Brian Firkus' POV (16 years old)
There's a house up ahead of the car I'm in, and I just know that's where I'm headed. Once I've seen it, I'm not looking forward to it – not that I was particularly enthused in the first place. Ugly beige-y, orange-y walls outlined by brick are the first things I notice, along with the bushes that line the pebblecrete driveway. Ugh. I just wanna go back. But I knew I couldn't go back. We slowly pull up the driveway and park, and I get out just as slowly, if not slower. I grab my bags from the boot of the car and immediately place them on the driveway. I can't wipe my tears away if my hands are full. Claire, my social worker, makes me jump by rubbing me gently on the back. "It's alright to be nervous, you know. It's alright to cry."
"No, I'm fine. Forget it." I wiped my eyes again and took a deep breath. I didn't want these new strangers – who apparently are my new family - to see me crying already. I picked up my bags and headed to the wooden front door behind Claire as she knocked.
A woman with short greying hair answers with a smile full of beautiful white teeth. I didn't even know that teeth could even be that white. She sees Claire first, greets her politely, then turns her blue gaze to me. "Well, hi gorgeous!" Her name was Pat, and she was as lovely as the smile she wore. "Please come in," she says warmly. "Make yourself at home!"
I walk through the door and I take in the living room. It seems very 1980s inspired, with lace curtains and a large, beige cushiony couch. It's not that pretty, really. But he certainly was.
"Brian, this is... well, also Brian," Pat giggles. "You two are going to get along so well!" Brian rolls his eyes a little at his mother, but with smile on his face. He seemed older than me, but not by a lot – maybe in his twenties? Oh, wow. The first thing I notice about him was his smile - just like his mother's. Bright white perfect teeth and the biggest, cheesiest smile I have ever seen on a person. And it was beautiful. I shake his hand and notice how big his hands are, and how firm his handshake was. I like that. "How are you?" he asks politely.
"Alright, I guess, thanks."
"Would you like me to show you to your bedroom?" I look over at Claire and she smiles and gives a light nod as if to say, 'go for it'. "Sure," I answer, and Brian begins to walk towards the staircase, so I follow, glancing back at a smiling Claire.
We walk up the wide staircase covered with a beige carpet covering each stair, and as unfit as I am, we make it to the top for me to follow Brian into what I can now call my bedroom. It's mostly empty, except for a bedframe, mattress and quilt, as well as a desk and wheelie chair and a mirror behind the door. "I know it's kinda boring at the moment, but we wanted you to be able to decorate it however you'd like, considering it's yours." I nodded quietly in response.
"We can go to, like, Walmart or something later to find you a quilt cover and some sheets you like. I'll even get you some posters or wall tapestries or whatever you'd like to decorate the walls. Sound good?"
"Uh, yeah sure," I respond, on the verge of tears once again. I turn to Brian, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. "Could you please show me where the bathroom is?"
"Oh, of course!" We walk down a long hall, and both walls are covered in framed photographs of the family – a day at the beach, bowling, a family lunch. As nice as it is to see, I am envious to the core. It's pretty unfair that some people get families and others don't. We make it to the bathroom and Brian leaves me, but not before making sure I don't get lost in the massive house. I shut and lock the door just to begin to cry. I don't even look like they do in the movies, leaning over the sink dramatically. I just stand in the middle of the tiled floor and cry into the neck of my shirt I've pulled over my face. I look ridiculous, but no one can see me, so what does it matter? It's hard not to be loud, but I'm trying my best to suppress the gross gurgle-y noises coming from my throat. This feels like shit. I feel like shit.
Once I've finished my crying, I remove the shirt from around my face and look down at it – it's soaked. There's no way anyone's ever gonna think I wasn't crying, especially paired with my bloodshot, puffy eyes. I rinse my face with some cold water, trying to calm my puffy eyes. I then unlock the door and look out into the hall, making sure there's no one to see me like this. I quickly scuttle to my new bedroom to then shut and lock my door. I turn to my bed, thinking my bags with some clean shirts will be sitting on it. Wrong. Shit, I've left my bags by the door. I sigh deeply and slump down to sit on my bed, staring into space. I'm suddenly interrupted from my nothingness by an abrupt knock on the door. As I walk towards the wooden door to unlock and open it, I check how shitty I look in the mirror. It's not great. Better than before, but not great. My eyes are still a little red. I slowly click the lock to open the door and slowly open it. It's Pat, and she's holding my luggage. "Hey sweetie, you must have forgotten to bring your bags up before, so I've brought them up for you," she explains with a small grin. She knows I've been crying. It's pretty obvious and I'm embarrassed. However, she doesn't say anything about it, thank God. I give her a small appreciative grin as I take my bags and put them on my empty bed. "We'll be having lunch soon, so wash up and come say goodbye to Claire before we do that, okay?"
"Okay, sure." Pat walks away and I shut and lock the door once more before taking off my tear-stained T-shirt to put a clean and dry one on. Once I've changed, I saunter down the staircase, and Claire is waiting for me at the bottom next to Pat. Claire looks at me directly in my bloodshot eyes, and in the calmest voice I have ever heard, she almost whispers, "You are going to do great, Brian. It will all be okay." She pats my shoulder softly and slowly and walks to the door. I follow behind her with Pat next to me, and as we get to the front doorstep, she turns and says goodbye. The last I see of Claire is her hand waving from the car window, and Pat then shuts the front door, leaving me feeling alone, tears welling in my eyes once again. Pat lightly touches my shoulder – "Lunch time?"
