Although I’d much rather be sipping an ice-cold Negroni on the aft deck of my converted tugboat, the boss (I refuse to call him a creator) says I have to spill my story so you readers will want to buy books and stories about my eventful life. I’m used to racking up info about other folks. However, offering up my own details doesn’t come easy.
Anyway, here we go.
I entered this world 44-years-ago, born to a beautiful woman named, Elizabeth Rooney. Now, those of you with an eye for details already notice the different last name. For two years, I was a Rooney as well. We were the typical American family, except that none of us were above 4’6”. Like my boss already noted, I’ve got achondroplasia dwarfism. I got a full genetic dose from both parents.
After two years of tumultuous bliss, my actor birth father got a gig out in Hollywood and never came back. Being a single young mother is hard enough. Add to it, having to raise a child with special needs while you, yourself, are challenged by a world made for taller folks, and my mother should have been awarded sainthood. However, she did it for three more years.
By the time I blew out five candles on my birthday cake, our lives took a turn for the better. My mother was working on her first novel and tending bar at a local Irish Pub in Pensacola, Florida called, McGuire’s. She met a dashing young Navy pilot named, Benjamin Larson. The six-foot pilot and four-foot little beauty turned quite a few heads. However, any snigger of laughter died a quick death when Ben stared down the offender and offered to go outside. One year later, a had a new step-father and my mom a new house with an office for her writing.
The next several years were a dream. Ben moved from flying to Naval Intelligence, while my mom’s first three cozy mystery novels garnered her respectable spots on the New York Times Bestseller list, and an Edgar Award for best debut novel.
Meanwhile, inheriting my mom’s love of learning, I excelled at school, especially in English and Debate. I guess that I inherited my birth father’s knack for theatrics, since I had a talent for making friends with ease. My dwarfism was rarely an issue. When it was, Ben taught me to master control of my emotions through meditation and martial arts. The later skill also helped deal with the few bullies that quickly learned the lesson that size doesn’t matter.
My perfect world came to a crushing halt during my senior year in high school. While on vacation in Majorca, Spain, my mother and Ben died when their car was blind-sided by a large truck, loaded with almonds. Their car tumbled down a cliff and into the Mediterranean below. It took several hours for divers to reach the wreckage. No bodies were ever recovered.
Alright, that’s it for now. I’m doing this as a favor and it’s bumming me out. Maybe I’ll continue later and tell you all how I came to be a private investigator. Then again, maybe I’ll tell the boss to go to hell.
Later.
