I stood in the doorway of Charlie's bedroom, watching my only child breathe evenly and deeply. The last three months had been a nightmare, as the poor kid had taken sick sometime before Thanksgiving. And it had only worsened to the point of Charlie ending up in the hospital with a horrible lung infection, among other problems. But now, now it seemed the worse had passed, as four days ago the kid had come home. Watching Charlie sleep for a moment longer, I eventually turned away and crept down the hall to the bedroom I shared with my partner, Kestrel. A quick peek revealed that my significant other was also sleeping soundly.
If it had been difficult for Charlie, it had been nothing short of nerve-wracking, hair-pulling, stressful for Kestrel and I. So far, Charlie had been the only child we have been blessed with. And, at first, when the poor kid was hospitalised, we feared out child would be taken from us after only four years. Thankfully it seemed we had passed the worst of it.
"Though we aren't exactly out of the woods," I thought as I turned and quietly made my way to the kitchen, hoping that there would be no re-lapse.
Due to a combination of things I hadn't made any contribution to the story I had started posting on CYOC.net. Flipping on the Keurig, waiting for it heat the water, I fetched a mug and a k-cup. I really didn't care about someone stealing my words. If they wanted to do that, fine. I didn't know if it would come to bite them in the end, and, truthfully, I didn't care. Figuring I would care if I were making an effort to have the story published, which I reasoned would also mean I would take more care in self-editing, including limiting the British spelling I used on a day-to-day basis, I stuck my cup under the Keurig. Pressing a button on top of the machine, a near-silent hum filled the kitchen and I soon had a hot drink.
There was so much I still wanted to tell of my story. And now, I felt like I might be able to continue, albeit at a slightly slower pace. I wanted to continue tell of Jeff and Jessica, neither of which I was ready to reveal who I had stuck to. Yet, there was other things, as using the Chronivac remote hadn't only effected me, but also others. It had an effect of Kestrel, of which I alone knew the truth, at there behest of course. It had also an effect of coach Gillian, though that one I was still unsure how to weave into the story, which was my story as to how I got to where I am today and the secrets I have carried with me for the past twenty-seven years. Sighing, I took a sip of the hot beverage I had prepared and leaned back against the cupboard. Thinking of the remote and everything that had happened since I had first acquired it my mind drifted to my story and I began, again, to question the originality of it.
I had no idea if what I was posting was a flagrant copy. I really didn't use the internet as much as I used. Now, I mainly used it check my email once a day, correspond with people I needed to get a hold of, be it through the only social media site I used, or the two email sites I have contact through, or search the news feeds for up-to-date information of what is happening in the world. I am unsure if there are other stories out there, like mine. Though truthfully, it wouldn't surprise me if there were.
"Would I go looking for them?" I asked myself like I had on a couple occasions. And, after thinking about whether I would, I arrived at the same answer I always did, an emphatic no.
Honestly, I was scared that if I did find a story about a guy who disguised himself as a girl, tried out to be a cheerleader, made the squad, then ended up in a situation because of it, it would influence what I am trying to tell. I did not want to be influenced by another story. Plus, I wanted to keep my tale as true to the events that eventually led me to where I currently am in my life. Yes, somethings have been altered, like names. All of the people in my narrative have been re-named to protect the people and to make the story seem more like something made up. But for me and the people I call Kestrel, my aunt, my mother and coach Gillian, all of what I type, or will eventually type, actually happened. And then there is the other reason that I do not go looking for similar stories, which is because I am sure if I did find anything, I'd loss my nerve and definitely stop and the secret I have lived with would continue to eat at me.
A noise from somewhere in the house and I stiffened. Listening, hoping it hadn't been Charlie, I finished my drink. Rinsing the cup in the sink I headed toward the bedrooms. Peeking in my child's room, seeing their form underneath the bedding, I listened to the kid breathing evenly. Deciding I'd been mistaken, I crept back through the house, stopping to peek in on Kestrel. Seeing my partner was still fast asleep, I considered crawling under the covers and cuddling up close.
Instead, I turned away from the bedroom and headed for my study. Inside, I powered up the computer and logged onto my desktop. Clicking on the internet icon, I started typing in the CYOC website address. But, at last moment, I instead pegged in address for one of my emails. Checking it, finding I had nothing new, I logged out, then logged onto my other email site. Seeing that I had nothing new there, I logged off. Thinking, "Okay. Enough dinking about," I typed in the address for the CYOC network and prowling around, I quickly located what I had last posted.
Unsure what I should enter next for the new chapter, I leaned back in my desk chair, swivelled it so I was looking out the window. Studying the full moon and the lunar mare visible, I collected my thoughts. Knowing where I left off, the events of the past, or as much as I could recall, easily coming back to me, I went over all that happened. Trying to decide where I should pick up, deciding there was two important things happening, I weighed the pros and cons of each one. Turning back to the desk, I reached out and let my hands hover over the keyboard. Staring at the screen, I thought that maybe there was a third option of what I could type. Reaching for the mouse, I clicked on the empty space for an optional title and without giving it a second thought, typed in the title that would appear in the options listed below my last chapter posted.
A sense of confidence in what I was about to do, I tabbed down to the next box and typed out the chapter title. Reading what I had typed, thinking over the third option, I nodded. Hitting the tab button again, I began, slowly at first, to type out what had occurred since I had awoken some time ago, starting with my actions of watching Charlie sleep. Making sure I didn't give to much away, especially the sex and gender of Kestrel and myself, I re-read what I typed. Satisfied with everything, I believed I could continue on. Feeling like a burden had lifted I told myself that I truly didn't care about trolls, people plagiarising my work or any of that shit, and that what my professors taught me in the couple writing class I had taken was something I could fall back on. Hovering over the post chapter button, wanting to continue on with my tale, I hesitated. Wondering if I could ever show this to Kestrel, or even Charlie, I realised I was stalling, huffed in agitation and mentally kicked myself.
My pointer still hovering over the post option, I hemmed and hawed a bit longer. Finally hissing, "Fuck it," I clicked the button.