He was alone.

Rain hammered incessantly on the tin roof of the shed that was his home away from home, so to speak. It way tiny, not much larger than the sum of a manual lawn mower and his fifteen year old body. He crouched between the tin walls, afraid to stretch out for fear that he'd break through the layers of rust that formed the walls. He knew the rust was rubbing off onto his clothes, and that his mother would scream at him later for ruining his school shirt, but he didn't care.

He was alone.

He had to get away from the house. Not that two rooms constituted a house, in his opinion, but it's what the family could afford. Two rooms, of a six room apartment shared with two other families, for himself, his parents, and his little brother. When he felt too overwhelmed by the tedium of it all, he came here, to the shed where he knew he wouldn't be bothered.

His dad worked at odd jobs wherever he could find them; his mom hired out as a maid in some of the richer houses on the north side of the city. Neither of them spoke very good English, which continually embarrassed him. They were always breathing down his neck to get a good education. Education, they said, is the only thing no one can take from you. It's your only chance to get out, they meant. They even forbade him working, as much as the family needed the money, so he could concentrate on his studies. He couldn't help but to admire that, but sometimes he really wished that it didn't take so much damn work to fail at achieving what others took for granted.

He brushed some cobwebs from his face, and shifted position to try to ease the cramping in his shins. Someday, he thought, he'd be out of here. He'd have his own house and a wife and kids and a good job and the money to buy an electronic lawn mower. He'd have a lawn to cut with that lawn mower, and he'd have a son to do the cutting. His stomach complained loudly about the cup of black coffee that had been his breakfast, and would most likely be his dinner and supper as well. Someday, he promised himself.

His parents had come to this country during the war. Considering they brought only the clothes on their back, he thought they had done remarkably well. But he would do better. He would show them what being American meant. They renounced their old life by changing the spelling of the family name from Kaplan to Caplan. He would make that name something to be proud of. He, Gabriel Robert Caplan II. Born May 12, 1948 in The United States of America. An American. The first in his family.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his vision of the future. In the mud to his side, he idly traced a design he'd seen in some book that week. It was a book on good-luck charms. There was even a simple incantation to accompany the one he liked, which he found himself mentally translating and whispering in his native Yiddish. At the end he was supposed to fill in his wish, in words as specific as possible. Not that he believed in spells or magic or such thing. Only God could provide, but He wasn't doing His job. And everyone knew that God only helped those who helped themselves.

So when he got to the end, he whispered with all his emotion into the darkness: I wish for an interesting life. I wish for a beautiful, loving wife, extraordinary kids, and more money than we could ever need.

He opened his eyes and looked down. The charm seemed to glow faintly for a second. He blinked, then saw it was only a bit of sunlight sneaking through a crack in the wall glinting off the water-filled tracings. He leaned his head back against the shed wall and closed his eyes again, this time to rest.

Hours remained before he had to return to the house and the noise and the tangible sense of worry that permeated every movement, every word, every thought. Hours remained until he had to abandon his wish world for the real. He heard running outside -- footsteps in the squelching mud chased by another set of footsteps and the giggles of a little girl -- and maybe someone calling his name. The voice was too distant to be sure. He crossed his arms over his knees, rested his head on the makeshift pillow, and chose to ignore the outside.

Right now, he wanted to be alone.