The Last Resort

Casey looked around the small office in boredom. The walls were covered in candid framed photographs of a variety of teenagers and older children. As far as he was concerned, this was just another pit stop before he got kicked out into the system again. He'd spent his life bouncing from one foster home to another after his mother decided she wasn't ready to give up her freedom for the responsibility of caring for a baby.

“Care for a cup of coffee, iced tea, soda maybe?” the woman across the desk from him asked as she sat down.

He shook his head then reached up to brush his sandy blond hair away from his eyes. “A cigarette would be nice though,” he muttered under his breath.

“We try to keep things low-key around here for the most part. The rules of the house are fairly simple. Don't kill anyone. Don't burn the house down. Help out around the house. If you have a problem with one of the others, let me know and we can work something out. You're encouraged to pursue hobbies. We have study groups if you have trouble with any of your schoolwork. I do ask that you shower on occasion but other than that, it's pretty much up to you. About the only things that aren't allowed are drugs and alcohol. If you smoke, do it outside please. Any questions?”

Casey shrugged.

“Ok. Grab your bag and I'll have Dylan show you where your room is and you can check out the rest of the place.”

* * * * *

Dylan pushed open the door and stepped inside the bedroom. “This is your room. The bathroom is at the end of the hall on the left. If you want to drop your bag here, I'll give you the tour of rest of the place.” He waited as Casey dropped his bag onto the foot of the bed and looked around the small room.

The single bed was covered by a red and black patchwork quilt. Next to the bed was a small nightstand that held a lamp. Across from the doorway was a desk pushed under the windowsill. The far corner housed a dresser and a laundry hamper.

Casey shrugged, “Could be worse, I guess.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and fell into step beside Dylan. “You been here long?” he asked as he took a moment to study the older boy. Dylan had short cropped dark hair and pale hazel eyes. He was a few inches taller than Casey but probably not quite 6'. His long sleeved tee shirt and shorts hung loosely on his lean frame. Casey had known a few guys similar to Dylan in his last high school. Outsiders mostly, who didn’t quite fit in with the jocks or the smart kids.

“Since I was 14 so a few years. It's a lot better than some of the homes I've had to stay in. This is the first place I've been that no one has to share a bedroom.”

The two boys wandered around the house until Casey was familiar with the layout. After stopping in the kitchen to grab a couple cans of soda, they eventually found their way out to the back porch. Dylan leaned back against the railing and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Want one?” he asked after he took one out for himself.

“Thanks.” Casey quickly lit the cigarette with Dylan's lighter and sat down on the steps. Nodding his head back toward the house, he asked, “She's cool with this?”

Dylan shrugged. “She doesn't like it but she told me she'd rather have us do it in the open and be honest about it instead of lying and trying to sneak them and getting caught.” He let out a slow exhale, smoke curling around his head. “So how old are you?”

“I'll be sixteen next month.”

Dylan grinned. “Cool. You picked a good time to get here. On your birthday you get to choose whatever you want for dinner, we get to do something fun and you're exempt from chores for a week. Mine was two months ago. We had steak and burgers on the barbeque and we went paint-balling. I had to wear a pair of demented looking blue bunny ears but it was a lot of fun.”

Casey crushed out his cigarette and cracked open his soda. “I doubt I'll be here that long. These places are all the same. After a while they get sick of me and shove me back at Social Services to deal with. Most of the time I think I'd be better off on my own.” Casey tried to keep his tone light but he could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice as he spoke.

Dylan glanced at Casey before sighing softly and looking away. “I know what it's like. I was passed around from relative to relative for a few years before going through a string of foster homes. Growing up, I was treated more like an unwanted piece of furniture than part of the family. After a while of living like that, you tend to lose your trust in people and their promises.” He shifted his weight as he turned more toward Casey. “Give it some time. You may actually like it here.”

Casey shot Dylan a look that plainly said he was unconvinced.

“You know,” Dylan said cocking his head to one side. “If you give us a chance, you may even get to the point where you like us, too. Would it kill you to give us a chance?”

Casey narrowed his eyes and gazed out over the yard. “It's not personal. I just prefer not to get attached. There's no point to it.”

Dylan sat on the step next to Casey and stared up at the clouds rolling by. “You may not believe me,” he murmured after a few moments of silence, “But I do understand how you feel.” When Casey didn't answer, he continued. “I've been in the same place you're in now. New place, you don't know anyone, no one has your back. You learn to rely on yourself so you don't risk being let down by others.”

Casey nodded slowly. “They all say they're doing what's best for you but they don't know shit. They've never had to wonder how long they're going to be in one place or if they have to fight for a place to sleep or something to eat.” He spat out the words in disgust then laughed without a hint of real humor. “And if you dare say something is wrong they either shut you up with a belt to the legs, a visit to the closest pill-pushing shrink to get you onto meds that turn you into a zombie, or time in juvie because you dared to fight back when their son continually used you as his personal punching bag. But of course, it’s always that ungrateful foster kid's fault. Our son is an angel.” He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the concrete beneath them. “They've tried everything on me. Sometimes I wish I could just go to sleep and never wake up again. I just want to give up.”

Dylan nodded slowly as he pushed his sleeves up over his elbows and edged over into the shade.

Casey could see criss-crossing scars covering both of Dylan’s arms and disappearing under his sleeves. Most were old enough that they had faded but a few were large enough to be standing out in stark contrast to his summer tan. Casey dropped his gaze quickly so Dylan wouldn’t catch him staring. He felt like kicking himself for complaining so much and not thinking that Dylan may have had a hard childhood as well.

“I used to feel the same way. But this place is different.” Dylan held up a hand when Casey opened his mouth to argue. “Give me one month. Let me prove it to you. There are a few good people in this place who really do give a damn about kids like us. All I'm asking you to do is give them the benefit of the doubt. If they don't change your mind, I won't argue the point with you.”

Casey looked at Dylan skeptically. “One month. You really think one month is going to make up for sixteen years?”

With a sad look in his eye, Dylan said, “We've all got scars here. Physical, mental and emotional. They actually do want to help. But it's up to you to decide if you'll accept that offer. I've got a good feeling about you. I think if you let people past that wall you've built around yourself, you may just find that you can do anything you put your mind to and they'll be supporting you every step of the way. What have you got to lose?”

Casey thought about what Dylan was saying. What did he have to lose after all? After a few minutes, he dared to let a smile cross his face. “I guess if you're willing to take a chance on me, it can't hurt if I take a chance on the rest of you. Who knows? Maybe I will end up liking it here.” He could feel Dylan's optimism starting to rub off. He thought it might be nice to actually be around someone he could relate to, unlike so many of the foster parents and councilors he'd dealt with over the years. Dylan was different. He was like Casey. He understood. Maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Maybe this time he could feel at home for the first time.