who started it but you carried it on anyway. It was like a tradition or something.
I never understood how Caitlin made time to look after me, do well at school and have her own life. I never realised how well she managed to keep them all apart until it was too late. She had a boyfriend called Steve. From the moment I met him, I hated him. I told myself it was because he was a slime ball, always trying to look down her top but later on, I found myself doing the same thing. He was just an ordinary teenage boy, hormones in overdrive. I was just jealous of the attention Caitlin gave him. When he was there, I ceased to exist in her eyes. I wasn't used to sharing my sister with anyone. Steve was just an ordinary guy. The only thing different about him was that he was a crack addict. And he got my sister hooked too.
I found out when I went up to her room to ask her for some help with my homework. I never knocked on the door, just barged my way in. She was lying on her bed with Steve. They were laughing, eyes glazed. I couldn't work out what was going on until I noticed the packet of white powder on the floor and the needles… I was 13, not stupid.
Caitlin stopped laughing and Steve rolled off the bed, muttering something about having to get home and stumbled down the stairs. I watched him go and turned back towards Caitlin. She was scrambling on the floor, picking up all the evidence.
"Don't tell mom and dad," she said not even looking up. I said nothing and turned to walk out the room.
"After everything I've done for you!" she screamed. I stopped for a moment then carried on walking to my bedroom. I could hear here screaming my name and whimpering, clawing at the closed door, begging my silence. I opened my window and started watching the cars.
Understand I didn't care that she was doing drugs. Even at that age, I wasn't bothered. I wasn't even thinking of telling on her. What she did in her own time was her own business. The thing that bothered me was that she had obviously been doing it for some time. She just hadn't told me. I felt that in some twisted way she had betrayed my trust and I wondered what the point was in becoming close to a person only to find out they're not the person you thought they were. The number of times Caitlin had lectured me on drugs, how all the kids in the neighbourhood were doing them, but I wasn't to. And all the time she was taking crack…
I guess that was the day I lost my faith in people. They screw up, make mistakes, tell you one thing and do another. They fuck up. That day I vowed that I would find something that doesn't make mistakes, something I could put my trust in. Until then I would not trust other people or put my faith in them.
I'm trying to explain to you why I did what I did. It sounds like I'm blaming her, but I'm not. I choose my own coarse in life; she just helped me steer it in another direction.
I never did tell on Caitlin. Even after it happened and my parents asked me if I knew about it, I denied any knowledge. I may not have said it out loud but I had promised her that I would never tell. So I didn't. Even though other people screw up and break promises, I wouldn't.
It happened on a clear day in the fall. It sounds like a cliché but that's how I remember it. Mom and dad were out; it was their wedding anniversary and they'd gone to some fancy restaurant. Ever since I discovered Caitlin's habit, a wall had been built between us. She cooked my dinner and then retreated to her bedroom. I knew what she was doing and left her to it. I ate then sat in my room and watched the cars go by. After a while I began to get bored. I started to wonder what Caitlin was doing. I've always been curious and I realised I had no idea how junkies shoot up. I sat there for about 5 minutes weighing up the pros and cons of going in there. In the end my curiosity overwhelmed me and I had to get up. I had to go see what she was doing. I missed my sister. There was something else driving me as well. Call it instinct, a sixth sense. Whatever.
I knocked but there was no answer. I hesitated then pushed the door open. She was lying on the bed, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. I called out her name and walked cautiously towards the bed. She didn't reply, didn't even move. I stopped and noticed the needles on the floor, the box of pills on the dresser… I stepped forward and picked it up. Empty. I knew then beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was dead. I don't remember thinking or feeling anything.
I picked up the needles and took them outside. I put them in the neighbour's trash. I still felt a sense of loyalty towards her, no matter how fucked up she had become. I went back inside the house and called the restaurant my parents were at. I told the waiter to tell them to get home right away. I then called 911 and went outside to wait for them all to arrive. I sat on the dirt outside my house and watched the cars streaming past, heading for pastures new, their headlights gleaming in the dark and I wished with all my heart that I could go with them.
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I know this chapter doesn't really go anywhere but I am writing the follow up. I didn't mean it to be so long; it just flowed out of me…
Please r & r. I need (and love) feedback!
Monday 16th July 2001