"You can call me that," a soothing voice replied from the void.
"May I ask why I am here?" I inquired, searching for something to prove I wasn't insane. The room, which seemed to belong to a man—or maybe I was inside him; I couldn't tell—continued, "You are here because you were a bystander in two people's fated deaths. You were meant to live for another 60 years, which has earned you a second chance at life somewhere else. You will be the same age: a 15-year-old orphan—oh, this must be a cruel joke. Your parents died in a car accident on your first birthday."
I regarded him with indifference. I never knew my parents; I grew up with my grandma until I was 12, and for the last three years, I had been in foster care. It wasn't the worst situation; I had heard real horror stories, but there was no love, just emptiness. I looked at "God."
"Don't worry; I appreciate dark humor, but you said I get a new start?"
"Unfortunately, my boy, it will be the same start, but hopefully, a beautiful road to the end," he replied.
I looked at him, puzzled. He continued, "You will still be an orphan and still be in foster care. However, I know of your love for the show 'The Fosters,' so I'll allow you to live there and join the family that once gave you hope for a better tomorrow."
Tears welled up in my eyes. "How did you know? No one knows! I only watched it in my room with headphones on, on an illegal site." Yes, the show had its cringe moments, but the emotions it evoked—the love, the sadness—everything captured my heart. I grew to appreciate every character, even the ones I disliked, because, in my empty world, they provided something meaningful.
For the first time, I felt a happiness I had never known before; it was like the opposite of a heart attack—pure bliss.
"Thank you, sir! I really appreciate it!"
Once more, God spoke, enhancing this dream, this moment that made even death worthwhile. He told me I could make one wish to create a life where I would be noticed. "So, boy, what is your wish?"
I pondered for a split second and instinctively replied, "I want the ability to sing and to play any instrument."
"Very well, boy," he said. With that, the bright void dimmed, and as my eyes adjusted, I found myself looking at a police officer next to a man in a collared shirt.
The man in the collared shirt introduced himself as Bill. The person whose body I had taken over had overdosed, and I was being rushed to the hospital. Bill called for a doctor as soon as my eyes opened. "DOCTOR... DOCTOR... WE NEED SOMEONE, HIS EYES ARE OPEN!!!!"
"Can you not yell? At least we know my ears still work," I quipped, earning a chuckle from the cop.
Bill asked, "Do you remember your name?"
Looking at him, I replied, "I'm pretty sure it's Benny. Benny Hollow."
"That's good. Do you know the year?" he pressed.
"2013," I said.
"Okay," he replied, sounding a bit calmer. "What about your age?"
"Fifteen," I responded. "Sixteen in six months."
The doctors informed me I could go home; nothing serious had happened. I had just passed out from drugs on an empty stomach. They advised me to return if I felt sick, but I couldn't go back to my previous home. So, Bill made a phone call.
"Hey, Lena," I heard him say, and I strained to listen. "I have a young African-American teen who needs a place to stay tonight. I know I just asked you to check on someone earlier… okay, an hour ago, but could you come to meet him? He's a nice kid."
I stood up and headed to the bathroom, needing to pee. As I looked in the mirror, I was taken aback. "Whoa, I'm handsome as hell now." I had smooth chocolate skin, dreads, pierced ears, a goatee, and a nose ring. I had also grown to six feet tall.
"Knock knock knock." I glanced at the door and opened it to find Bill.
"Hey, someone's coming to meet you," he said.
"Okay," I replied, feeling intrigued.
Fifteen minutes later, I saw a black woman with curly hair—Lena—and a girl named Cali, who looked rough around the edges.
Lena approached. "Hey, young man, my name is Lena, and this is Cali. I heard you needed somewhere to stay for a little while."
I looked at them and said, "She looks like she needs more help than I do." Cali glared at me.
"Sorry, that was inappropriate. Yes, I do need help. My name is Benny Hollow, and I promise I'll behave at all times—unless I'm allowed to play my music."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "You play music? My son does too; maybe you two will get along."
Oh, I knew all about that boy with a stick up his ass, but I simply replied, "Sounds great. My guitar's in Bill's car."
"Is he your only child?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, we have three: Jesus, Mariana, and Brandon—the one who does music."
"Cool," I replied. I turned to Cali. "Hey, sweetheart, my name's Benny. How are you?" I reached out my hand for a handshake, but she just stared at me.
"Okay," I said, puzzled. "We all take time to sort ourselves out. No rush."
Lena smiled. "That's true. It's nice to know you're a thoughtful young man."
I looked back at her. "You say that now."
Bill, grinning widely, announced, "Well, looks like everything here is done. If you're ready, you can leave at any time."
For a few more minutes, the adults chatted while I sat on the ground, looking at my old, cracked HTC One.
As I scrolled through my phone, I realized some people from my old world still existed in this new one, along with familiar products and movies. It must have been the show's product placement; many recognizable companies still remained, at least the ones I could think of right now.
"Okay, guys, let's go."
It was an awkward car ride, but we eventually arrived at a charming house. I gathered my things and even took Cali's small bag, which earned me a smile and a "Thanks, you really didn't have to do that."
I replied, "I can handle it, and you seem like you've had a rough day. Helping out is the least I can do."
As we approached the front door, a sudden realization hit me: this house belonged to one of the most beautiful women from the show—Mariana Foster. I couldn't help but cough at the thought.
Upon entering the house, we walked into the kitchen, where two people were waiting: the epitome of beauty and her cool brother, Jesus.
"What's up?" I greeted the two teens my age. They responded in unison, "Hey, what's up?"