love yourself
tech week will devour my non-existent soul
One
My name is Spencer Bartina-Hanson. I have a sister named Cora, we live with my fathers. Their names are Matthew Hanson (Pop) and Henry Bartina (Dad). I’m fourteen, while Cora is sixteen. We recently moved to California, in hopes of getting away from our troubled past in Chicago, Illinois. Dad and Pop said that Chicago is “no place suited for children our age,” but suspect that there is more to the story than what they’re telling me.
We’re moving boxes out of the U-Haul truck that we drove to our new house, 8293 Delaware Street. On the outside, it looks like a normal two-story house. I was fine with that; it didn’t change the fact that we lived there now. Cora on the other hand, was freaking out.
“We’re living in such a big house now!” She yelled, her voice reaching an octave that I didn’t know existed. Pop only chuckled while I rolled my eyes in response.
“Like our last house wasn’t enough, right?” I say sarcastically, getting out of the car and slamming the door unintentionally. Cora gave me a venomous look, which only made me smirk. Her reactions were priceless.
“That’s enough, kids,” Dad cut off our little conversation, placing a box to the side. He fumbled with something in his clammy hands, which sounded like keys, and unlocked the door to our new home. Cora moved giddily, her feet tapping on the ground anxiously (and very loudly), while I stood in place next to her and Pop. She’s getting a little too excited, isn’t she? My bitter chocolate eyes moved around the area, and I watch my giant of a Dad struggle to open the door.
“Welcome to our new home.” Dad declared, a smile creeping on his colored face. “We’re going to move boxes in after you two pick your rooms. Pop and I have the master bedroom already, so don’t pick that room,” he explains, and Cora makes a beeline to the stairs.
“Hey, wait up!” I shout, not bothering to acknowledge Dad. I ran after Cora, trying to catch up with her. She was so damn fast, though! By the time she was at the top of the stairs, she was waiting for me as I begin wheezing for air when I was only halfway up.
“Geez, Spencer! Try to catch up!” She teased, earning a punch in the arm. “Okay, so the master room is to the left,” she pointed down the hall as she explained, “and the other rooms are over here.”
“Your point, Cora?” I ask, and she gives me a goofy smile.
“They’re the same size, so it doesn’t matter which room we get,” she finishes, and my arms crossed. What was the point in all that?
“Whatever is fine with me, as long as I don’t get the room near the front,” I explain casually, and she nods. Finally, we agree on something based on rooms. As we walk down the hall, I go for the room that isn’t by the front of the house. I don’t know why I never liked having a room that faces the road. I just never did. The idea of people seeing me isn’t a fun thing to experience. I also don’t like sunlight leaking into my eyes while I try to sleep in on a Saturday morning.
While surveying my room, I take in the details that I believe most people may overlook: the stereotypical white plaster walls, the hardwood floor, the small window with blinds (thank God), the sliding-door closet which could hold my clothes...and I realize it’s pretty spacious. I have a lot of things I can do with this area.
Cora popped her head into my room, and called out, “Okay, dork! Now that you’re done admiring your room, let’s get some boxes and help Dad and Pop,” Her sudden presence made me flinch. Dammit, Cora.
“Okay, I’ll come help,” I reply, turning on my heels to leave the room, “but don’t scare me like that. It’s hella creepy.”
“Don’t expect it to stop soon, bro,” she replied boldly, and I crossed my arms. Sisters, am I right?
Helping Dad and Pop put boxes in our new home was hard enough, but unpacking them? That’s a whole other can of worms I don’t want to get into. Neither does everybody else, from the looks of it. All covered in sweat beads and looking miserable in general. We were all sprawled out on the floor, and I groaned dramatically, “Why did we work all day for this?”
“Cause we did,” Cora muttered in response, sounding croaky. She was curled into a ball, and strands of her raven black hair stuck to her face. Her hazel eyes screamed how weak her limbs were from moving so many boxes. Dad and Pop didn’t seem as affected as us, but were still affected. I turned my head to my parents, both of them covered in a little bit of sweat, and their gray hairs were a little more noticeable.
“Should we stay in a hotel for tonight, Matt?” Dad mumbled to Pop, and Pop sat up in response.
“Probably not. We already used so much money for the house,” Pop started, “so we should just keep working.” Cora and I groaned in unison loudly when we heard Pop’s next words. More work?! You gotta be kidding me.
“You’re right,” Dad agreed. Now we have to keep working. So much for relaxation.
“So, that’s more work?” Cora asked in a whiny tone, and Pop nodded. Dammit. I really didn’t want to work anymore. Why did we have to do more? My eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to sit up. I grumbled about how I didn’t want to move everything out of boxes. I can’t even tell what time it is right now.
Reaching into my front pocket, I pull out my cell phone, and press the power button to turn it on. The dim screen displays the time 4:18 P.M. in bright white numbers and letters. Not to mention, my phone is blown up with texts of all sorts: iMessage, Snapchat, Instagram, and so on. I don’t bother to check them. I’ll get homesick.
Once I get to my feet, I walk over to Cora, and offer her my hand. She takes it with her own sweaty hand that matches my Hispanic skin tone, and hoists herself up to her own feet. We look at each other before we take some boxes with our names written in all caps with a bold, black marker, and start making our way upstairs.
I flopped onto my bed back first, and I got a creak in response from my bed. It’s now 1:21 A.M., and I have nothing to do. I unlock my phone, starting to go through the messages people have sent me.
My room consisted of a twin size bed right across from my closet with a thick space cadet blue blanket, a wooden nightstand next to my bed, with a small blue-magenta violet lava lamp. I have a giant art dest off in another corner. On the walls, there is a Panic! at The Disco poster, a Heathers poster, a Dear Evan Hansen poster, a Be More Chill poster, and some abstract art. My favorite piece of art is the small canvas covered with flicks of all sorts of paint. In the middle, there’s a Vans logo in white, but surrounding the logo (and behind it) are colors like tango pink, Majorelle blue, hunter green, ginger orange, orange-yellow, lavender gray, pewter blue, black, flame red, and pale cerulean. (I want to take that painting, and do it on one of my sliding closet doors. Minus the Vans logo, and plus more colors.)
Scrolling through the messages, I start with Snapchat. I had a whole ton of messages in there. Some were from friends that didn’t even talk to me anymore. And here they are, messaging me about how much they miss me. Jovienne, you didn’t even talk to me since fifth grade ended, why the hell are you telling me you’ll miss me?
I feel like people say they’ll miss you because they regret not spending time with you. When you’re around, they don’t even wanna talk to you, and are “too busy.” Oh, but as soon as you’re moving to a whole other state, people wanna be all over you. Messages from most people, like Linus, Erela, Katrina, Seth, and Kanji don’t matter. Only one person from this mass of messages was important, and that message was from Cayde. He told me exactly, in his words, “Hey, Spencey! I hope you have a good rest of your life at Fairfield. My aunt and uncle live there, and they send us stuff all the time. (: I’m really going to miss you, though ): We won’t be able to have our special friend moments anymore...we won’t get to laugh at stupid jokes together anymore, we won’t be able to gush over musicals with Cora like we used to, and we won’t be able to hang out anymore...I hope you message me sometimes whenever you can. I’m going to really miss you!”
The message sent fireworks through my heart and brought tears to my eyes. It was deep and personal to me for some reason. But that was only one person I really cared about (besides Cora). Now that I think about it, I wonder how many messages Cora got. She probably had a lot of messages from people that meant so much to her. I bet she even got messages from teachers. That says something about me.
I save the messages with a tap, and try to think of a reply. I don’t have anything good to say, yet I’m typing. “Hey there, Cay. I’m going to miss you. A lot, actually. You’re the only person I’m going to miss, to be honest. Kind of sad, but whatever. It’s 1:27 A.M. here, so I should probably sleep. See you later.” It was bad, but I sent it anyway. I saved that message, too, even though he wasn’t online.
I couldn’t sleep that night. It’s not that it was cold, because it wasn’t. I was in a pair of shorts and a gray t-shirt. I just kept tossing and turning in my bed. I was so anxious, because today I was supposed to enroll in my new high school. And it’s Sunday. My hands carelessly fumbled around on the nightstand until I grabbed my phone. I turned it on, and the white text announced it was 11:26 A.M. Fuck.
I jumped out of my bed, and ran out of my room as fast as I could, and make it downstairs. I come face to face with Pop, who is fully dressed. “You’re up now, it seems,” he says, and I nod quickly. He sighs, “You really need to get yourself up now, Spencer. Dad and I can’t keep waking you up.”
“I know, Pop. And I’m sorry,” I answer, shame masking my voice. My slightly feminine body slouched, and I heard Pop mumble something to himself.
“Get ready. I’ll make you a bagel really quick,” he tells me, and I nod in response. Quickly, I make my way upstairs.
When I come back down, I’m wearing a vivid red hoodie with the Sprite logo, but instead of logo saying Sprite, it says Sicko Mode, a pair of black jeans that are ripped at first, but are patched (the rips are still visible, though), a pair of checkered red Vans, and a Ripndip beanie. Only the head is visible, so it won’t violate any school dress code. I’m trying to make a good impression for school authorities.
Pop walks over to the door, handing me a bagel with butter. I take it before he gets to the door. Once he opened that front door, I slunk underneath his big arms and made it to the outside world. It was super bright outside, and the trees weren’t on the verge of dying. They were actually thriving. It’s all so different to me. Not like Chicago at all.
Pop locked the door behind him, and started walking. He walked past me, and commanded, “Hurry up, Spencer! We have to meet up with Dad and Cora.”
“Right, sorry,” I replied, snapping out of my trance. I quickened my pace up after Pop until I was next to him. I begin walking normally once I was next to him. “So, Cora and I are heading to the same high school?”
“This time, yes,” Pop replied, relief hidden in his voice, “They have a prestigious school for her, but she wants to go to a public school. Plus, they have a theatre elective at this high school. Now both of you can take theatre together,” a goofy smile formed on my face at Pop’s words. Taking theatre together? Finally! It gets boring when you see a bunch of other kids who don’t even want to participate in the class.
We get into the car, and Pop puts his keys into the ignition, and turned them. The 2010 Silver Chrysler roared to life-well, it was more of a rumble-and the gas light blinked on. I heard Pop curse to himself, and he told me, “Go to Maps and type in ‘gas stations near me.’”
“Way ahead of you, Pop,” I reply, sighing very heavily. What fun.
My name is Spencer Bartina-Hanson. I have a sister named Cora, we live with my fathers. Their names are Matthew Hanson (Pop) and Henry Bartina (Dad). I’m fourteen, while Cora is sixteen. We recently moved to California, in hopes of getting away from our troubled past in Chicago, Illinois. Dad and Pop said that Chicago is “no place suited for children our age,” but suspect that there is more to the story than what they’re telling me.
We’re moving boxes out of the U-Haul truck that we drove to our new house, 8293 Delaware Street. On the outside, it looks like a normal two-story house. I was fine with that; it didn’t change the fact that we lived there now. Cora on the other hand, was freaking out.
“We’re living in such a big house now!” She yelled, her voice reaching an octave that I didn’t know existed. Pop only chuckled while I rolled my eyes in response.
“Like our last house wasn’t enough, right?” I say sarcastically, getting out of the car and slamming the door unintentionally. Cora gave me a venomous look, which only made me smirk. Her reactions were priceless.
“That’s enough, kids,” Dad cut off our little conversation, placing a box to the side. He fumbled with something in his clammy hands, which sounded like keys, and unlocked the door to our new home. Cora moved giddily, her feet tapping on the ground anxiously (and very loudly), while I stood in place next to her and Pop. She’s getting a little too excited, isn’t she? My bitter chocolate eyes moved around the area, and I watch my giant of a Dad struggle to open the door.
“Welcome to our new home.” Dad declared, a smile creeping on his colored face. “We’re going to move boxes in after you two pick your rooms. Pop and I have the master bedroom already, so don’t pick that room,” he explains, and Cora makes a beeline to the stairs.
“Hey, wait up!” I shout, not bothering to acknowledge Dad. I ran after Cora, trying to catch up with her. She was so damn fast, though! By the time she was at the top of the stairs, she was waiting for me as I begin wheezing for air when I was only halfway up.
“Geez, Spencer! Try to catch up!” She teased, earning a punch in the arm. “Okay, so the master room is to the left,” she pointed down the hall as she explained, “and the other rooms are over here.”
“Your point, Cora?” I ask, and she gives me a goofy smile.
“They’re the same size, so it doesn’t matter which room we get,” she finishes, and my arms crossed. What was the point in all that?
“Whatever is fine with me, as long as I don’t get the room near the front,” I explain casually, and she nods. Finally, we agree on something based on rooms. As we walk down the hall, I go for the room that isn’t by the front of the house. I don’t know why I never liked having a room that faces the road. I just never did. The idea of people seeing me isn’t a fun thing to experience. I also don’t like sunlight leaking into my eyes while I try to sleep in on a Saturday morning.
While surveying my room, I take in the details that I believe most people may overlook: the stereotypical white plaster walls, the hardwood floor, the small window with blinds (thank God), the sliding-door closet which could hold my clothes...and I realize it’s pretty spacious. I have a lot of things I can do with this area.
Cora popped her head into my room, and called out, “Okay, dork! Now that you’re done admiring your room, let’s get some boxes and help Dad and Pop,” Her sudden presence made me flinch. Dammit, Cora.
“Okay, I’ll come help,” I reply, turning on my heels to leave the room, “but don’t scare me like that. It’s hella creepy.”
“Don’t expect it to stop soon, bro,” she replied boldly, and I crossed my arms. Sisters, am I right?
Helping Dad and Pop put boxes in our new home was hard enough, but unpacking them? That’s a whole other can of worms I don’t want to get into. Neither does everybody else, from the looks of it. All covered in sweat beads and looking miserable in general. We were all sprawled out on the floor, and I groaned dramatically, “Why did we work all day for this?”
“Cause we did,” Cora muttered in response, sounding croaky. She was curled into a ball, and strands of her raven black hair stuck to her face. Her hazel eyes screamed how weak her limbs were from moving so many boxes. Dad and Pop didn’t seem as affected as us, but were still affected. I turned my head to my parents, both of them covered in a little bit of sweat, and their gray hairs were a little more noticeable.
“Should we stay in a hotel for tonight, Matt?” Dad mumbled to Pop, and Pop sat up in response.
“Probably not. We already used so much money for the house,” Pop started, “so we should just keep working.” Cora and I groaned in unison loudly when we heard Pop’s next words. More work?! You gotta be kidding me.
“You’re right,” Dad agreed. Now we have to keep working. So much for relaxation.
“So, that’s more work?” Cora asked in a whiny tone, and Pop nodded. Dammit. I really didn’t want to work anymore. Why did we have to do more? My eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to sit up. I grumbled about how I didn’t want to move everything out of boxes. I can’t even tell what time it is right now.
Reaching into my front pocket, I pull out my cell phone, and press the power button to turn it on. The dim screen displays the time 4:18 P.M. in bright white numbers and letters. Not to mention, my phone is blown up with texts of all sorts: iMessage, Snapchat, Instagram, and so on. I don’t bother to check them. I’ll get homesick.
Once I get to my feet, I walk over to Cora, and offer her my hand. She takes it with her own sweaty hand that matches my Hispanic skin tone, and hoists herself up to her own feet. We look at each other before we take some boxes with our names written in all caps with a bold, black marker, and start making our way upstairs.
I flopped onto my bed back first, and I got a creak in response from my bed. It’s now 1:21 A.M., and I have nothing to do. I unlock my phone, starting to go through the messages people have sent me.
My room consisted of a twin size bed right across from my closet with a thick space cadet blue blanket, a wooden nightstand next to my bed, with a small blue-magenta violet lava lamp. I have a giant art dest off in another corner. On the walls, there is a Panic! at The Disco poster, a Heathers poster, a Dear Evan Hansen poster, a Be More Chill poster, and some abstract art. My favorite piece of art is the small canvas covered with flicks of all sorts of paint. In the middle, there’s a Vans logo in white, but surrounding the logo (and behind it) are colors like tango pink, Majorelle blue, hunter green, ginger orange, orange-yellow, lavender gray, pewter blue, black, flame red, and pale cerulean. (I want to take that painting, and do it on one of my sliding closet doors. Minus the Vans logo, and plus more colors.)
Scrolling through the messages, I start with Snapchat. I had a whole ton of messages in there. Some were from friends that didn’t even talk to me anymore. And here they are, messaging me about how much they miss me. Jovienne, you didn’t even talk to me since fifth grade ended, why the hell are you telling me you’ll miss me?
I feel like people say they’ll miss you because they regret not spending time with you. When you’re around, they don’t even wanna talk to you, and are “too busy.” Oh, but as soon as you’re moving to a whole other state, people wanna be all over you. Messages from most people, like Linus, Erela, Katrina, Seth, and Kanji don’t matter. Only one person from this mass of messages was important, and that message was from Cayde. He told me exactly, in his words, “Hey, Spencey! I hope you have a good rest of your life at Fairfield. My aunt and uncle live there, and they send us stuff all the time. (: I’m really going to miss you, though ): We won’t be able to have our special friend moments anymore...we won’t get to laugh at stupid jokes together anymore, we won’t be able to gush over musicals with Cora like we used to, and we won’t be able to hang out anymore...I hope you message me sometimes whenever you can. I’m going to really miss you!”
The message sent fireworks through my heart and brought tears to my eyes. It was deep and personal to me for some reason. But that was only one person I really cared about (besides Cora). Now that I think about it, I wonder how many messages Cora got. She probably had a lot of messages from people that meant so much to her. I bet she even got messages from teachers. That says something about me.
I save the messages with a tap, and try to think of a reply. I don’t have anything good to say, yet I’m typing. “Hey there, Cay. I’m going to miss you. A lot, actually. You’re the only person I’m going to miss, to be honest. Kind of sad, but whatever. It’s 1:27 A.M. here, so I should probably sleep. See you later.” It was bad, but I sent it anyway. I saved that message, too, even though he wasn’t online.
I couldn’t sleep that night. It’s not that it was cold, because it wasn’t. I was in a pair of shorts and a gray t-shirt. I just kept tossing and turning in my bed. I was so anxious, because today I was supposed to enroll in my new high school. And it’s Sunday. My hands carelessly fumbled around on the nightstand until I grabbed my phone. I turned it on, and the white text announced it was 11:26 A.M. Fuck.
I jumped out of my bed, and ran out of my room as fast as I could, and make it downstairs. I come face to face with Pop, who is fully dressed. “You’re up now, it seems,” he says, and I nod quickly. He sighs, “You really need to get yourself up now, Spencer. Dad and I can’t keep waking you up.”
“I know, Pop. And I’m sorry,” I answer, shame masking my voice. My slightly feminine body slouched, and I heard Pop mumble something to himself.
“Get ready. I’ll make you a bagel really quick,” he tells me, and I nod in response. Quickly, I make my way upstairs.
When I come back down, I’m wearing a vivid red hoodie with the Sprite logo, but instead of logo saying Sprite, it says Sicko Mode, a pair of black jeans that are ripped at first, but are patched (the rips are still visible, though), a pair of checkered red Vans, and a Ripndip beanie. Only the head is visible, so it won’t violate any school dress code. I’m trying to make a good impression for school authorities.
Pop walks over to the door, handing me a bagel with butter. I take it before he gets to the door. Once he opened that front door, I slunk underneath his big arms and made it to the outside world. It was super bright outside, and the trees weren’t on the verge of dying. They were actually thriving. It’s all so different to me. Not like Chicago at all.
Pop locked the door behind him, and started walking. He walked past me, and commanded, “Hurry up, Spencer! We have to meet up with Dad and Cora.”
“Right, sorry,” I replied, snapping out of my trance. I quickened my pace up after Pop until I was next to him. I begin walking normally once I was next to him. “So, Cora and I are heading to the same high school?”
“This time, yes,” Pop replied, relief hidden in his voice, “They have a prestigious school for her, but she wants to go to a public school. Plus, they have a theatre elective at this high school. Now both of you can take theatre together,” a goofy smile formed on my face at Pop’s words. Taking theatre together? Finally! It gets boring when you see a bunch of other kids who don’t even want to participate in the class.
We get into the car, and Pop puts his keys into the ignition, and turned them. The 2010 Silver Chrysler roared to life-well, it was more of a rumble-and the gas light blinked on. I heard Pop curse to himself, and he told me, “Go to Maps and type in ‘gas stations near me.’”
“Way ahead of you, Pop,” I reply, sighing very heavily. What fun.
㋡this story was inspired by the fact that i see so many gay couple stories/fanfictions, but no stories about two dads. i also was intrigued by the idea of something like this happening, so i wrote it out!
㋡no, i don't have two dads myself. i sometimes imagine that i do, though!
㋡the protagonist, spencer, was actually inspired by one of my acquaintances, kenderick!
㋡spencer was originally a character i used for roleplay. i have put him away for some time, and this story came out.
㋡cora was inspired from one of my best friends, lilly!
㋡the musical posters are a main part of spencer and cora's adoration for theater
㋡spencer actually has social anxiety, and can't be on a stage as a main character. yet he wants a role like that so badly!
㋡cora unfortunately has clinical depression, and had tried to kill herself in her sophomore year in high school. that's why the family moved to fairfield.
㋡matthew has a close bond with spencer, while henry is close with cora
㋡one time, i think that cora caught pop & dad getting nasty, and she told spencer about it
㋡no, i don't have two dads myself. i sometimes imagine that i do, though!
㋡the protagonist, spencer, was actually inspired by one of my acquaintances, kenderick!
㋡spencer was originally a character i used for roleplay. i have put him away for some time, and this story came out.
㋡cora was inspired from one of my best friends, lilly!
㋡the musical posters are a main part of spencer and cora's adoration for theater
㋡spencer actually has social anxiety, and can't be on a stage as a main character. yet he wants a role like that so badly!
㋡cora unfortunately has clinical depression, and had tried to kill herself in her sophomore year in high school. that's why the family moved to fairfield.
㋡matthew has a close bond with spencer, while henry is close with cora
㋡one time, i think that cora caught pop & dad getting nasty, and she told spencer about it
