Things took off after that. The cave became our Bastion of Seclusion. No, not the most original moniker, but at least no one could sue us for copyright infringement. Doug, which I still called him by—mainly because he threatened to evict me and fire me if I called him Alfred again—cleared out some boxes and dusted, hanging up a bulletin board before installing a computer the size of Cleveland. No, not because it was powerful so much as really, really old, just like the dust and debris still left in the corners, ancient stuff he was more than likely too lazy to throw away. Still, now I could start, could start searching for my parents, for my history, for the me I was meant to be. Then maybe things wouldn’t be so gray anymore.
And so I went to school, worked when Doug needed me to, studied
