Okay so the first two chapters of this story are going to be short and in the past. I promise the chapters following them will be long and in the present. Reviews are welcomed and very much appreciated! -Lex ღ
October 28th, 1986
Punk was a curious little shit. Here he was, in the bushes, peaking through the metal fence that divided his house from Old Mr. and Mrs. Cena. They had relatives that were still alive? Who knew? A Mercedes-Benz had pulled into their driveway. A thirty-some old looking woman and her husband came out of the car, along with a boy who looked close to Punk's age. The boy stopped in his tracks and the woman groaned as she used all her valor to make him move.
"I'm not going anywhere!" He stomped his feet. Punk grinned. The boy was stubborn, just like him. He could like this kid.
"John, you're not doing this right now. We have to go visit Grandma and Grandpa." After much resistance, John finally gave in. They somehow managed to get into the house.
Punk chuckled a bit, and then went on his way to go get his bike and ride it. The bike was lying on the driveway, since Punk had left it there when he rode earlier. He hopped on it and was on his way, gliding like a plane down the street. Liberation was something a boy like him craved since his world was so restricting and hellish. The bike was temporary relief from the confinements of his life. For an eight year old, he should be able to do so much more. But his family lacked the money and in life, money is needed to do anything.
This fall though, things seemed to be going on the up and up. Well, sort of. His parents, or his mother rather, managed to save up some money to get him a Halloween costume. An actual costume, not a makeshift one with toilet paper and duct tape. It was Batman, his favorite superhero. He imagined how the night would go. He would run around the neighborhood, his cape flying in the wind, bombarding all the houses and getting as much candy as possible. Yeah, things were looking good.
He drove so fast, too fast. The bike started quivering and eventually he fell flat on his butt. Punk grumbled, more pissed off than anything. What a way to ruin the moment. Punk froze; he felt a hand on his shoulder. In a blink of an eye, his irritation was replaced with trepidation.
"That was quite a fall there, Champ." Punk forced himself to look up and noticed it was Mr. Stiles, the coach of his little league baseball team. He was always a distant guy. No one really knew about his personal life. Punk thought he was creepy. Mr. Stiles stuck out his hand. Although hesitant, Punk took it and his coach lifted him off the ground.
"Thanks." He mumbled rather hastily, and got on his bike. He shook his head, trying to forget about what just happened. He didn't like that guy. Not one bit. Punk's dad still insisted Mr. Stiles was a good man. He knew his dad was wrong; there was something off about the guy.
When Punk got home, his mom was dressed up. Now, this is an unusual sight. She never gets fancy. One, she doesn't have the money to buy anything nice. Two, she would much rather be casual.
"What's up with the outfit, Ma?" She smoothed out the creases of her dress and shrugged.
"The Cena family invited us over for dinner. Their relatives are going to be there as well and they look sort of ritzy so I decided to gussy up. Which reminds me, go put something nice on." He groaned. Why did he have to go?
"Do I have to?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a good reason."
"Don't be a smart ass, young man. Now go get dressed or no Halloween for you. Understood?"
"Fine, Mom." He reluctantly said, going off to find something decent. What was it with his mother's need to put a façade on with everyone? They were poor as fuck, why lie to people about it? He found something decent, eventually. A collared hand-me-down was good enough. He came out of his room and showed his mom the outfit he picked out. She OK'd it, and soon they were out of the house, making their way to the Cena's.
Punk's mother rang the doorbell. Old Mrs. Cena opened the door; a soft smile was plastered across her face.
"Hello, Mrs. Brooks. Hello, little Phillip." She ruffled Punk's hair and he scrunched up his nose.
"Hi, Mrs. Cena." Punk's mother said.
"The food is almost ready. Make yourself feel at home." A pleasant aroma attacked their noses as they entered the house. Mrs. Cena knelt down to Punk's level.
"You know, my son has a boy just about your age. And do you know what I think? You two could be pretty good friends. You should go talk to him; he's in the guest room. He's a sweet kid; I think you'll like him." Punk nodded, and went on his way to go find the guest room. He opened it up, and there sat the boy from earlier, John. Punk chose to be quiet for a little bit, not really in the mood to talk to anyone, regardless of the blue eyes that were practically glued to him. He sat on the couch, and pulled out his latest comic— Superman/Batman Volume 9: Night & Day. He was completely invested in this comic, loving the idea of two very opposite superheroes working together to fight crime.
"I love that one! Public Enemies was pretty good, but that one tops the whole series!" The sudden outburst from John almost made Punk jump, but instead he nonchalantly looked up at the blue eyed boy with an almost smile.
"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Dimples sliced the cheeks of John.
"I'm Jonathan by the way, John for short." Punk chuckled lightly.
"I'm Phillip, Phil for short." John sat crisscrossed on the bed, and soon Punk joined him and did the same. They ended up in a conversation about all sorts of things— comic books, TV shows, movies, WWF, ghosts and legends.
"Thankfully, there are no cases of strange creatures in Boston." They had just finished talking about Punk's 'mysterious' forest next to his house. Honestly, Punk was just telling him this tale to yank his chain. John and Punk talked so smoothly like they knew each other forever. Punk liked that, having someone to talk to.
"Hey, John, how long are you staying?"
"Until next week. Why?"
"That's perfect! You know what would be fun? If we went ghost hunting in the woods on Halloween." John grinned.
"Yeah! That'd be so much fun, Phil! I'll ask my mom if I can go trick-or-treating with you." This time, Punk actually smiled. This kid was a spitfire, truly. And silently, he thanked Old Mrs. Cena.
"Boys! Dinner's ready!" Old Mrs. Cena called, and the two famished boys rushed to the dining room table. They sat adjacently, wanting to continue engaging in the conversation they honestly didn't want to end.
As food is passed around, as two families that are mere acquaintances talk like they possess the same blood, and as Punk watches John with pure amusement; the green eyed boy realizes Halloween, and perhaps the rest of his life from this point on, was going to make up for eight years of crap.
He felt it, somewhere in the depths of his newly optimistic heart.