I don't know how I remember it.

I'm not even sure if what I remember is true.

I was just three at the time. It's one of the few things I remember from that long ago. Hell, I can barely even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. But, I remember it. I think.

We weren't speeding. We were just driving. So slow.

I was in the back in my car seat. My parents were in the front seats. Quinn and Charlie.

But, the point is, everything was perfect. Mommy--Mom, now--had turned around in her seat. "How're you doing, James? Do you like the mountains?"

I had been gazing out the window, but turned back to her, eagerly nodding my head. "Yeah!" I had cheered, swinging my arms.

Dad chuckled. "See, I told you he'd love it."

Mom shook her head, a smile on her face.

Everything was perfect.

We were going to a pit stop, where you could get beautiful photos of the Rocky Mountains. The fence kept everybody from falling off the cliff.

Almost.

Charlie tried to stop. But the brakes wouldn't work. I saw the panic in his eyes. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it wasn't good.

And that's when I heard that awful noise. We had hit the fence and were tumbling off the mountain. I could hear the people screaming and gasping and crying around us. I looked out the window, mouth wide. We were flying, in my eyes.

We hit the ground, and tumbled. And tumbled.

And then I blacked out.

I don't know when I woke up. People were surrounding the car, and I could hear the faint and distant sirens of an ambulance. I saw Mom up front, crying with her head on Charlie. He wasn't moving. Or breathing. His blood was dripping from the side of his mouth, his body limp. His black hair was caked with blood, and I could see the gash on his forehead from the broken glass.

Mom cried, sobbing Charlie's name, and it was a few more minutes before she turned back to me, realizing I was awake.

She gasped, and immediately unbuckled me. She pulled me into her lap.

I was fairly numb. I remember knowing that Dad wouldn't wake up. I remember knowing something bad was happening.

But it was a little while before I realized the car had been turned upside down. It was only once the ambulance and cops came and got us out that I realized it.

I remember the moment they said Charlie was dead.

I broke my arm. I didn't remember any pain, but I remember a cast.

Mom broke her leg. I don't think she registered the pain, either.

I remember the days and months after. Mom was depressed and had to go to therapy. I didn't know why Charlie wasn't around.

Soon, Mom changed my name from James to Charles 'Charlie' Jr to honor his memory.

I had trouble thinking of Charlie as my dad. I was adopted, and looked nothing like him. And, after he died, Mom's friend Andrew came. Andrew took care of me. Andrew was more of my dad than Charlie.

Andrew and Mom had no romantic connection, but they were the best of friends. I got to think of Andrew as Papa, especially once he moved in to help Mom out. We had a happy life.

Whenever I got stressed out or upset, I folded paper cranes. Mom taught me. It was something Charlie used to do.

When I entered school two years later, I had created over 300 cranes. Some were big, some were small. Some were white, some were pink. Some had different body shapes, and I even named some.

I was bullied at school.

Well, not necessarily bullied, but close. Kids didn't understand my family. I was darker than my mom, but lighter than my dad, and I had two moms. I had to explain that I was adopted. I had to explain that my dad had died.

I started folding cranes more.

I got so stressed out. For a few weeks, I'd have to have a councilor walk around with me. I developed anger issues. I had to go to therapy.

I hated school.

Up until middle school, I used the nickname Junior. I didn't feel connected to Charlie, and I wanted to separate myself. Sure, Mom still called me Charlie, but I was okay with that.

My situation was hard. Once I got into first grade, more questions came. They wanted to know why I was a junior. They wanted to know what happened specifically to my dad. They wanted to know about my biological parents. They wanted to know why I folded cranes, or went to therapy. They were all so nosy.

My anger issues seemed to have faded over the summer, but it came back with school. I still folded cranes, but I did it less. I didn't want kids asking questions, so I tried to act normal.

Mom was still going to therapy, but she always tried her best to be involved with my life. Papa was always there, and he and Mom helped me more than I could ever realize back then. I would have turned out a lot worse if it weren't for them.

I soon became best friends with a boy in my third grade class named Caden. He was new, and didn't know anything about me. So, as much as the other kids tried to warn him, he still became friends with me.

Caden was curious about my life, but he didn't pry. He asked only once why I looked so different from my mom and dad, and once he saw how uncomfortable I was, he immediately dropped the subject. In time, I got to know and trust him. I told him about my life, and didn't get annoyed when he asked. My anger issues started fading once again when Caden was by my side.

In middle school, I started going by Charlie. I started asking Mom more about him. I started asking her about my birth parents, and how I was as a kid. I asked her about the crash, and I told her my memory of it. I finally wanted to be a part of my family.

Caden and I stayed friends, but slowly we started adding new kids to our group. There was one girl named Samantha, and another boy named Nick. Samantha and Caden started dating by seventh grade, and for a while it was just me and Nick. Then Nick started dating a girl named Anne. And then it was just me.

Once again, my anger grew out of control. I was lonely. I shut myself off. I refused to talk to Mom or Papa about what was happening. I spent most of my time locked in my room. Mom was so clearly concerned, and she tried so hard to connect with me, but I didn't let it happen. Looking back on it now, I really regret it. I wonder what my life would have been like if I opened up. I could have gotten help in therapy, or by my mom, and I bet even Caden would have understood if I had just talked to him.

But I didn't.

So, my eighth grade year was the worst of my life. I had no friends, and didn't even feel like making any. I barely talked, and had anger tantrums. I even got into a fist fight once--for good reason, though. A kid named Beckett started saying that Charlie didn't stop the car on purpose. Said that if I were his kid, he'd kill himself, too. Said he'd risk his life to end mine. So, if you ask me, that's a reasonable fight. Sure, maybe it shouldn't have gotten that far, and if I didn't have my anger issues, I wouldn't have punched the guy, but I can't be the only kid in the world who'd act that way.

Mom tried to connect with me, but I refused. I stopped going by Charlie, and from then through high school I went by Charles. I was ashamed of my past once again. I started calling Papa 'Andrew', but that was if he was lucky enough to get a word out of me.

It was my sophomore year of high school. Caden and Samantha broke up, and Caden went to my shoulder to cry on.

"Why have you been ignoring me, Junior?" he asked.

I sighed. I still felt cold towards him. "It's Charles, now."

"Yeah, and it was Charlie in middle school, but you'll always be Junior to me. And, c'mon, man, Sam just broke up with me. I need you and Nick."

"I haven't talked to Nick all year. He's probably with Anne," I said in disgust.

Caden frowned. "I'm sorry, bud. It wasn't cool of us to desert you. I know your past, but I thought you'd be fine."

"Well, I've been just fine without you."

"No, Junior, you haven't. Mrs. Johnson talked to me. She told me about your anger issues starting up again. I-I heard that you're folding the cranes. I'm sorry."

A tear was brimming at my eye. I tried to speak, but found a lump stuck in my throat. Caden frowned, and pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry," I told him, my voice shaking slightly. "I should be comforting you, not the other way around."

Caden shrugged. "Dude, you need my help, and I need yours. We can help each other. Now let's find Nick, alright?"

I nodded.

The rest of high school was better. Anne became part of our group, and Samantha moved to, like, New Mexico or something. I continued to go by Charles, and Caden continued to call me Junior. I started opening up again, and Mom could not have been more relieved. Sure, Andrew was happy, too, but it was different.