I'm Not The Same Boy You Knew Back Then

"Alex?"

Alex stirred from his position on the cold tiled floor, thin tartan blanket sliding off of him as he sat up to face the direction of the voice. His sleep ridden eyes opened slowly, staring up at his carer, Mark Hoppus.

"Yeah Mark?"

"I have something to show you," Mark replied excitedly, jigging slightly on the balls of his feet.

Alex smiled and used Mark's offered hand to help him stand up. He followed Mark out of the main ‘bedroom’ he shared with twenty other people like him, and down the small corridor to Mark's office. Mark sat at his large oak and green leather chair, which was slowly falling apart from age, and Alex sat down on the collapsible plastic chair opposite.

You see, Alex Gaskarth led a very different life to most other twelve year olds. He couldn't go out and play baseball, or football. He couldn't go out to the cinema, or the local skate park. For one he couldn't afford it, but he also had nobody to go with.

Both Alex's parents had died when he was only seven, and he had no other family. So, he he had no other choice than to make a home at one of the many homeless shelters across Baltimore. Well, he could've stayed at the hospital and waited for a lady in a suit to take him to a children's home, but he didn't really like the fact that a stranger could just take him home and keep him. This particular shelter was owned and looked after by a kind and slightly dorky man called Mark Hoppus. Alex had been forced to grow up quickly, learning the way of life of a struggling orphan, but he honestly couldn't imagine living his life any differently - he could barely remember his parents, or his life before their death.

Mark was a fantastic shelter owner in Alex's eyes. He would tell Alex stories about anything and everything. He set up the shelter because he had inherited money from a long lost Aunt, and thought the only way he wouldn't be stupid and waste it all was to set up a shelter for the homeless. But that was about five years ago, and all the new paint had flaked off, the new blankets and dining equipment had grown old and tired. Mark hadn't bought anything else for the shelter, as he knew he needed to keep the remains of his money to buy food, and pay the electricity bills. And he was damn right to keep the money spare. It was slowly dwindling away, and the owner was now worried how long it would last, especially as his measly wage from his 4-day-a-week coffee shop job went to help feed and clothe only himself.

The building was a small, shack like structure. It was made out of wood, with three rooms, and a corrugated iron roof. The smallest of the three rooms was Mark's office, which was painted a duck egg blue sort of colour, and had two chairs, a desk, and a filing cabinet. Mark's guitar was also propped up against the wall, music being his other main passion in life. He had a small band he played with in his friend Travis' basement. Mark had taken Alex there once, and he listened all the way through their practise session. Alex thought they were quite good.

The next biggest room was the dining room. It had a huge table that stretched the whole length of it, a row of cheap chairs either side. It had a small canteen off of the side, which Mark would stand and cook in every meal time, for around twenty-two people. He'd serve everyone their meal before his own, and make sure they all had a decent sized portion. He would never grumble, or complain. He always wore a smile. That was something Alex admired about him.

The last room, and the biggest by far was the bedroom. Small blankets lay on the cold floor, and they were referred to as ‘beds’. Some residents were lucky if they had a pillow, but they only would've had one if they had bought one with them when they arrived. Alex had had one, but a fourteen year old boy stole it from him when he was nine. That boy had disappeared 2 weeks later. Alex felt bad that he hoped something bad had happened to him, but those thoughts were quickly washed away when his head would lie against the cold hard floor each night.

Alex had grown up in that same little spot in the corner of the bedroom, and over time he'd seen kids come and go. Most would always return though, usually looking much paler and scrawnier. Alex has never left before. Even though he was only 12, he knew he had it good with Mark.

"I bought a new guitar on Saturday. Well, I didn't buy it as such: my friend Matt gave it to me. And I was wondering if you wanted my old one?"

Alex's big brown eyes stared up at him in shock. "B-But Mark, I can't even play guitar!" He wrung his small fingers together as he looked at the object leaning against the wall. Surely Mark wouldn't just give it to him?

"I know that, Alex. But I could teach you?" He smiled at the smaller boy sheepishly. Alex was by far his favourite kid he looked after. He'd been through a rough time, and Mark wanted to find a way to make him feel better. If he was a bit better off money wise he would have Alex living with him.

"Seriously?!" A huge grin overtook Alex's face. He sprung out of his chair, ran around Mark's desk, and wrapped his little arms around the elder, leaning into the hair ruffle he got in return.

"Thanks so much Mark! I'm going to play it every single day and it's going to be awesome! But I'll keep it in here so no one else takes it and maybe one day I could be so good I could be in a band and go all over the world and-"

"I don't doubt it, buddy."