Jagged Edges

My dad is probably the coolest military dad that has ever or will ever live. Every time L'von and I compare notes  with other Navy Brats they've always got it worse.

But no matter how cool he is he's still a military man. He's still a stickler for rules and order. He lives for schedules. He breathes respect. He demands cleanliness and nothing less. Discipline is a given. 

Every morning starts off at five a.m. with a trip to the gym. No exceptions unless you're physically incapable of moving. When we get home at around six-thirty, we have to do morning chores (which only take about twenty minutes). Then we get ready for school with showers and such. 

Then school, obviously.

Extracurricular activities are something we have to do weather we want to or not. It's a discipline thing, I think. It builds character and all that. 

When we get home we have to study for an hour or so depending on grades. After that we have free time to do with as we please. Dinner is at seven no matter what. After dinner we have evening chores (which is another twenty minutes or so). Sometimes we do family stuff after that, like movies or something.

Then we're allowed to do anything we want until lights out which is at eleven. No exceptions unless you've had special permission which must be asked for at least two hours ahead of time.

This might sound bad or horrifying or almost anything else with a negative connotation but it's what I grew up on. I respect it. I know that everything my parents do is for me and my brother and I respect that enough not to ask questions.

Right now we're in the process of moving so the schedule is messed up. We're not able to go to the gym or do morning or evening chores. We could still study but considering the fact that we haven't even been assigned classes yet, that'd be hard.

Besides all of our books have been sent ahead to Annapolis already. It takes three days to drive there from Nevada and dad went with the movers so he could make sure everything goes smoothly. 

Mom, L'von and I are flying because neither one of us like car rides that exceed four hours. 

By this point in our lives L'von and I know what keeps us entertained so we fill our carry-on's with junk food, handheld gaming devices, our iPods, extra headphones (because you never know), and notebooks full of blank paper so that we can play hangman or whatever. I also brought my laptop because, even if the plane doesn't have wifi, I can't stand the thought of something bad happening to it as a result of movers' stupidity. 

Our laptops were our moving present when we moved to Nevada and I quickly became attached.

As we make our way through the airport I cling to mom and L'von. I have a completely rational fear of people in airports. I mean, as many stories that are out there about pedophiles and kidnappers, I would think that you'd be cautious as well. 

Our flight isn't for a few more hours. We're early because punctuality is just something we do. We take out seats among the other early birds and I pull out my laptop, deciding to do more research on our new town. L'von leans over my shoulder and engages the search further. 

"Man, this place is full of history." He groans. I laugh and shake my head. 

"Of course it is! It's Annapolis. Home of the naval academy. One of the first places the Protestants settled. Sight of tons of eighteenth century architecture. The place where George Washington settled after his presidency. The area-"

"Okay, okay! I get it. Jeez. You're such a nerd." He rolls his eyes. 

I look at him for a while before breaking my gaze to stare at my computer screen once again. "Well, unlike some people, I have to actually pay attention in class to get a good grade. I can't just take mindless notes."

L'von scrambles upright from his slumped position in the chair and trips over his words as he finds an apology. "Shit, Gian, I didn't mean it like that." 

I shake my head, brushing off the previous comment. "I know. It doesn't matter." 

But at the same time it kinda does matter. Before I confuse you further I feel I should tell you that I'm dyslexic. 

I inherited it from my biological dad. I had a hard time processing it when I found out. (Not because I'm dyslexic but because I was five.) 

Ever since then I did everything I could do to overcome it. I read the fucking dictionary so that I wouldn't get definitions mixed up. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote the alphabet so I wouldn't get the letters out of order. I counted so many things so that I wouldn't misplace numbers that mom thought I had a severe case of OCD.

I had countless tutors leading up to high school upon my own request. I just couldn't stand the thought that my drams, whatever they may be, would be crushed because I couldn't distinguish a B from a D.

In these years I developed an advanced understanding of things. I actually get into advanced classes because of my determination not to let my learning disability.....disable me.

I still have to study harder than everyone else and I still have trouble processing audio to visual and vice versa. Dad can't really give me flat out instructions, he has to write them down. But in the end I always understand.

I check my watch and see that we're supposed to board the plane in five minutes. 

"Flight one-oh-six, boarding row E." A voice announces. It takes me a second to remember that we're flight one-oh-six. 

I secure my computer back into my bag and bounce on the edge of my seat. As soon as we get on this plane it's the start of our new life. Even though this has happened eleven times it never gets less exciting. 

When the announcer calls our row I jump up and smile wide. Mom grabs my hand to keep me from literally running to my seat. I calm down (only a little though) and follow her, L'von on my heels. 

I sit between them and slide my earbuds in immediately. This ride will be at least nine hours with no layover. A nap seems like a good idea.

I wonder if the flight attendant has sleeping pills...