Let me introduce myself, my name is Adam, Adam West. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, assuming you know much about pop culture. Believe me, I’ve heard them all, Batman, Biff, Holy Smokes, not to mention Robin jokes. My early teenage years were something of a bloody nightmare, I’m telling you. However, it was not due to parental carelessness, mainly because my parents weren’t in the picture. I was a foundling and was named Adam by the simple fact that it was quite literally picked out of a hat by the folks at the children’s home that took me in as a baby. The West name came later when I was adopted at the age of four by Amanda and Anthony West, the couple that I came to call Mum and Dad.
Now I know that it’s something of a trope that foundlings like me should be obsessed with learning who their birth parents were. It’s not untrue either; I’ve kept in touch with the orphanage where I spent the first four years of my life because I had friends there. Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with any Oliver Twist scenario, the children’s home I lived in was a decent place, not perfect, but nothing that would have made for a good tragic origin story. I had food, I was healthy, and I had hope for a family in the future.
When the Wests adopted me as far as I was concerned that was it. Anthony was the guy that taught me how to ride a bike, how to do my times tables, what the names of the different dinosaurs were. He was the guy that put cream on my knees when I scuffed them playing, he was the one who read old adventure stories to me before I went to bed. He was the one that asked me what colour I wanted my room to be, then spent the next day painting it. He was my father, my dad, end of story.
Likewise, Amanda was my mother. She was the woman who had taught me the alphabet, comforted me in the middle of the night when I’d woken up from nightmares, showed me how to make my lemonade in summer. She was the one who had scolded me when I played too roughly with my friends, who fussed over me whenever I went to school, who held my hand the first time I went to the dentist for a check-up.
Yes, they were my parents, and I didn’t need any others.
Still, we made a rather funny family. The Wests were both very good-looking. Anthony was golden blond with the sort of green eyes that you normally find only in romance novels, as Amanda was fond of telling him. He was also built like a tank, all broad shoulders, and thick muscles, which was kind of weird given his job as a geography teacher. He had a pretty intense personal fitness regime, one that he’d tried to get me into, but which had never appealed. Amanda, mum, was more of a platinum blonde, her eyes a dark blue, and she was beautiful. It was no wonder she had a glamourous job managing a high-class jewellery store. Let me tell you when the hormones hit it wasn’t easy to hear my friends commenting on how ‘smokin’ hot’ she was!
By contrast, I’ve never really considered myself to be anything too special. I’m a bit over average in height, around five foot nine or ten, but I lack the build to really pull it off. My shoulders and hips are both just a touch on the narrow side. I’ve never had a problem with overeating, so my weight has never been an issue. Unfortunately, I’ve also had next to no interest in any sort of heavy exercise, going on hikes and walks has been enough for me. This means that though I’m fairly fit I’ve never really packed on any muscle, the result being that I looked a bit on the bony side, as though I was stretched at some point in my life.
I’m nowhere near as handsome as my parents, but I can’t complain. I’ve got hazel brown eyes and a head of brown hair that refuses to be tamed most of the time. Seriously, I’ve used, mousse, gel, even hairspray, the works, but no matter what I do my hair always manages to return to a state of general messiness.
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The differences between me and my adopted parents became more apparent as I grew, so much so that there have been a fair number of people that have looked at us as a family and asked if I was adopted. Oh, they have been polite about it, asking in subtle and circumspect ways, but they had asked. Fortunately, I’ve never been very thin-skinned in that regard. Yes, I was adopted, and I’ve never really had a problem with it, as I said. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the snow was cold, and I was adopted, these were just facts of the world, and I never really cared about it.
I had a mostly nice and normal childhood, some fun, some trouble, some misunderstandings. The worst drama that ever happened was when I ran away from home when I was seven. I can’t quite remember why anymore, probably because of some toy or other that my mother wouldn’t get me, something like that. Anyway, my grand adventure lasted a total of thirty-seven minutes. By the time I got to the end of our road, I’d realised that I had no idea what I was doing. It was all over in ten minutes, but I spent some time sitting and sulking at the side of the road and throwing fir cones at a nearby bush.
I got older, maybe not too much wiser, and put Anthony and Amanda through the wringer a few times. I finished my A levels and came through without embarrassing anyone. I then took a gap year, which turned into two, to go travelling with friends and had an awesome time. I got to see France, Spain, and Morocco on my savings then flew over to America, where I had a working trip with some friends of the family. It was fun, and it served to scratch the itch of my wanderlust, which was always nagging at me.
I came back home and was getting ready to finally go to university when the whole mess with the Black Sun happened. After that . . . things got a little hectic, to say the least, with my plans for going to university being one of the early causalities.
That was why I ended up working at the Well Grounded cafe. Mum had offered me a job at her jewellery shop, but I’d just left home and wanted to try and get something on my own. A friend of a friend recommended trying there when an opening came up, and the rest was pretty simple.
It turned out well, and with the income from working there, I was able to make good on a plan I’d made up with two of my friends, Chris and Doug, namely a three-way split on the rent of a pretty decent place.
The house was owned by Doug’s uncle, which was the reason we were able to get a really good deal on it. We each got a good-sized bedroom to ourselves, and the rest of the house was large enough that none of us felt cramped. At the start, there had been a few disagreements, but in the end, we were able to work them out.
Chris was my best friend and housemate. We’d known each other since primary school, went through our Ninja versus Pirates Fixation together (and I still assert that pirates would dominate the Ninjas), and went out clubbing together. Chris was about as close to what a brother could be as I was ever going to get.
Even though he had only gone through one year at university Chris already had a job at a computer start-up. While his current work wasn’t exactly the most glamorous it did come with excellent prospects of future promotion. He had a girlfriend, the latest in a string of short-lived relationships that had somehow always ended on friendly terms. It would be so easy to dislike him, to be jealous of the way he seemed to coast through life on easy mode, but I knew him better than that.
Chris had it easy, but that was because he gave it his all when he did stuff.
Our other housemate was Doug. We’d made friends during our last year at school. Doug was a big guy, but not tall or muscled. He’d been diagnosed with juvenile idiopathic arthritis back when he was only thirteen. It was a mild case, but it still impacted his life. He could still get around fine, go shopping, and help around the house; he wasn’t an invalid by any stretch. The problem was that getting up, walking, and running; all of it caused him slight but noticeable pain. So, he spent most of his time in a chair or bed, which made it hard to work off the calories, and he was a guy that liked his food.
He was never bitter though. Doug refused to let his condition get him down, instead doing his best to enjoy everything that he could. It was inspiring in a way, and it had been that determination of his that had made him likeable.
All in all, my life hadn’t been glamorous or exciting, but I like to think that it was a good one.
I was going to miss it.