Broken Identity
Authors: Ashley Williams
© Copyright 2011–Ashley Williams
All rights reserved. This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America. This book may not be copied or reprinted for commercial gain or profit. The use of short quotations or occasional page copying for personal or group study is permitted and encouraged. Permission will be granted upon request. Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. Please note that Destiny Image’s publishing style capitalizes certain pronouns in Scripture that refer to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and may differ from some publishers’ styles. Take note that the name satan and related names are not capitalized. We choose not to acknowledge him, even to the point of violating grammatical rules.
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Dedication
To my family…
All I can say is, I have a great team. You can’t even begin to know how much your encouragement has made a difference in my life and in my writing. You always said that God, then family, are the two most important things. Thanks for being the best example of that.
And to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ…
I want You to know that I have enjoyed every step of the way. Keep calling me higher; because the day I stop climbing marks the day I stop dreaming. What You have waiting for me at the top sure must be special, and I look forward to it with all my heart.
Contents
Name’s Drake. Drake Spyridon Pearson, if you wanna get that specific. Yeah, thought about changing my middle name a long time ago after I realized I couldn’t even spell it by the first grade, but I won’t go into that. Guess Mom thought an unusual name would make me sound important or sump’n, but I’m still the same old me doing the same old stuff the same old way. My life’s pretty much routine…if what I’m doing is routine for most teens my age. Kinda embarrassing when you go to fill out scholarships online and they ask you to list any achievements you’ve made, and then you realize you don’t have any. But college isn’t that great anyway. If it’s filled with the kind of people I’m used to here at my school, you couldn’t pay me to go.
So far, my life story hasn’t been that great. Life’s stressful, to say the least. The only thing that really matters to me anymore is an old, slightly torn picture I carry around in the sleeve of my wallet. But that’s another story.
Here’s mine.
Drake Pearson eased his 1981 Ford truck into the driveway of his shabby trailer home, careful to keep it from rocking wildly across the yard every time his tires hit holes. Stupid dogs. A shotgun would take care of that. New tires were a killer to afford, so better the mutts disappear than his sanity.
Linhurst Peak, Missouri, was all heat by the time May rolled around. Dirt concreted to a hard crust, wild roses and dogwoods bloomed prematurely, parents drowned their kids in Gatorade and sunscreen, and even the local scrooges were desperately singing “Let it Snow” by the time Christmas rolled around. Of course, it wasn’t all that bad if you could afford air conditioning, which Drake’s old man couldn’t.
Along with the heat, everything else in life pretty much went along routinely. Drake went to school, avoided home when at all possible, slept long hours just to find peace in blackness, and endured the ugliness of life in cruise control. No, he wasn’t calling it quits altogether. He just hadn’t found an alternative to living yet.
Drake steered to the right and braked in a patch of dead, twisted weeds, half-noticing that the clunker his dad owned was gone. Again. He pulled his keys from the ignition and sat there, thinking only for the pure sake of the silence it brought. He pressed his head back against the sweat-stained headrest and closed his eyes.
Welcome home, man. Last on the list of places I want to be right now.
The smell of cut grass filled Drake’s nostrils as he stepped out of his truck and walked up to the front door. Another downpour last night had left the rickety porch saturated with water. He was certain that one day he’d come home and find it disintegrated from rotting. Then again, if the porch ever did collapse, there wouldn’t be much of a fall. All the empty cigarette cartons and beer cans piled high underneath would surely bolster the four-foot drop. Drake really didn’t care what happened either way. He even made a point to hit the steps harder and listen to them crack with every step he took, if only to give his dad something else to cuss about once he got home.
Drake kicked the neighbor’s stray cat away from the screen door and grabbed the doorknob, finding it unlocked as usual. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind. After tomorrow, he would be forever done with twelfth grade. That meant the real sting was on the way—get a job and do something useful with your life, punk. Yeah, if only he knew what that meant. While his dad was gone and with his head cleared from exams, Drake determined he would spend the rest of the afternoon sorting out what he might dare call his future.
He bit his lip and shrugged. Ah, save it for another day.
Another blast of scorching heat blanketed him as he walked inside. Drake took off his shirt and flung it over the side of the couch. Might as well get a full tan in this furnace of a house. He went to the freezer and scattered the last handful of crinkle-cut fries on a rusted cooking sheet. Maybe the oven would work long enough to at least thaw them out.
Drake stared down at the food, starving for more to eat. He had to get a job soon. This wasn’t life. It was poverty. Something had to give soon. Everything was lacking in his life. He wanted more, needed more. Something to drive him on and give his life purpose.
He combed through his shaggy black hair with his fingers and sighed. Maybe someday things would be different. But not now. Now was just too far away and confusing.
Andrew Tavner moved the dial on the iron to low and slowly pressed his best slacks. Stress made his right hand tremble and his heart beat furiously within him. Only two more hours of this edginess, and then he would hear the judge’s verdict on the case he had so long been fighting. Almost a year had passed…had it really been that long?
Andrew quickly lifted the iron and made sure he hadn’t burned his pants. Yes, it had been almost a year since he had decided to take his own brother to court. What he hadn’t known was that the battle would continue to this day. So many sleepless nights, so many court hearings, so much pain. Somehow, in light of it all, he had not allowed himself to grow weary. At least he was doing something about it, even if some family relationships had to die in the process. This was all about the kid now. Only when the courts handed the child over to his care could he finally set his mind at ease.
After knotting his tie a little tight, Andrew adjusted his collar with shaky hands and briskly combed through his graying hair once more.
God, help me,
he prayed, unable to maintain eye contact with the sad, red-veined eyes looking back at him in the mirror.
You know how much Ronnie means to me. You know I’ll always take care of him and do everything I can to get him into church.
He wasn’t trying to bribe God by telling Him he would take the kid to church; but it was a reputable argument, and he meant every word of it. Besides, just getting the child out of foster care was a good enough reason to win this case. His attorney wasn’t the greatest in the world, but then again, he didn’t have to be. Anyone with eyes could see that the kid desperately needed a better home.
