Post by Dave Cooper on Apr 1, 2013 20:28:31 GMT -5
Full Name: Davidson Erik Cooper. But he usually just goes by Dave. Its easier. Even though he hates it.. he hates Davidson more.
Age: Twenty, going on twenty one. He was held back in eighth grade due to a lack of attendance and started Kindergarten a year late. Its not that he's dumb, he just had a lot of family stuff going on and was out for more than half the year. And Kindergarten.. well, his parents just thought he wasn't ready to start yet. He's rather embarrassed about his age.
Sports/Clubs: Glee Club, Choir, Theater, Basketball and Newspaper. He likes to stay involved.. if you couldn't tell.
Appearance: Dave is a pretty average looking jock. He's six feet tall, maybe an inch or so over, and weighs somewhere around 175 pounds. He's thick with broad shoulders and wide hips, but makes up for his general mass with muscle mass. Thanks to growing up around sports, Dave is committed to the gym. He works out on a regular basis and if you don't believe it.. just ask him to flex. He's most proud of his arms and chest.
Naturally Dave's hair is a light brown, but he's been known to experiment with dyes. Nothing crazy, like blue or some shit.. and he'd definitely never go black or blonde. Honestly he only tries out different shades of brown. Only once did he ever go ginger.. and that was an accident. Lately, though, his hair is at its normal color and tends to be spiked in the front. He loves his quiff, but will sometimes take it a step further and go full out fauxhawk.
His eyes, like his hair, are also a light brown. Well, when in direct light. Otherwise they just look black, really. They're shaded by two very angular brows, both of which he loves for their easily conveyed expressions. Dave's got a wide mouth and straight, white teeth.. he thinks his smile is pretty perfect, actually. And he'll never hide it. This kid likes to laugh, sing, do whatever it takes to show off his teeth.
As far as style goes, Dave is strictly jock. Basketball shorts and a muscle tee and Dave is ready to go. Give him five extra minutes and heck, he'll toss on a hoodie. He's very low maintenance and only takes the time to look nice if he's going somewhere where its required. Even so, he'll be the kid in the suit wearing sneakers.
Personality:
Story:
My dad and I were close while I was growing up. I guess my brother John was close with us too.. but I always felt like dad and I had a different relation than with him. When it was just me and my dad, I felt like I was with my best friend. He wasn't just my dad, he was my buddy. I could do everything with him. When John was there, I only felt like a son. But that's sort of beside the point. Anyway.. my dad and I were the best of friends. We did everything together. Fishing, swimming, basketball, baseball, guitar, everything.
And then he had a stroke.
My dad had been through a lot. He'd had cancer twice and obviously survived both times, he'd had a heart attack, he'd broken his neck, he'd bashed his knee and gotten surgery. As far as I knew, my dad was Superman. Because y'know, to a thirteen year old boy, if you so much as dodge a papercut, you're a hero. But this stroke.. this was different.
Either way, I was convinced it would be fine. He was Superman, he could get through this no problem! Sure he had to be checked into the hospital, but that was okay, right? Even Superman needed a little help sometimes. And that's all this was: a little help. My mom, John and I would all go to visit him. I remember being jealous because he got this sick bed that went up and down and all around with just the touch of a button. Plus everyone was bringing him gifts and at ever half hour, the nurse brought him pudding! As far as I was concerned, this was how Superman was supposed to live. This was everything for him. This was the greatest thing ever! And I never wanted to leave. I, a thirteen year old boy, would hide. I tried so many times to hide next to his bed and stay with him. I told him I'd bring him some movies from home to watch and even snag him a couple burgers from McDonald's. He always liked those. And he'd smile at me. But it was an odd smile.. like he pitied me. And I know now that that's exactly what it was.
He knew that I didn't understand. He knew that I didn't know that these were some of the last days I'd spend with him. With the real him. He'd live for a while, that was true. But his brain was bad. It was rotting out, eating itself and his memories. He never told me, though. He just smiled and nodded at me, lifting his hand, his hand with that strange finger clamp, to pat my head and ruffle my hair. Then he'd tell me to lean forward, to lean closer, closer. Then he'd kiss my forehead and tell me to go home with my mother and my brother. It was hard to leave Superman there like that. It was lonely and the halls got really dark at night. I brought him a nightlight once.
After about five weeks of hospitalization, during which he slipped in and out of multiple comas (I wasn't aware, John and I weren't told), my Superman only got worse. He tried not to show it to me and John, but it was hard to miss. His already fake smiles were even more false now as he struggled to lift the corners of his mouth at me. His eyes fell heavy and grew blank. They kept their brilliant blue, but they looked sad most all the time and he always looked like he was dreaming. He wasn't really there. Five weeks on the nose, and my father was only a shell.
After what was his sixth coma, my mother told me and John to wait in the hall. This became common. Days went by before we were allowed to see Superman again. Mom would go in, stay for maybe a half hour, and come out crying. Every time. She wouldn't speak to us, and we wouldn't speak to her. We just followed her to and from the car, not asking a thing about dad and avoiding the little glass window that showed into his room. If we were to stay in the hall, there was probably a reason for it.
At the start of the seventh week, Superman's doctor came to the hall to talk to me and John. He crouched down to one knee, making odd noises as he went. He was awfully old and it was strange, to me at least, that such an old man was taking care of my young father. It felt like it should be the other way around. My father should be taking care of this old man.. that's how it was supposed to be. Not like this. But I forgot about that when the doctor started talking and John took my hand. He told us that our father was going to be different and probably not at all what we remembered him as. Having not seen him for almost two weeks, he said we'd recognize him until he started talking. He told us to be patient, to be calm, and to remember who he is on the inside.
"Don't be fooled by the outside," he said, taking both our hands and leading us through the door and past our mother who was crying again and exiting earlier. I assume she took out seats on the bench just outside the room because I could still hear her crying.
As John and I approached our father, I kept my hands folded before me. John was nineteen at the time and knew a lot more about what was going on. Sure I had an idea; I knew damn well what the black box with the green line across it was for. And I knew that his polka-dotted dress would be his clothes for a long time. And I knew that the dripping bag was more than likely keeping him alive.
We reached the corner of the bed and I remember how still he was. His chest was raising and falling in a very slow pattern. Slow, but even, which was a good sign to me. John moved to the side of the bed from where we were standing and squatted, taking Superman's arm. He was startled; he'd been asleep.
"Sorry," John whispered as I approached.
There was a shocked look over his face. A glazed, shocked look. Like he had only half a clue what was happening. Eyes wide as a bead of sweat fell from his hairline, Superman pulled his arm from John and scooted back in his bed. And what he said next.. I'll never forget.
"Who are you?"
A month or so later, my father died. My Superman died. The doctors told us that there was nothing they could do and that the only thing keeping alive was that drippy bag I'd noticed. He couldn't eat on his own, he couldn't even lift his hand to pat my head anymore. He became aggressive, constantly swatting at John whenever he went near my mother and yelling for him to "leave my woman alone!". In his last days, my father scared me. He wasn't Superman anymore. The shell that the doctors mentioned, the shell I started to notice within those first weeks where he smiled at me, had taken over his body. He wasn't inside it anymore, he wasn't somewhere deep in his heart. There was no pulling him back out... and I knew that.
On November nineteenth, the doctor shut off his machines and my mother held his hand as he died. John and I were in the room, but John buried my face against his chest and told me not to watch. He kept telling me to remember what he was. To remember what he had been to us, to think about playing baseball with him.
"Just remember how he always let you steal home. Just remember how he played guitar with us. Think about that foot long bass you guys caught last summer. Remember his smile, Dave. Remember his smile."
Other: Dave is a hugger. Everything requires a hug in his book.
Dave is really into sports. Especially basketball, that being why he's on the varsity team. But other than that, he's really into football, baseball and hockey. Sure he likes all other sports too, but those are his favorites and he'd be more than happy to play a game with you.
Music keeps Dave going. He loves almost all sorts, as long as its got a good beat and a strong connection. He's way into dubstep, but especially likes songs from the nineties and early two thousands like Into the Ocean by Blue October, Fly by Sugar Ray, and Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana. He's definitely got a taste for vintage tunes. Spare for his new-found love of dubstep.
Dave is scared shitless of aliens.
He's almost always carrying a pack of the blue 5 Gum in his pocket.. but he's not going to share. Unless you wanna pay him five bucks.
Dave can play the guitar, the piano and a little bit of the violin. He took lessons for all three when he was younger, but stuck mostly to guitar.
Yellow and Blue are Dave's favorite colors.
He's really bad at texting. He's got a touch screen and his thumbs smash the keys all at once. Mostly because he's not very careful about it.
Dave would rather hear your voice than read your texts.
He started at the bottom, now he's here. (Dave likes rap, too.)
Dave doesn't like to go home. He stays at Somerset as long as possible.
Dave is terrified of ghosts. But not as much as aliens.
Impressions are his thing. Same with accents. But they kinda go hand in hand.
When he grows up, Dave would like to be a singer or actor. Or perhaps a singing actor. Broadway would be pretty fantastic.
Dave only has one sibling: his older brother John. John is 25 years old and lives in California.
Don't bring up his age. Or at least, don't make fun of it. He'll probably eat you alive. No but really, its a sore subject and makes him feel like some idiot kid that got held back cuz he's dumb. Which he's not. So.. don't do it.
Age: Twenty, going on twenty one. He was held back in eighth grade due to a lack of attendance and started Kindergarten a year late. Its not that he's dumb, he just had a lot of family stuff going on and was out for more than half the year. And Kindergarten.. well, his parents just thought he wasn't ready to start yet. He's rather embarrassed about his age.
Sports/Clubs: Glee Club, Choir, Theater, Basketball and Newspaper. He likes to stay involved.. if you couldn't tell.
Appearance: Dave is a pretty average looking jock. He's six feet tall, maybe an inch or so over, and weighs somewhere around 175 pounds. He's thick with broad shoulders and wide hips, but makes up for his general mass with muscle mass. Thanks to growing up around sports, Dave is committed to the gym. He works out on a regular basis and if you don't believe it.. just ask him to flex. He's most proud of his arms and chest.
Naturally Dave's hair is a light brown, but he's been known to experiment with dyes. Nothing crazy, like blue or some shit.. and he'd definitely never go black or blonde. Honestly he only tries out different shades of brown. Only once did he ever go ginger.. and that was an accident. Lately, though, his hair is at its normal color and tends to be spiked in the front. He loves his quiff, but will sometimes take it a step further and go full out fauxhawk.
His eyes, like his hair, are also a light brown. Well, when in direct light. Otherwise they just look black, really. They're shaded by two very angular brows, both of which he loves for their easily conveyed expressions. Dave's got a wide mouth and straight, white teeth.. he thinks his smile is pretty perfect, actually. And he'll never hide it. This kid likes to laugh, sing, do whatever it takes to show off his teeth.
As far as style goes, Dave is strictly jock. Basketball shorts and a muscle tee and Dave is ready to go. Give him five extra minutes and heck, he'll toss on a hoodie. He's very low maintenance and only takes the time to look nice if he's going somewhere where its required. Even so, he'll be the kid in the suit wearing sneakers.
Personality:
- Loving: Dave is a lover. He doesn't like when people are hurt or sad, and he likes to be the one to turn their frowns upside down. He's passionate when it comes to relationships, but gentle and caring at the same time. With his friends, Dave is probably one of the most protective people you'd ever meet. He'd kill for his loved ones. They mean the world to him and he knows that you can't just trade them in and out.
- Determined: If Dave wants something, he's going to strive to get it. Be it a better grade, a piece of candy, or even a girl. Often girls have called him sort of annoying for being so persistent. But Dave just sees it as being loving. In terms of school work, its safe to call him a little OCD. Dave will not tolerate anything below a C. So basically if he fails something.. he'll flip a shit and spend days after school with the teacher to try and get things fixed.
- Party Boy: Dave just likes to have a good time. He gets pretty crazy if he's with the right people and can be a real riot. Plus he likes to drink.. so that's always fun. But no really, Dave is all about the parties. And he's more than happy to host them. PARTY AT DAVE'S.
- Musical: Dave's life revolves around music. When he was six, his father bought him his very first guitar (which he still has.. its an Epiphone Acoustic named Pale) and taught him how to play. He's also quite a good singer, hence Glee and Choir, and sings to make himself feel better. Music has always been there for him when people haven't. He'd never let it go.
- Immature: Dave is a child. He's a goofball beyond compare and just likes to mess around. He's silly, making childish or inappropriate jokes just to see people giggle under their breath. All Dave wants is to make people feel happy. So, whatever works, right?
- Faithful: Perhaps not in any god, because he's not the most religious of people, but in the human race. He understands that its had its ups and downs.. I mean, he does watch the news. But he has faith that people are basically good and that one way or another, everyone's plans fall back to a beginning point of at least some goodness. Dave is a strong believer that if we all put our minds to it, we could find the answer to anything.
Story:
"Who Are You?"
My dad and I were close while I was growing up. I guess my brother John was close with us too.. but I always felt like dad and I had a different relation than with him. When it was just me and my dad, I felt like I was with my best friend. He wasn't just my dad, he was my buddy. I could do everything with him. When John was there, I only felt like a son. But that's sort of beside the point. Anyway.. my dad and I were the best of friends. We did everything together. Fishing, swimming, basketball, baseball, guitar, everything.
And then he had a stroke.
My dad had been through a lot. He'd had cancer twice and obviously survived both times, he'd had a heart attack, he'd broken his neck, he'd bashed his knee and gotten surgery. As far as I knew, my dad was Superman. Because y'know, to a thirteen year old boy, if you so much as dodge a papercut, you're a hero. But this stroke.. this was different.
Either way, I was convinced it would be fine. He was Superman, he could get through this no problem! Sure he had to be checked into the hospital, but that was okay, right? Even Superman needed a little help sometimes. And that's all this was: a little help. My mom, John and I would all go to visit him. I remember being jealous because he got this sick bed that went up and down and all around with just the touch of a button. Plus everyone was bringing him gifts and at ever half hour, the nurse brought him pudding! As far as I was concerned, this was how Superman was supposed to live. This was everything for him. This was the greatest thing ever! And I never wanted to leave. I, a thirteen year old boy, would hide. I tried so many times to hide next to his bed and stay with him. I told him I'd bring him some movies from home to watch and even snag him a couple burgers from McDonald's. He always liked those. And he'd smile at me. But it was an odd smile.. like he pitied me. And I know now that that's exactly what it was.
He knew that I didn't understand. He knew that I didn't know that these were some of the last days I'd spend with him. With the real him. He'd live for a while, that was true. But his brain was bad. It was rotting out, eating itself and his memories. He never told me, though. He just smiled and nodded at me, lifting his hand, his hand with that strange finger clamp, to pat my head and ruffle my hair. Then he'd tell me to lean forward, to lean closer, closer. Then he'd kiss my forehead and tell me to go home with my mother and my brother. It was hard to leave Superman there like that. It was lonely and the halls got really dark at night. I brought him a nightlight once.
After about five weeks of hospitalization, during which he slipped in and out of multiple comas (I wasn't aware, John and I weren't told), my Superman only got worse. He tried not to show it to me and John, but it was hard to miss. His already fake smiles were even more false now as he struggled to lift the corners of his mouth at me. His eyes fell heavy and grew blank. They kept their brilliant blue, but they looked sad most all the time and he always looked like he was dreaming. He wasn't really there. Five weeks on the nose, and my father was only a shell.
After what was his sixth coma, my mother told me and John to wait in the hall. This became common. Days went by before we were allowed to see Superman again. Mom would go in, stay for maybe a half hour, and come out crying. Every time. She wouldn't speak to us, and we wouldn't speak to her. We just followed her to and from the car, not asking a thing about dad and avoiding the little glass window that showed into his room. If we were to stay in the hall, there was probably a reason for it.
At the start of the seventh week, Superman's doctor came to the hall to talk to me and John. He crouched down to one knee, making odd noises as he went. He was awfully old and it was strange, to me at least, that such an old man was taking care of my young father. It felt like it should be the other way around. My father should be taking care of this old man.. that's how it was supposed to be. Not like this. But I forgot about that when the doctor started talking and John took my hand. He told us that our father was going to be different and probably not at all what we remembered him as. Having not seen him for almost two weeks, he said we'd recognize him until he started talking. He told us to be patient, to be calm, and to remember who he is on the inside.
"Don't be fooled by the outside," he said, taking both our hands and leading us through the door and past our mother who was crying again and exiting earlier. I assume she took out seats on the bench just outside the room because I could still hear her crying.
As John and I approached our father, I kept my hands folded before me. John was nineteen at the time and knew a lot more about what was going on. Sure I had an idea; I knew damn well what the black box with the green line across it was for. And I knew that his polka-dotted dress would be his clothes for a long time. And I knew that the dripping bag was more than likely keeping him alive.
We reached the corner of the bed and I remember how still he was. His chest was raising and falling in a very slow pattern. Slow, but even, which was a good sign to me. John moved to the side of the bed from where we were standing and squatted, taking Superman's arm. He was startled; he'd been asleep.
"Sorry," John whispered as I approached.
There was a shocked look over his face. A glazed, shocked look. Like he had only half a clue what was happening. Eyes wide as a bead of sweat fell from his hairline, Superman pulled his arm from John and scooted back in his bed. And what he said next.. I'll never forget.
"Who are you?"
A month or so later, my father died. My Superman died. The doctors told us that there was nothing they could do and that the only thing keeping alive was that drippy bag I'd noticed. He couldn't eat on his own, he couldn't even lift his hand to pat my head anymore. He became aggressive, constantly swatting at John whenever he went near my mother and yelling for him to "leave my woman alone!". In his last days, my father scared me. He wasn't Superman anymore. The shell that the doctors mentioned, the shell I started to notice within those first weeks where he smiled at me, had taken over his body. He wasn't inside it anymore, he wasn't somewhere deep in his heart. There was no pulling him back out... and I knew that.
On November nineteenth, the doctor shut off his machines and my mother held his hand as he died. John and I were in the room, but John buried my face against his chest and told me not to watch. He kept telling me to remember what he was. To remember what he had been to us, to think about playing baseball with him.
"Just remember how he always let you steal home. Just remember how he played guitar with us. Think about that foot long bass you guys caught last summer. Remember his smile, Dave. Remember his smile."
Other: Dave is a hugger. Everything requires a hug in his book.
Dave is really into sports. Especially basketball, that being why he's on the varsity team. But other than that, he's really into football, baseball and hockey. Sure he likes all other sports too, but those are his favorites and he'd be more than happy to play a game with you.
Music keeps Dave going. He loves almost all sorts, as long as its got a good beat and a strong connection. He's way into dubstep, but especially likes songs from the nineties and early two thousands like Into the Ocean by Blue October, Fly by Sugar Ray, and Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana. He's definitely got a taste for vintage tunes. Spare for his new-found love of dubstep.
Dave is scared shitless of aliens.
He's almost always carrying a pack of the blue 5 Gum in his pocket.. but he's not going to share. Unless you wanna pay him five bucks.
Dave can play the guitar, the piano and a little bit of the violin. He took lessons for all three when he was younger, but stuck mostly to guitar.
Yellow and Blue are Dave's favorite colors.
He's really bad at texting. He's got a touch screen and his thumbs smash the keys all at once. Mostly because he's not very careful about it.
Dave would rather hear your voice than read your texts.
He started at the bottom, now he's here. (Dave likes rap, too.)
Dave doesn't like to go home. He stays at Somerset as long as possible.
Dave is terrified of ghosts. But not as much as aliens.
Impressions are his thing. Same with accents. But they kinda go hand in hand.
When he grows up, Dave would like to be a singer or actor. Or perhaps a singing actor. Broadway would be pretty fantastic.
Dave only has one sibling: his older brother John. John is 25 years old and lives in California.
Don't bring up his age. Or at least, don't make fun of it. He'll probably eat you alive. No but really, its a sore subject and makes him feel like some idiot kid that got held back cuz he's dumb. Which he's not. So.. don't do it.
