Chapter 1:Trei:
The Story of my Name
Dear Family,
One too many beers and my mother was pregnant in college. She wasn’t happy about this prospect, and, I think right from the start, she hated me. But she saw me to full term. She married my father and they were happy together. After all, they’d been engaged at the time. My grandparents weren’t the most thrilled people in the world but... that’s their problem. Anyway, due to complications in labor, I was born prematurely and my mom passed away a few hours later. But her wish was to name me Treize (Trei for short) Pêcheur. Sappy, I know, but my dad (who really loved her) carried it out without knowing what it meant. If you aren’t fluent in French, allow me to enlighten you. Treize means thirteen in French (yep as in the unlucky number) and Pêcheur is the word for sinner. Lovely name. Let’s just say she picked these names out while she was in labor.
My name has become my life. When I was thirteen days old I had to return to the hospital and almost died in surgery to fix my collapsed lung. At thirteen months my dad had an accidental drug overdose and passed out on the floor. He’s been in and out of rehab ever since...and isn’t allowed to see me anymore. Thirteen hours later, I was found wailing in my crib by our next door neighbours, Nina, and her husband, Jason. They called the police and due to my dad’s current situation, I ended up in child services. In turn, Nina and Jason fostered me and when it became clear that my biological dad was in no state to be in charge they adopted me. They became my parents. Thirteen little kindergarteners trying to pronounce my name on the first day of school and 13 minutes of lunch recess missed in 2nd grade convincing the teacher I didn’t make my name up to spite everyone else. That day I came home and my parents told me everything. Thirteen used tissues on tears when I found out that I wasn’t their kid. Thirteen hours spent locked in my room. I’ve lost count of how many conversations we had about my dad and whether I could visit him. Too many closed doors before I saw my biological father. Thirteen days in court fighting over whether or not I could visit him, all for him to not even look at me with his sad sunken eyes.
By the time I was ten I was allowed to spend the night at home--alone. Thirteen episodes of The Purple Princess played on the TV as I fell asleep waiting up for my parents. Thirteen donuts in the police station. I picked the pink one with the sprinkles. One quick trip to the hospital and I saw them dead in the morgue. Thirteen speakers at their funeral saying how great they were. And now thirteen red roses laid on their grave as I pay my respects before I leave the state. I had my 13th birthday this year on October 13th. I’ve never felt so unlucky. In case you haven’t been counting this is the 13th time I’ve spelled out Thirteen in just this summary of my life up until now.
Hope To See You Soon,
Treize Skyress
