A rather undiluted version of all my thoughts in a night of nicotine and alcohol induced admittance.
So it’s...3:32am. 5th August 2010. I sit here, Alone under this solemn light with only dust motes as company. My apparent baby sitter left to party while she should actually be keeping an eye on me. Ah nevertheless if it were not for her absence I would not be able to be in this predicament. My grandparents ran away to a week resort and I’m alone to ponder on my thoughts. That’s never a good thing. I dance with my thoughts at the kitchen table. I’m listening to a more tasty kind of sad music; you know...music with essence. Although it does no wonders for my emotional state, I love it. I stare at the chair opposite me as if my mind were trying oh so hard to conjure up a being who would understand my brain. With a glass of straight vodka in my right hand and a cigarette in the other I ponder on my existence. Hah! How selfish of me to think of myself right? Wrong, I have no one else to care for. You’re probably thinking ‘what a vein thought!’ Well ladies and gentlemen allow me to rewind to the day of my birth. (And no this isn’t going to be some long-winded story where I want you to feel sorry for me; things will make more sense if you knew)
I was born into quite a mix of a family. My father of Spaniard descent but born in Mexico. Not much difference to me though. My mother of pure Italian blood. What does that make me? Spitalian?
Oh and did I forget to mention I was born in America. Yup an American-Mexican-Italian. Quite a mix huh? When anyone asks I just say I’m Mexican...it makes things a lot easier and I look more like a Mexican. So...wait where were we? Oh right...my birth. So when I was born being the proud Spaniard he was my father must of decided to name me after some ancestor I had or at least my second name...My first name sounds rather...Americanish. Corey Montez (aha! Don’t worry the best part is yet to come) so I spent most of my Childhood in America, growing up as an American, adapted to the American ways, you know the same bullshit every one goes through as they grow up.
At around the age of 3 I was traded off to my uncle by my parents (So I really never got to know my parents and I only re-call all of this because my uncle had told me so) Don’t worry, he wasn’t some mean little fucker who locked me up in a room feeding me sauerkraut every day. No. He was the best damned uncle any kid could have. I had absolutely no idea why my parents left me, and now at the sprouting age of 15 I have no further intentions on doing so. Skipping 2 years of Growing up, my uncle could no longer look after me, greedy bastard. His hotel business was just kicking off and he felt as if he were ‘neglecting’ me... So I begged and pleaded like every other 5 year old does when he wants something. He reluctantly agrees, and what does he do? He moves me to fucking London in a key part of my life. Although I was more excited about the fire truck he promised to buy me when we got there. So yes, I spent most of my life growing up in Great Britain, London. Any standard biology student will know the answer to this. What do humans do best in a changing habitat? Yes that’s right we adapt, and that’s exactly what I did. Uncle still took trips back to America now and then to keep an eye on his business and usually left me with a baby sitter. At the age of 8 or 7. (Uncles memory isn’t as good as it was before, and I’m relying of glimpses I remember now) I started to develop a British accent! (Told you the best part was yet to come, so get this. I’m an American-Mexican (Spaniard)-Italian who has a British accent!
So the years passed, (this is my excuse of skipping a shit load of growing up) then something struck me like a cobra on its prey. “I’m leaving” Says my uncle. On my 15th Birthday my uncle says he’s leaving me because he needs to be a ‘permanent fixture’ for his business to survive. Although that meant nothing to me, he meant it. Now what does an already insecure, withdrawn yet boisterous and too-brave (Notice the oxymoron in that previous sentence) boy do when his only family member says ‘I’m Leaving’?! Breaks down and bottles it all up that’s what he does. “I managed to track down your mother’s mother. Your grandmother has gladly decided to look after you with social services as support” So I waited a day, soaked it in and thought to myself, Damn it Corey man up and take it in. I just stood quite and did whatever my uncle asked of me. Up until then not knowing my parents as much as I wished I could hadn’t bothered me, Mainly because I had my uncle...but at 15 with the hormones’ and what not my mind was curious. So the night before my uncle left I demanded to know of my parents. He ‘apparently’ knew little as well. Some home truths came out then, my uncle left me quoting my parents “It’s best he doesn’t know us” and from then all interest in my parents left my mind... and so I moved to Essex.
Where my Grandmother resided, she’d re-married an ‘Essex bloke’ as they say it here. I didn’t have much against him; He wasn’t there most of the time.
So here we are. Essex. At first I thought...”God what a shit hole.” Forgive my judgemental thoughts, but I’m used to moving around a lot so I don’t mind what I say about a certain place because I probably won’t be there for long, But my grandmothers was permanent until I was 18 so I sucked it in and got on with life. It took me 3 weeks before I enrolled at a local school or rather an academy.
It had the lot, blazers, shirts, trousers...a big change from my usual red/white polo t-shirt uniform for my previous sports college. As with every other school, if you join in the middle of a semester, (oh sorry I mean term, we are of course in England) You’re possibly the only new kid, everyone else has already settled in and found a group of friends to socialize with, And being the only new kid made you a target for the school psycho. No. I’d never let that happen to me. I had my fists balled and ready for a brawl, last thing I wanted to be seen as was a weak target. As I got there, and settled in I’d over judged. Sourly mistaken. Although my grandmother’s praises for the school didn’t actually explain the school, there were no psychos, or rather none I encountered. The school had quite a lot of colourful characters instead. Some I’ll most probably note in this extract? Novel? Wait...what is this? Its not going to be long enough to be a novel...god no I’m not ‘that’ old. It’s not a book either? Ah...We’ll call it an extract of life? How’s that?
I slowly got used to the school routines, watched the characters I myself would avoid and noted others recommendations. I was assigned two ‘tour’ guides. Billy Hughes (The coolest kid I’ll probably ever meet) And Jordan Stapleton. Just to stick with school traditions we’ll stereotype him the gaming fanatic, but a cool kid all in all.) When I saw them walk in and ready to ‘guide’ me around the school I half expected to be taken to the back of the field and kicked numerous times around my groin area. Ahah! No...They actually took me to lessons and showed me around the ‘useful’ areas of the school. I quickly joined their social groups and made ‘friends’
so life went on I guess, I took the school into my stride and soon found myself talking to others and making more friends. Getting involved in out of school get-togethers. Ah, I’m running out of Vodka and Cigarettes to fuel my creative writing abilities, don’t worry I’m not drunk, just stimulated enough to type this in fact. Looks like this extract is going to have to end soon.
Just to explain why any of this makes sense to my current predicament, you know...why I am exactly sitting in a dark, empty kitchen with vodka and a packet of cigarettes. I met a girl...or rather found her. Ahah I bet your sensors pinging now thinking ‘of course it’s all about a girl’ I’ll tell you this isn’t just any particular girl...oh no. A rather Peculiar, and wonderful girl. I digress, my fuel has run out and my eyelids feel heavier than led. So please stay alert for my next addition... Oh and thanks for reading my cigarette and vodka fuelled endeavours.