Criss Cross

Ky

KY

The tapping foot of a young man echoed down the large hallway, the cool marble a contrast to the oddly humid day outside the glass doors. Each time they opened he would startle, gaze whipping to see who would come through. Much to his dismay, it was usually tired little kids or worn out social workers.

"C'mon." he murmured "C'mon."

Never in his life had he felt so nervous, so exposed – he didn't like it. Apparently he looked it on the outside, too. He'd never been very good at hiding his feelings though. He'd almost missed his subway stop on the way to school.

"Ky," his father had said, "You don't have to do this."

"Actually Dad, I do." The car had been stuffy, smelling of heated leather and a banana peel that had been left there by accident for too long.

"Not if you don't want to, no one will blame you –"

"I'll blame me, Dad." He had felt that old anger brewing, the churning of his stomach at the thought of what his father had done – had kept from him.

Thinking of that cool October day had Ky almost in tears, but he resisted – instead he forced himself to go over the details, again and again as if somehow it would make sense.

Dust filled his lungs as he opened the attic hatch, and he coughed violently, clutching his throat. It had been years since anyone had been in the attic, and it wasn't exactly Ky's favourite place – he'd been terrified of it as a child.

The Waters home was tall, skinny and long, unlike the other houses in their neighbourhood. Sort of like Ky. He'd been that one kid who was abnormally tall for his age all his life, and because of it tended to stare at the ground and had adopted a goofy manner; 'oops, did I just accidentally break a freshman's nose by ramming my elbow into it?'

Climbing up the ladder, Ky collapsed on the floor, panting. The dust that had choked him coated every surface, and he knew their housekeeper, Rosa, would be furious about the state of his clothes after this little adventure.

It wasn't the way he had wanted to spend his Sunday afternoon, but their guidance counsellor was driving him nuts – apparently he was the only person who hadn't turned in three baby pictures for the graduation video. Graduation had been seven months away, in May.

After cleaning his glasses, he crawled on his knees across the floor, aiming for the big boxes on the other side; Ky tried his best not to become entangled in the large cobwebs hanging in the air. Pulling the containers towards him, he read their labels; after shoving aside a few of 'taxes' and 'national geographic' he found what he was looking for – 'baby Ky'

The first couple layers were books and clothes, and then beneath them he found what he needed; photos. Reaching for a big envelope, he turned it upside down; papers flew all over the place, caught on a momentary draft.

Cussing, he reached for the papers and began to stuff them back in the envelope – they weren't what he needed anyway. As he reached for a stiff piece of paper, Ky was surprised to see his name written on it in bold capital letters.

Curious, he picked it up; it said birth certificate at the top, and had his name – but the letters beneath 'parents names' didn't spell out his parents' names.

His own last name written there wasn't even Waters– it was Roth. As his eyes scanned across the paper, Ky felt a sudden shortness of breath. This sort of stuff was not supposed to happen to legitimately normal people like him.