𝙾𝙽 ⋆ 𝚆𝚎𝚜 ⋆ 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝

When we got to Ontario, Mo was driving. I was in the back with Aiden, and I watched him perk up. Mo didn't make us switch straight away, she drove us all the way into Ottawa. "Welcome to the capital." She said, leaning forward to take in the sights of the new city. I was glad to get out of Quebec, I think we all were. No shade to Quebec, but Danny had us looking at architecture and museums for a week straight. All I could do was hope that Aiden had something better in mind for Ontario.

Aiden picked Ontario mostly because UT was where he would be for the next who knows how many years until he became a doctor lawyer engineer. It was like he could have a little taste with us  before he had to jump right in, just a short weeks ahead.

The cross-country trip really had me thinking about our lives, individually and together. Especially when we got to Ontario, and even more so when I saw that UT campus up close. Everyone's life is full of despite's and because's.

Danny was easygoing and peaceful despite the things kids had bullied him about in school. He was pursuing his dreams because he had a strong support system at home.

Aiden was on track to become truly successful despite his Dad ragging on him his whole life. He was in a good place mentally because of Auntie Adla.

Mo was a dreamer despite her family being desolate. She kept her dreams alive because she was strong willed, bullheaded.

I was still the most positive in the group despite the ass kicking's my stepbrothers would hand to me weekly. I was content with my situation because of my friends.

Some of us had more because's, some had more despite's. I, unfortunately, have been cursed to have a shit ton of despite's on my plate.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

𝙽𝚂 ⋆ 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙰𝚐𝚘

Being 15 was awkward and scary for everyone. It was an age everyone wanted to get out of, an age where even the closest of friends could feel distant. It was strangest when Wes went quiet, though. He was the only one that had been pretending his troubles didn't exist even with his closest friends, but even with his mother.

The week after he visited his father, he sat in silence. He went through the motions in eerie quiet, while the others just watched helplessly, waiting for him to return. And return he did, but he would never forget.

That summer, he had disappeared for three whole days. His mother was beside herself when Adla Juma approached her door that third day, his stepfather was concerned, frustrated. Adla wanted to file a police report as soon as Daniel broke and told her he was gone. Thankfully, he showed up before she and Wes's mother left the house.

The kids had been instructed to cover for him for 2 days at most while he travelled out of town to find his Dad. His real Dad. After years of being abused by his hick older stepbrothers and ignored by his endlessly tired, fishy-smelling stepfather, he had decided that the love of his mother wasn't enough to keep him at home.

The return address was on an old letter his mother had stashed away in her sock drawer. That was his ticket out of town and over to Newfoundland. The ferry ride was long and rocky, but he kept reading that old letter over and over again, finding peace in the words.

Dear Steph,

I miss you and baby Wesley every day. I wish you had come over with me, but I understand why you didn't. I know we're still young, and you're disappointed about not graduating, but don't worry. I'm making decent money out here, and I'm starting to get used to the smell of fish.

Once I have enough saved, I'll get us a nice place in Halifax and we can put Wesley into a fancy daycare. You can get your GED and go to college, and I'll get my own fishing boat down there.

Give Wesley a kiss on the head for me.

Love,

John.

"It's six hours there and six hours back, if I only go for a day, I won't have enough time with him!" He had explained enthusiastically to the gang before he left.

"What do we tell your Mom?" Paloma asked, arms crossed.

"Nothing, she thinks I'm at Danny's for a double sleepover."

"Seriously, man? Why are you roping me into this?"

Wes waved him off dismissively. "Come on guys, it's my Dad."

Aiden, Paloma, and Daniel looked at each other, concern written on their features. "Okay." Aiden finally said. Wes jumped up and down on the rocky beach, before pulling his friends in for a bear hug.

"You better come back," Paloma ordered into his shoulder. Wes nodded, elated. That day, he had run off their beach and through the bushes feeling lighter than he had felt in years.

The address took him to a house by the beach. It creaked where the wind hit it, and its original baby blue paint seemed to be perpetually flaking off. Wes had arrived in the evening, sure that his Dad would be home from fishing.

He rang the doorbell, leg shaking with anticipation, heart thumping out of his chest. The man that opened the door was not the young, fresh-faced romantic he had imagined. He was an aged man, far beyond his 31 years. He leaned on the door frame, scruff laced with grey and eyes weary.

"What?"

"Are you John?" Wes had asked, secretly hoping it wasn't.

"Yeah.."

"I'm Wesley, your son."

Wes watched his father's eyes light up for just a moment, then dim back down. The man simply nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing for Wes to come inside. The inside matched the outside. Peeling paint, the smell of fish and salt. Furniture that seemed both untouched in years and worn down.

As John sat in a living room armchair, Wes mirrored him in doing the same. He inspected the man before him. He tried to find similarities. The blue eyes were lighter than his, colder. His skin was weather-worn, but not tanned.

"Do you need money?"

Wes was startled by the sudden question. He shook his head no, leaning back in the creaking leather armchair. "I thought you'd be happier to see me." He said under his breath.

"Your Mom needs money?"

"No."

"Good, 'cause I don't got any."

Wes bit his lip. This wasn't the emotional, overjoyed reunion he had pictured in his head. The man in front of him seemed nonchalant at best, inconvenienced at most. He watched his father light a cigarette and look around the room awkwardly.

"Why don't you come to see me?" He asked in a small voice, scared of the answer.

His father sighed, a cloud of smoke surrounding him as he did. "When your Mom decided to start a new life with a new fella, she told me she didn't need me sending money anymore."

"That's not what I asked-"

"Oh, and he already had his own fishing boat, and his own place." John rolled his eyes and took a long drag. He blew it out to the side. "Whatever, man. She set me free."

"What about me?" Wes asked through gritted teeth, redness heating his cheeks. He wanted to scream it. What about me? What about your son? Wes felt the anger he always had bubbling under the surface getting closer and closer. Like a bomb ticking down its final seconds. 

"I was sixteen," His father answered incredulously, "You got a girl you like?"

"Yes," Wes answered shortly.

"Well don't get too involved. By the time you're eighteen, you'll thank me for it."

Wes shot up. His heart pumped loud and fast in his eardrums. "You leaving? We can go get a coffee or something if you want..." His father started, half heartedly getting out of his own chair.

"Forget it."

Wes spent the next day at the gang's cove, laying on the rocks, staring at the sky. The confirmation of a nagging feeling deep in his bones. A parent that didn't want or care about him. He wiped angry tears away from his face and slept out there on the rocks, curled into a tight ball, wishing he hadn't wondered. He wanted to scream his frustration out, but his screams always got stuck in his throat. Too sad to be truly angry, too angry to be truly sad. 

When he got home the next day after walking miles from the cove, his mother was climbing into Adla's car hurriedly. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him coming up the driveway, dropped her purse, and ran up to him frantically.

The sun melted into the horizon behind her as she pulled him tight into her arms. "Why did you go there? Are you okay? What did he say?" She questioned.

Wes pulled away for a moment. When he looked into his mother's sad, knowing eyes, he started to cry again. "He doesn't want me." He sobbed. His mother started to cry as well, pulling him in again. "Why doesn't he want me?" He said louder, feeling his knees start to weaken.

"Why doesn't he want me?" He finally screamed, before burying his head into his mother's shoulder. He wept and screamed out again, finally feeling the tension in his muscles and heart loosen. 

"It's okay," His mother would say, squeezing him tightly, patting his hair, "It's okay, baby." She would soothe.

But it wasn't. There were things in Wes's life that would never be okay. Things on the outside that he couldn't possibly control. But he would never stop fighting to be okay on the inside.