Foster - 1. Foster 1

Author’s Note

About two and a half years before Carlos Hazday’s death, he approached me about co-writing a book in the CJVerse. One, that scared the hell out of me since that’s his baby, and two, I thought it was a great honor. He gave me some basic parameters and asked me to create the main character’s back story. I threw something together and sent it to him. It went back and forth a few times before settling on this. The project kept getting delayed as he worked on other books in the series. I’ve had this file sitting on my computer ever since.

It’s taken me a while to sort through my emotions regarding his death: sadness, anger, grief, and acceptance. His loss somewhat affected my interest in writing as reviewing his NSFW edits was a never-ending source of laughter. For someone I’d never met, he was a combination of mentor, best friend, and adopted dad wrapped into one. My husband and I had plans to meet Carlos this past March for Daytona Biker Week. I came close to deleting this several times in the last year knowing it would never come to fruition. I finally decided to check and edit this one chapter and share it. With the one year anniversary of his loss, this is my way of remembering him.

Foster

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear, Scott. Happy birthday to you.”

“Blow out the candle.”

Scott Waxman leaned in towards the cupcake and blew out the solitary candle. “Thank you.”

A woman in an institutional beige dress suit walked into the dining room of the group home. The mid sixties civil servant set down her briefcase and removed her glasses, letting them hang by the attached chain. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your party, Scott. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Ms. Krance.”

“I need to speak with the administrator for a moment, then after you finish here I’ll need to discuss something with you.”

Scott nodded. He knew what was coming and had tried to prepare for it over the last year. His friends around him also knew. They’d all seen it before. Scott split the cupcake into four pieces to share with the small group. The facility they lived at wasn’t bad, but it was never really a home, unlike the several families he’d lived with over the years.

******

Scott Waxman had lived in the foster system most of his life. He could still remember his parents, but the memories faded a little more each year. The senior Waxman was a loving father who tried to provide for his family. Scott remembered often sitting on his father’s lap as he was read a bedtime story. The family lived in one of the low income housing projects near Joint Base Anacostia in Washington DC. Hearing gunshots in the neighborhood was a regular occurrence. One day his dad didn’t come home from his civilian maintenance job at the base. Two police officers knocked on the door about the time his mother was about to put him to bed. After the adults talked for a while, his mother gave him a sorrowful look and pointed out the door to another apartment. The woman in a neighboring unit watched over him while his mother went with the officers. Scott’s babysitter let him stay up and watch Disney movies much later than he was usually allowed to. His mother woke him on her return, tears streaking her face as she held him tight.

The next morning, his mother held him and explained daddy wasn’t coming home again. Some days she would sit and cry while other times acted more mechanical like the robots on cartoons. As the months passed, his mother’s mood started to change. One minute she was happy and the next an unexpected backhand would strike him without warning, only to have her apologize. Scott didn’t understand what the needles his mother stuck in her arm were for, but she always seemed calmer after and stopped hitting him. It was only in the time before the injection when she was at her worst.

He was playing with some toys in his bedroom when he heard a loud thud in the living room. Going out to check, he found his mother on the floor sleeping, a needle still stuck in her arm. Scott tried to wake her several times as he grew scared. He remembered being taught in preschool about what to do in an emergency. Through his fear, he found his mother’s phone and dialed.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Sobbing, he managed to get out, “My mommy won’t wake up.”

“Are you all alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your mother now?”

“On the floor. I shook her but she won’t get up.”

“How old are you, Sweety?”

“I’m four.” He held up his fingers as if the woman could see them. “There’s something stuck in her arm.”

“Keep talking to me. We’ll have someone there to help as soon as we can. Are there any adults nearby that can help you?”

“I don’t know. My babysitter lives next door.”

“Can you knock on their door and see if they’re home? If you need to set the phone down it’s okay, just don’t hang up.”

“Okay. I’ll check.” In a few minutes, Scott returned with his neighbor who shrieked at the sight of his mother. The boy reached for the phone. “My babysitter’s here now.”

“You’re doing great. Can you let me talk to her, please?”

“Uh-huh.” He handed the device off and sat on the floor with his mother while the adults talked.

The neighbor held him as paramedics arrived and eventually took his mother away in an ambulance. Soon another woman in a grey dress suit arrived. She helped him pack some clothes then sat down beside him on the bed.

“I’m going to take you with me. We’ll have a nice family watch you until we know what’s happened to your mom.”

Scott cried, not knowing what was going on and why this strange woman was taking him from his home. The neighbor stepped in and calmed him down. “You go with her. She’ll make sure you’re taken care of from now on. It’ll be okay. Be a good boy.”

That was the last time he saw their apartment. A few days later, the woman came to see him at the home he’d been placed in to try and explain his mother had died. When she spoke to the other grownups, he overheard something about an overdose. In less than one year, Scott had lost both parents.

******

By the time he was around ten, Scott was on his sixth foster home. He’d get into fights with his temporary families and try to run away. This would invariably get him moved to another, more suitable home. There were foster parents in several parts of the District. Some were in scary neighborhoods while others were rather nice, but he didn’t have the manners or temperament for those people to keep him. All the shifting around also meant he was continually getting placed in different schools. A few of the teachers were caring and helpful, others showed little interest beyond going over the daily assignments.

By his fourteenth birthday, the foster homes were getting harder to find. Adoptive families tended to want someone younger. Scott knew his behavior was the cause of people not wanting him. He tried to change and work on his anger problems with counselors from Child Protective Services, but finally, he found himself at a group home in the Deanwood neighborhood of the city. It was called a training institute, but was little more than a dormitory for teen boys. Between violence in the neighborhood, some of the bullies in the institution, and the rules he was required to follow, Scott hated the place. After the movie Little Orphan Annie was played one night in the common room, he realized his situation wasn’t as bad as it could be.

Scott got enrolled in the local high school and started off in the remedial classes. Metal detectors and regular searches of student bags didn’t provide for an illusion of safety. Fights and muggings were a daily occurrence in and around the campus. It was something he tried to avoid at all costs. Scott, like most of his teachers, just wanted to make it through the day without being shot in the hallway between class.

The institute became his home for the next four years. There were no more attempts at placements with families and he resided himself to the fact that he wouldn’t have a family of his own.

******

“How’s your job going?”

“It’s okay I guess, Ms. Krance. I’m getting between ten and twenty hours a week. Washing dishes and mopping floors isn’t the greatest, but it’s a job. I’ve been saving up all I can knowing today was coming.”

“I wish I could do more to help you, but you’re officially emancipated as of today. Do you have someplace to move to?”

“Yeah, I found a room listed online to rent. It’s more than I wanted to spend, but was the cheapest I could find.”

“It’s not fair that we work with you for so many years and then turn our back on you. I’ve been your case worker for ten years now. I know you’ve had behavioral problems, but I’ve also been proud of you as I watched you try to fix them.”

“Thank you.” Scott struggled not to cry.

“When do you move in to your new home?”

“I’ll be leaving as soon as we’re done. I’ve had my party, said goodbye to everyone. Even packed my stuff already. No reason to drag it out. I know you can’t do anything to stop it since I hit eighteen, so that’s the end of me in a group or foster home. It’s no big deal. I knew when I came here my chance of a forever family was pretty much gone.” He gave a big sigh. “So now I try to finish school and take care of myself.”

“A lot of us in the agency have pushed for a transitional system to help our kids like you. Unfortunately, we’re still working to make that happen. What limited resources there are just aren’t enough for how many of you age out of the system.”

“It’s not your fault. You’ve been real good to me. If I’d acted better, maybe one of those families would have wanted to keep me.”

Ms. Krance hugged him one last time. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”

“Thank you.” A couple tears did fall.

******

It was a chilly early November afternoon as he ran down the street. Nearly out of breath, he pushed through the door of the restaurant where he worked. He looked at the clock seeing he was thirty minutes late. His boss was waiting for him and didn’t look happy.

“This is the third time in the last two weeks.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Zaketie. Class ran late and teacher wouldn’t let me leave. I missed my bus and had to run all the way.”

“I understand you’re a senior in high school and have a lot going on. But I have a business to run. You’ve been good employee in the past, but I believe you’re stretching yourself too far. I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”

“Sir, I need this job.”

“You’re a smart kid. I see you having a bright future, but I also see this job getting in the way of your schoolwork and that’s far more important. I’m sorry, Scott. Here’s your final pay check.”

Scott walked back to his rented room, unsure of his next move. It had only been a month since his emancipation and things already felt like they were falling apart. There was enough in savings, plus what he’d just received to cover another month’s rent at best. After that, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Scott immediately started going around his neighborhood putting in an application with any place he saw was hiring. Slowly, he branched out to surrounding areas. It didn’t matter if it was bagging groceries, making coffee for someone, or mopping floors again. As long as it paid enough for him to make rent and eat, he would be happy. He even considered dropping out of school just to be able to work full time if the opportunity arose. Time and again, he would go for an interview in his nicest clothes and end up leaving with only a polite, “We’ll get back to you. Thank you for coming in.” Sadly, they never did contact him again.

Scott told his landlord about his situation, but when January 1st came around and he couldn’t pay the rent, he was told he would have to move out. Stuffing all his clothes into his backpack, he was glad he didn’t own anything else. For about a week, he managed to remain in school. It wasn’t until someone made a joke about him needing to wash his clothes that he didn’t return.

He had enough street smarts from living in rough neighborhoods all his life to always look behind him. Scott was scared at being on the streets, but he didn’t have any other choice. Bouncing around from area to area, he never stayed long. After a week, with his money all but gone, he took to begging.

He held a piece of cardboard that he’d written a message on. Not looking for a handout, willing to work for cash. Homeless and trying to survive.

Some people offered him a dollar or two, others simply chased him away. One man who approached made an offer he had feared would eventually come. “I’ll give you ten bucks if you blow me.”

His stomach grumbled and he dug his hands into his pockets feeling the single dollar he possessed. “Make it twenty, and you got a deal.”

“Fine. That alley should do. Get on your knees behind the dumpster.”

Once the deed was done, Scott coughed to get the guy’s seed out of his mouth. “How about my money?”

A kick to the stomach knocked the wind out of him. “Should always ask for it up front. Sucks when you’re bad at business.” The guy walked off laughing as Scott gasped for air, clutching his midsection.

He took the guys lesson to heart and always got the cash up front, and prepared for them to get rough.

By mid-February, the weather turned exceptionally cold. It had snowed several times, usually no more than a dusting, but enough to keep people inside. He was glad he didn’t have to have sex with strangers, but missed the few dollars it gave him. Winter also made finding someplace to sleep more difficult. The city homeless shelters filled up quick and people more familiar with living on the street were dangerously territorial over what dry spots were left.

Scott had wandered the streets for hours in search of a safe place to bed down for the night. He looked up at the neon sign on the front of the building, Georgetown Theater, though it appeared more like an office building. Tired and cold, he went around back. There was a small building with a little space between it and another wall. He tried to warm his hands a little, but nothing helped. He was already wearing almost everything he owned and his fingertips ached. He curled up in the space, glad only a little snow was falling on him. If he was lucky, maybe he’d freeze to death in his sleep.

******

Someone shaking him brought him out of his dream. It was a nice one of him being someplace warm. Trying to focus, he opened his eyes, his body shivering in the sub-freezing temperature.

“Hey, Buddy. You okay?” The blond with a Marine-style haircut was speaking to him. “You were right, Cesar. There was someone back here. He looks younger than Ritch before he left for the academy.” The blue-eyed man returned his attention to Scott and asked again, “Buddy, you okay? Wake up and stay with me. His hands are like ice and the lips and fingertips are blue.”

“I’m calling Matt and an ambulance.” Another man called out. “Bring him in. I’ll get a blanket and heat up some water.”

Scott managed to get out through chattering teeth, “I’m sorry for sleeping here. I’ll go.”

“Only place you’re going is inside. I’m Brett, and that’s my husband, Cesar. It’s our building.”