Now, I tried to make the memory be as if he were experiencing it over again. Thinking the way he thought, and adding commentary to demostrate how much he changed. I wanted to make it appear that Luke and Michel were once in the "Teen-Age" phase of being a vampire. They were roudy, loud, carefree, blunt, etc. Hopefully you like it. Tell me if you think some parts need changing. As soon as I can, I will upload part two...don't be surprised if it happens on the same day.

I left outside, to give the lovebirds some time alone. If I would have stayed, I might have just shown some agony from the reminders they both gave me.

I wait outside, quickly making sure Mike was not just being nice in front of the pretty woman, and scooting in to check the car. I made the car silent in less than five seconds.

As I was dusting myself off, I heard Mike say, "I love you too." I feel myself smile warmly, something I usually do for people I truly care about. The doubts this Kerry brought were diminishing quickly.

I hear her heart speed up a little at the comment, and I laugh silently. Girls. They are easy to charm when you do it right. Moreover, it is easier yet if you mean it. It reminded me of Emmalee, the one woman I might have just cared about. Her memories brought me to the past, that now distant past.

I had just arrived in South Carolina. Charleston was finally getting off the ground and Fort Sumter looked invincible. I had been telling people for years I was eighteen, while we were strictly nomadic. Mike stayed with me in Charleston for seven years, until he decided New York seemed to be showing signs of success.

Now, I am usually a good analyzer, but even I did not see New York as anything but a place where everybody went as failures, and died as failures.

Anyhow, I supported Mike's decision. He parted amiably enough, since he would have used the "I'm-Older-Than-Thou card." That kind of thing got me mad to no end. He had barely turned nineteen when he was turned. A few days in the world where he was aging like a nineteen year old. I think he said something along eight days. On the other hand, I was one day away at turning nineteen. Not that it mattered. At the time, I did not even have a name. Occupation and age did not matter if you did not own a name to be recognized. Still…because "Master" Brine decided he wanted blood the day before my birthday, I am stuck forever being one day to being nineteen. I will forever be a child, forever be a boy…never to be a man.

Okay, I might be exaggerating a little, but I get like that. Sarcastic was my middle name (Wait…I did not even have a first name…but still…) and people usually stayed out of my way whenever they said something they knew was ludicrous, and I would look at them like they were interesting, and rudely burst out laughing. I think I actually started the rude, crude fool only to be changed by wisecracks to rude, crude and tattooed. It is okay though. I definitely changed my ways once I met her, Emmalee, the most beautiful, smart woman to walk the earth. And yes, I've been walking the earth for a while now. You'd think I would know.

I met her right when Mike and I landed in Charleston. We had arrived during the exploration of the New World, but by 1853, we decided to find a place to make our fortune. Hey, we were young, and the money Brine left us wasn't so magnificent. It lasted me about three hundred years. Mike still somehow had money, but seeing me destitute…okay, yea, I am exaggerating yet again, but it is common knowledge people tend to exaggerate moments they remember the most…but seeing me broke convinced him that we needed to settle down for at least five or ten years. We could say we were sixteen, and leave at twenty-six. It worked like a charm in Italy. I am sure it would have worked again. And it did.

We went to a set up table, and asked the young woman helping us if she can help us give us a fake identity. When she rose her head up in alarm, I realized she astounded me. Mike smiled evilly, as if he would tell her immediately, and I was still shy; I would have been embarrassed and never see her again. He remained quiet, tormenting me. (I bowed then and there I would get him back. Two hundred and odd years later, I did exactly that, to my amazement.)

"Come again?" she asked us, but looking at me, like I had astounded her too. Mike pretended he forgot some luggage in the cart that was leaving, and he left us running like an idiot. No exaggeration. I clearly remember him flailing his arms to get the driver's attention, and running in a not-so-straight line.

"Uhhh…" I heard Emmalee say, searching, I am sure, for a nice way to tell me I was accompanied by a freak…or an odd creature, the nice way people talked in those days. "Are you two related?" she finally asked.

"Brother," I said, smiling, though I still did not know how to react to her. Back then, women were very careful, especially with men (but in this case, which is me, a boy) and they did not follow us readily. She seemed like someone who trusted people easily.

"Right, of course. Same skin color and all…" she said, and then looked down quickly, retrieving papers.

"I won't ask why you need fake papers, but I do need to know what name you would like to go by, and if you have a name for your brother, please tell me now, so I can fill this out."

Huh…what should my name be? It should be something that sounds masculine, strong, or erotic even… (Excuse my bad thoughts. I did not consider language like this so vulgar until I actually received an education, and realized my stupidity)

I heard myself doing the dumbest thing, for lack of a better word.

"Uhmm….Uhmm…Uhmm…" I saw Mike, and quickly felt relieved. He was such a good liar, whiles I on the other hand, was not.

I screamed at him, still not used to our super sensory hearing. "Michel! Quali dovrebbero essere i nostri nomi falsi?" which meant Michel! What should be our fake names? in Italian

Mike learned Italian quickly, and when I had first met him, I thought he was a native Italian. Again, while in France, or with the Cherokees, I had trouble keeping my accent out of the way. I had to consciously think about saying what I needed to say in every sentence.

Anyhow, he shot me a murderous look, and said, "Ci sono persone che capiscono italiana è idiota," which meant there are people who understand Italian you idiot.

I kept my calm, and tried to find a way to communicate with him about this. "Bon, ce qui devrait être notre faux noms?" which meant okay, what should be our fake names? in French. Clever, huh? I thought so.

He slapped his hand to his face, and slowly dragged it down, exasperated.

"Est-ce que vous manquez de comprendre le français?" he asked which meant do you understand French miss?

Emmalee looked embarrassed for listening to such an argument. She did however, regard us differently. She probably thought we were some type of cosmopolitans now, instead of a beggar or someone working to clear and gain freedom.

She blushed a little, and with the slightest of the slightest American accents, she said, "Oui, je comprends le français." (I'm pretty sure that is obvious what that means, yes?)

I would have blushed a beet red. I should have blushed a beet red. I have never felt like such an idiot my whole life.

"Well, uhmm, do you have names in mind?" she asked politely, while I just stared at the ground, horrified at what had just happened.

Mike gave me keys to thankfully a nearby home, which had been sold due to Charleston's slight depression a few years back. It had five rooms, which back then was amazing…for a household of, like, twenty. Now, two people living there, we seemed to have instantly become the "richest" in that little town. Except for Mike, I would have happily disagreed with them.

Michel came back fifteen minutes later, taking one look at me, and chuckling.

"What happened?" I asked, as if I asked him to ask Emmalee to the Farm Festival.

"Your name is now Albert. Can you guess why?" he told me, borderline angry and teasing.

"Albert? What kind of a fucking name is that?" (Again, ladies, excuse my bad language). I recalled learning German for a while, and the closest thing to that where Michel would be making fun of me is albern, which meant silly.

"Fine, I can understand why you chose that derogatory name for me. Now, what is our last name?"

He smiled, and I knew he chose a fancy word. Afterall, we were brothers to the world, and he was not about to make fun of himself.

"Le'gante, with an apostrophe in between e and g. Can you guess why?" he asked me again. He always chose words I had trouble pronouncing, so that by the end of about a year, I said those words like a native.

"Uhmm…I think this is..Portuguese?" He shook his head. "Spanish."

"Legante? It reminds me of elegante…which I do believe means elegant…or smart?"

"You make do the family name proud," Mike said, and started to unpack his things in his new room.

Woot! Tell me what you think. I don't know if I want this to be in just one or two parts. Luke's life is unraveling for me in such a way, that his description is much more differnet than Michel's. Do you mind three or four parts? Or would you miss Michel too much? Haha. Thanks for reading my story. I love you...about as much as I love to write this...which as you can see...is a lot.