Chase Davenport was born Chase Singleton at a healthy 7 pounds, 10 ounces in St Louis on an overcast afternoon. Just three doors down another baby was being born but unfortunately didn’t make it. When Chase learned of this he felt it had been a sacrifice in order for him to live. But life isn’t what he experienced during his first seven years on earth.
While Chase wasn’t exactly born under the poverty line it seemed to be following him around as he got older. His parents held good jobs but his mother, unable to mentally keep up with the demands of work, began to socially mix anti-depression medications.
This became an every day habit when Chase’s father left the family for a younger woman.
Children’s services took Chase from his mother, placing him in the care of a family on food stamps and living under the roof of a one-bedroom apartment with two older kids whom frequently bullied him.
Chase’s foster mother, as a means to supplement income due to an absent male figure, turned to prostitution where she conducted business out of her apartment. Poor management of the residence led to one of the children dying from asbestos exposure. The other child was oftentimes sexually abused by his mother’s clients.
Chase was also a target but, despite his age and size, managed to fight off attackers while on occasion staving off his foster brother from sexual torment.
A month after Chase’s seventh birthday his foster mother filled the apartment to capacity for a sex party which had been broken up two hours after it began due to a noise complaint that had been made by a neighbor. The cops arrested everyone.
During a sweep of the apartment a female officer found the boy hiding naked under the kitchen sink in the fetal position later discovering a speck of blood mixed with semen on his rectum. Chase was found in the bathroom crying in a pool of his own urine and a crowbar clutched in his left hand and a bruise over his left eye.
For two years Chase remained mute until the Davenport’s walked into his room at the county hospital children’s wing. Chase could sense that the couple meant no harm. In fact he could see how much love lied in their eyes- the love he remembered seeing in his own mother’s eyes long ago. The first words he had uttered were directed at the man who would be his father: “nice suit.”
“Wha- what happened?”
“You passed out, honey. Hit your head pretty badly on the floor.”
Raising a hand to my head with the room fluttering dazilly in my vison, I slowly sat up. In a sitting position I looked at my parents, their faces morphing from distorted to cloudy to normal. “I don’t think-”
“Just take it easy, Chase.” My father said with a hand on my shoulder. Soft. Comforting.
What had they said before…
“Try not to think about it too much. You’ll get used to the idea eventually. But for now let’s worry about how to handle Charity and telling her father you’re both going to be parents.”
Parents? What th- oh yea.
“Sure.” I said in a voice not at all sounding like my own. “Help me up old man.”
“I’m gonna let that slide.” My father said, placing a firm hand under my arm while lifting me to my feet. Both feet planted to the ground my father looked at me. “You good, son?”
“Yea.” I muttered, but I wasn’t good. Nothing was good about this. Or me.