Categories > TV > Kyle XY > The Kyle XY and Amanda Chronicles, Part 2
Chapter 1- Amanda
My life was basically normal before these past couple of years. I grew up with some close friends, I went to substantial public schools, and I had average parents-- for most of my life.
My father, David Bloom, was the most important person in my life. When I was 7 years old, my mother forced me to take violin lessons. I hated that wretched thing, I could never get the hang of it. I couldn't finish a song without missing a note, playing a wrong note, or making that horrible screeching sound with the bow. My mother was stern when I was younger, but decent nonetheless. She wouldn't let me quit, no matter how many tantrums I threw. I remember one time, I was sitting on my stool, clutching my violin in one hand, and sobbing in the other hand. My dad crept up behind me and told me absurd stories until I was cried from the pains in my sides from laughing so hard. He looked me in the eye and grinned with satisfaction. And in one swift motion, he snatched the violin from me, placed it on his knee so that the body of it was outstretched across his lap and the neck was dangling above the ground, and slapped the instrument in half. I was shocked at his action, thinking how my mother would react. As if he read my mind, he whispered, "If your mother asks, say it was my fault. I'll get to the details with her later." He winked and crinkled his nose and softly chuckled. The very next day, he presented me with a baby-grand piano. He taught me himself and played by my side for 8 years. I loved that piano almost as much as him.
His life was abruptly taken last year... at least it was abrupt to me. He was battling leukemia for 4 years, and his body finally gave in to it. Nobody ever warned me that his life could be cut short. Nobody even told me he was sick. I was so unprepared for that day, and it took a toll on my life. I never quite felt the same again; even on the happiest of days, I still felt empty inside. My mom was hit hard, too, for she was always very paranoid of everything and overprotective of me. She also started hitting me for punishment, but not abusively. It was still crueler than she had ever been. She never talked about my father anymore, though I knew she thought about him a lot. I never went a day without thinking about my dad myself... until he came along.
It was only about three months ago when I started hearing rumors about a "mentally ill" patient living in the neighborhood. Some said that, others said he was a juvenile delinquent looking to rob us all. I was suspicious, but I didn't feel afraid of these rumors... they were only rumors, of course. Then one day, while I was playing my father's favorite song on my piano and recalling my fondest memories of him, I met Kyle. It was somewhat of a peculiar encounter, considering he snuck into my home without saying a word. When I heard a whimper, I spun around and saw him for the first time. He was just as scared as I was, and he stumbled out of the house. I was confused, but no longer frightened since he ran off. He couldn't be a madman, he was only... curious. My mother was no less than furious. Later that day when Mrs. Trager came over with Kyle to apologize, he seemed so innocent. His eyes wandered around the room like he had never seen a house before. When his eyes came across mine, he look perplexed and excited. From his sincere eyes to his wrinkled forehead, he had enchantment written all over his face. After they left and my mother scowled in disapproval, I was hit with questions. Who is he? Was he the "mental patient" everyone was talking about? And, Why am I so physically attracted to him?
What was even more compelling was what I realized the next day: I hadn't thought about my father since I first saw Kyle... twenty- four hours ago.
L. Fisher, age 14; Tampa, FL
My life was basically normal before these past couple of years. I grew up with some close friends, I went to substantial public schools, and I had average parents-- for most of my life.
My father, David Bloom, was the most important person in my life. When I was 7 years old, my mother forced me to take violin lessons. I hated that wretched thing, I could never get the hang of it. I couldn't finish a song without missing a note, playing a wrong note, or making that horrible screeching sound with the bow. My mother was stern when I was younger, but decent nonetheless. She wouldn't let me quit, no matter how many tantrums I threw. I remember one time, I was sitting on my stool, clutching my violin in one hand, and sobbing in the other hand. My dad crept up behind me and told me absurd stories until I was cried from the pains in my sides from laughing so hard. He looked me in the eye and grinned with satisfaction. And in one swift motion, he snatched the violin from me, placed it on his knee so that the body of it was outstretched across his lap and the neck was dangling above the ground, and slapped the instrument in half. I was shocked at his action, thinking how my mother would react. As if he read my mind, he whispered, "If your mother asks, say it was my fault. I'll get to the details with her later." He winked and crinkled his nose and softly chuckled. The very next day, he presented me with a baby-grand piano. He taught me himself and played by my side for 8 years. I loved that piano almost as much as him.
His life was abruptly taken last year... at least it was abrupt to me. He was battling leukemia for 4 years, and his body finally gave in to it. Nobody ever warned me that his life could be cut short. Nobody even told me he was sick. I was so unprepared for that day, and it took a toll on my life. I never quite felt the same again; even on the happiest of days, I still felt empty inside. My mom was hit hard, too, for she was always very paranoid of everything and overprotective of me. She also started hitting me for punishment, but not abusively. It was still crueler than she had ever been. She never talked about my father anymore, though I knew she thought about him a lot. I never went a day without thinking about my dad myself... until he came along.
It was only about three months ago when I started hearing rumors about a "mentally ill" patient living in the neighborhood. Some said that, others said he was a juvenile delinquent looking to rob us all. I was suspicious, but I didn't feel afraid of these rumors... they were only rumors, of course. Then one day, while I was playing my father's favorite song on my piano and recalling my fondest memories of him, I met Kyle. It was somewhat of a peculiar encounter, considering he snuck into my home without saying a word. When I heard a whimper, I spun around and saw him for the first time. He was just as scared as I was, and he stumbled out of the house. I was confused, but no longer frightened since he ran off. He couldn't be a madman, he was only... curious. My mother was no less than furious. Later that day when Mrs. Trager came over with Kyle to apologize, he seemed so innocent. His eyes wandered around the room like he had never seen a house before. When his eyes came across mine, he look perplexed and excited. From his sincere eyes to his wrinkled forehead, he had enchantment written all over his face. After they left and my mother scowled in disapproval, I was hit with questions. Who is he? Was he the "mental patient" everyone was talking about? And, Why am I so physically attracted to him?
What was even more compelling was what I realized the next day: I hadn't thought about my father since I first saw Kyle... twenty- four hours ago.
L. Fisher, age 14; Tampa, FL
Sign up to rate and review this story