Zachary Drench
He woke up the next day questioning himself. The age old trivial pursuit of knowledge into oneself began. He started to remember and think of the things that had happening to him in the past, his memories were like rabid wolves hounding him and as such, the name he received at birth was a passionate hate that he himself struggled to contend with.
He knew he was safe here, it was his "home" but yet he still feared it. He always believed that to get comfortable in one place was opening yourself up to pain. He would spend hours hidden away in his room, escaping reality, whether by the simple readings of the hundreds of comics he owned or the temptations of murder and mystery in the novels that lay across his room. But it was there, that he heard the voices screaming, the pain of the beatings and the pure betrayal of having been left behind when his parents skipped town. But the words remain.
He was but 3 months old when he was left on the orphanage doorstep with a simple note - His name is Zachary Drench. His parents were no where to be found and it seemed that he was stuck with this name that he despised. It was a cause of ridicule and hatred for as usual, a loner, would always be the target of those who did not understand. Yet he had a fighters spirit and never stayed down, maybe if he had it would have saved him the beatings or maybe his sheer determination saved him from more. These things were the traits that defined him. Determination to be himself, strength to not bend to the will of others and the ability to escape reality within his own mind.
His "mother" reached out to him, hoping, begging, pleading, that he would open up to her, for what he did not understand was that although not her own, she would give up her life for him in a heart beat. but she took her time. trying slowly to enter the barricade that he had built around himself to form a barrier of protection from the outside. He would not admit the fear that raged within him, he could not admit that he had a weakness. He was beaten to believe that fear was not an option and that real men don't cry.
He had been to three other foster homes and in order they were easy to explain.
At his first there was no love, no care nor tenderness, nothing but the want of money and that is the only reason they had taken Zach into their hovel, their aim in taking in 4 children was a ploy to receive the variable social grants available to them and in response there was not a shred of hope in that place of greed. The children there were given free roam, no manners were instilled into them, for their "parents," and I use that world very lightly, could just not care.
The second House he stayed in was run like military station. Rules and regulations were many and behold the punishment should you find yourself breaking any of them. There was a time for everything and everything had its place, a strict regime and a master not a parent. No excuses were accepted no matter how valid and beatings became the daily occurrence. No frolicking in the sun unless it was in the schedule and only for the allotted time and behold the wrath of the master should you not return at the time allocated for your arrival. It was here that Zach had been forced to learn that Fear was not acceptable. It was also here that he spent a lot of his time in hospital.
To the third we go and to call this a home or a house would do an injustice to anyone whom ever raise a child with love. It was an embarrassment to a building. Yes it had four walls and roof (if you could call it that) but as to how it was deemed an acceptable place to raise a child nobody could find the paperwork. Even the animals stayed away. If the house was any description of those who stayed within, do not let your mind sway you, for the building in which they stayed was the better part of the "home". She was a beaten woman who was so depressed and oppressed that all she did was watch TV, He was a "working man" or so he liked to say and for all his hard work he allowed himself his perks. His poison of choice was Brandy and he knew how to drink. Smart as anything, to his credit, he never left a mark. Not a trace of the beatings were ever to be found, no proof you see, that could be held against him. But with 3 boys within the house and a gun not in a safe, it was bound to happen you see, it would be either him or them and the oldest made the for the brothers. It is a memory that Zach would live with for the rest of his life, the site of this big burly man bearing down on him as he had down so many times before and then the shocking sound that he had never heard before, the sound that brought about the silence till the death curdling scream that destroyed it. HE FELL, hit the ground with a thud and behind him stood the 17 year old Michael Davila, the young man who had been Zach's brother for the last 2 years, holding the old .357 magnum in his hands. That is all he could remember from that night, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome they called it.
That was what he believe to be the story of his life. Endless thoughts of the ricocheting childhood of embarrassment, the constant denial of his ability to be alive and even the sheer audacity to think that he could ever mean something to someone. The thoughts raged through him, they devoured his hopes and dream, they tore at the fabric of reality and made him believe that he was worth less that others.
His history was known but to only a few people and not by his doing, it was written in his file and his foster parents knew everything before they had even chosen him. They went through strict stringent checks, from credit clearances to police criminal records, they were exposed bare before the court before Zach was allowed to be taken. You could say that it was to make sure they could afford to keep him, but in truth it was the Matron from the orphanage that wanted for once, a Home, not house, not building, but a home for the young Zachary Drench for whom she had grown very fond. And on the day that he left the orphanage she said a little prayer, a prayer of safety on the young man, the lost and angry soul that was leaving her that day, begging and pleading with God himself to protect him.
Week one of the holidays had ended and as eventful as it was, everyone in the house seemed overly grateful that it had come to an end. Many things were said, many tears were shed and his small bag that he had filled with so many of his worldly possessions had been emptied and packed away. On this Sunny Monday morning, after he had eaten his breakfast and his chores were done he had sat down to take in a few lazy hours of watching TV when his "father" called from outside. He had completely forgot about their trip, the one that had been planned for months in advance, to go camping and just have some time to get to know each other and get away from the house. The truck was packed and loaded to the brim, the general supplies of food and rods mixed with the canoe and tent (the wood they would buy on the way there).
So as the journey began so did the fun, with a cool drink in each of their hands and Zach holding the map his "father" lit up a smoke and the waved goodbye. The road was long but Zach enjoyed long rides and he loved the sound of music, the gibber gabber of easy conversation was always easy to deal with and when the topic was books he had so much to say, for you see each of the books that lay across his floor belonged to the man that was next to him and just like Zach he had read and reread every one of those books over and over again and it would always end in the simple banter of the classification of comics as proper reading material or not. I guess you could say that this trip was Probably the best thing that could happen to Zach at this time, his young mind so tormented, believing the constant worst and at the same time wanting to hope for the best, this trip would be the chance to see where he stood with the man he had allowed himself to open to.
The road was long and and the conversation good, there was nothing more that Zach could ask for and as they reached their destination and the truck came to a halt, the fresh open air and the smell of the water was enticing him. This was his first time camping and he was extremely excited but refused to show the true value of what this meant to him. Together they unloaded all the stuff and after exact planning, the camp was slowly coming together, they had pitched the tent with plenty of laughter as Zach had done his best to help having never done it before. They started the fire and both opened a book and as they sat there reading and the day drawing to the close his father reached for the meat and grill and all, he started to work the fire like the wizards of old tossing and turning the burnt out coals making place for the fire on one side and the bright burning coals on the other, he slowly placed the meat on the grill making sure that each had its own space to cook and as the sun went down on the first day of their adventure and they looked at the stars, Zach had realized that he had at no stage in is life before felt this at ease.
With the dawn of the new day Zach knew that his adventure had just started and there where so many things to do and so many possibilities to explore. A forest of trees lay before him and a river to his side, his options were endless, and he knew that just like in his books of heroes and villains and all their exploits he to could be the wide eyed traveler embarking on his first journey of discovery. As they days past, Zach was taught many things, how to make a fire and catching his first fish where just a few of the memories he could not wait to tell his "mother" when he got home.Wait did he just say home? Yes maybe he did. It seemed to dawn on him, maybe this time things would be different. but he wasn't about to let his guard down for anyone, for to him no one had earned his trust. Not yet anyway.
But as the days seemed to fly by with such pleasure in the air, the soft spoken man that had brought his "son" on a trip of exploration, was too, starting to see the young man that he had brought with him. The hard exterior wall that had been built up over the years was being chipped away and though he knew that the pain would always live on like scar from a vicious fight within his mind, he promised himself that he would stand with Zach, through each and every battle that he would endure from now until he drew his last breath and if even beyond that moment.
The trails were long and steep and so much fun to walk, and at the end of each one it seemed that they had broken through another chapter in the adventure and it was fun. The water was crisp and cold, yet nothing seemed to stop Zach from taking it on, even with his father standing to the side laughing at the look on Zachs face after letting go of the swing and believing that he was truly flying before hitting the water.
They spoke not like your usual father and son but like to new friends at the beginning of a new friendship, testing the waters of each others boundaries and it was not long till Zach had reached his but for his love of him, his father would not push. He stood by and watched as this young man wept to the side, giving him space as it tore at him to not grab and hold him, to tell him that he would help fight the battles, for he knew that Zach had to realize that he was not alone. Not anymore.
On the second last day of the trip Zach was out by the river when he heard a familiar voice, not everyday familiar but as if a deeper knowledge of the person was in his mind and as he turned his head he saw his father talking to none other than the very man who had made him turn back that fateful night one week earlier, Mr. Crawshank. As he headed back to the camp the two men saw him coming and and he was greeted with the jolly laughter of two old friends having the best of chats and was quickly introduce to Mr. Crawshank and was told of how the two men had grown up together. Neither Mr. Crawshank nor Zach let on that they had already met and carried throughout the day with their normal activities not giving any notice or speech of what transpired between them.
On the last day of the trip, as they were packing up to leave, Zach had heard a very interesting conversation. Mr Crawshank was detailing to Zach's father that he had been let go from his previous school and had come to free his mind, and maybe, just maybe he would continue with the project he had started many years ago and as inquisitive as young Zach was to the remainder of the conversation, it was to soft for his perked up little ears. As the day wore on and the truck was packed up, Mr Crawshank said his good byes and left to head to his camp and the Father and son that had arrived 6 days earlier as almost strangers were leaving as friends.
The drive home was silent as Zach spent much of it sleeping after an exhausting day of fun and packing and only once did he raise from his slumber and that was to use one of the restrooms of the garage they had stopped at and once done with his business he took a look around only to once again return to that land of slumber.
Back at home and in familiar surroundings things felt easier for him than before they had left. The house had become a home, and for once it felt safe to him. But Safe was not a word that he used easily and even in this situation he used it tentatively to say the least. He wanted to believe that he was safe. He want to believe that this was real.
Three weeks had gone by since that night, and on this morning when Zach’s “mother” woke him so he could get ready for school, he as any other normal teen, was not getting up without a fight. He moaned and groaned and was even threaten with a bucket of ice water before heaving himself out of the warm comfort of his bed. He rose like the dead and moved to the cupboard where he began dressing and disguising himself as the living, hoping that his groans would and could be deciphered and seen as a coherent form of the English language before taking that first sip of coffee and returning to his human state. But his family found it funny and it would constantly tease him about his morning zombie state.