Pulling up to the front of the dilapidated house, Nick looked around to see how well it fit in with the neighborhood. The whole area was rundown and trashed. Honestly, he never really looked at Ben’s house when he’d dropped him off a few days before. He was more concerned that he watch him go inside and not take off somewhere else. It was obvious the kid had other plans in mind.

But now, now that he could see how this kid lived, he got a bit of Solana’s message. She was right, he had never lived like this. Even when he was a toddler and they were constantly traveling, he didn’t think he’d ever had it this bad.

There was no grass in the yard, just mottled brown blades and lots and lots of sand. The bottom step to the porch was about to completely separate from the other three. Strips of aluminum siding were falling off in random places all over the face of the building and it was a good five, hell probably ten years past the need for a new paint job. The railing around the porch was connected only on one side and yet, somehow it was littered with old, beat-up bikes and toys. How it actually held all of it was nothing short of a miracle. Nick wasn’t sure it’d even hold his weight.

Smacking his ball cap on his head, Nick got out of his truck, making sure the kids playing in neighboring yards looked occupied. Last thing he needed now was a hoard of pre-pube fans. He maneuvered himself up the steps, skipping the first and balancing himself at the top, still convinced it’d cave under his feet and finally approached the door.

“Heya! Who are you!?”

The door had swung open so quickly, Nick didn’t even really see it happen. Neither did he see the body that housed the squeaky little voice that greeted him. Looking down, he had to smile. A scrawny little girl gazed up at him with life in her eyes that could only been seen in a child this young in a place so depressed. Her straw colored hair was like Ben’s in that it hadn’t been combed or washed for days, her face patched with an interesting array of colors of food, markers and god knew what else. Clothes were stained and she had a pocket hanging by a thread on her shorts. She was a mess. A beautiful mess.

“I’m Nick. Who are you?”

“I’m Liz. You wanna come in?”

Nothing like inviting in strangers…dear god. “Yeah, this where Ben lives?”

“Yep. Want me to go get him?”

“Sure. Is your mom home?”

“Yeah, she’s…”

“I’m right here. Who are you?”

Nick looked up to the soft voice and prayed his eyes betrayed his thoughts. It was obviously mom, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. She had to be at least 300 pounds and not an inch over 5 and a half feet tall. Her hair was in the same mussed, dirty condition as that of her kids and her clothes looked like she’d had them since the 70’s. Huge, huge breasts squirt out of a much too small bra causing ungodly lumps and bumps in odd places. Her eyes were dark and sullen, skin pallid and demeanor one of total submission to her visitor. And Ben had the audacity to call this woman a whore?

“Uh, hi. I’m Nick…Ruskin Community Center paired me up to uh…spend some time with Ben.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Can I get you something to drink? Cold water?”

“No, no, thanks…I’m fine.”

In trying to not stare at the woman, Nick finally looked around at the small home. They had a couch and a TV, but he probably wouldn’t even let his dog sit on the couch. The dirt and grime almost floated around it, and the upholstery was ripped and torn at every corner, on every cushion. The television was small, and it looked like…dear god, there was a bullet hole in the side.

Outside of the couch and TV, nothing was traditional. In what looked like it should be a dining room were 2 twin-sized beds, unmade, of course. He could only see into the kitchen a little bit, but could see the counter tops were littered with bags of chips, cookies and just…junk. The whole house was littered with junk. Junky furniture, junky beds, junky carpeting, junky curtains…if there were any at all. The walls needed painting or re-wallpapering. And the smell? Nick thought his skin was going to crawl right off of his body.

Just about the time the silence in the room became unbearable, the screen door slammed open followed by two screaming children. A running boy, a few years younger than Ben and an older girl. “Jack, give me back my book, dammit!”

“Finders keepers…you lost it now!”

“Kitty! Jack! Take it back outside!”

The older girl stopped on a dime when she caught glimpse of a stranger in her home. “Oh!” Seeing who it was, she sucked in her breath and immediately flushed 15 shades of red, fussing with her hair and straightening her shirt. Without a word, she looked down and disappeared down the hall, tripping over a stuffed animal on the floor.

Twirling around when he realized he was no longer being chased, the young boy’s eyes landed in the visitors with little approval. “Who are you?”

“I’m Nick…waiting for Ben.” Who’d better show up real soon or Nick was out.

“Oh, you wanna shoot some hoops while you wait?”

Where in the hell would they shoot hoops around here? “Uh, yeah…sure, okay.”

“It’s out back.”

Nick offered a slight smile to Ben’s mom and stopped. “Wait, Jack…uh, I guess it’d be good if I knew your name since I’m takin’ Ben with me.”

“Oh, yeah sorry. I’m Patty. Patty Casey.”

“Nick Carter. When do you want him home?”

“Whenever. He comes and goes as he pleases anyway. I have no control over him.”

The woman couldn’t have been more than 30 years old and Kitty had to have been at least a teenager. The years had not been kind, it was obvious. How could people live like this day in and day out? “Well, I’ll get him home before dark so you’ll know where he is tonight anyway.”

She let a semi-toothless smile spread across her face and smiled even more deeply as the familiar warmth of such an expression filled her whole body. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to relax enough to smile? “That’d be nice. Go on now, Jack’s waitin’.”

Nick followed the young boy out back trying to look at everything and see nothing. The kitchen only got worse looking from the inside. Dirty, cluttered, beat-up table with only 3 chairs that were bent out of shape. His tennis shoes stuck to the floor as he walked across it. He couldn’t get out back fast enough.

And as the door closed behind him he was shocked out of his…shock with a basketball to his gut.

“Ooof! Dang…you’ve got an arm there.”

“Yep, only thing I can do here is play basketball. You ready?”

“Yeah…half court rules or what?”

“Horse.”

“Alright…you go first.” Nick shot the ball over to the boy with the same force he’d received it, but Jack was quick and caught it before it nailed him. Just as he looked up, took aim and lifted his hands up to take his first shot, the slamming screen door interrupted yet again.

“I thought you were here for me, not him.”

Nick turned to the accusing voice and again prayed for deceptive eyes. Standing in still dirty clothes and torn shorts was Ben, holding a baby. Nick guessed her to about a year in age and of course, she too was a dirty mess.

“I’m here for you, Ben…we were just killin’ time ‘til you were ready.”

“Yeah, whatever. Jack’s probably more fun anyway.”

“Ben, shut up…why don’t you play too so I can whoop both of your butts?” Little brother didn’t seem to have a confidence problem.

“I gotta change Amy. I’ll be back…unless you’d rather stay here…”

“Nope. We’re goin’. Whenever you’re ready.”

With a glare and a flipped bird to his little brother, Ben turned and went back inside. All Nick could do was stand and stare. Solana was right. There was no way he could comprehend this unless he’d seen it with his own eyes. Jolting him out of his thoughts, the basketball landed square in his gut yet again.

“Let’s go, pop god. See if you can spell ‘horse’.”

“So where ya’ takin’ me, Backdoor Boy?”

Nick glared over his truck to Ben wondering if every time they’d meet he’d have to start at square one. This was going to be a long year. “Backdoor Boy, huh? I see you’ve been studying me.”

“My sister left one of her teeny rags on the table. Your ugly mug was on the front.”

“Ah, of course. She a fan?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation…jeez. Get in.”

Nick finally ducked into the truck and met Ben’s eyes, both sets glaring as forcefully as the other. “So, is it true?”

Starting the car, he could hardly wait to hear what this question would be. “Is what true?”

“Are you all gay?”

“Yeah, we are.” He could enjoy this little game.

“You are not.”

“Well, if you knew the answer then why’d you ask?”

Ben opened his mouth for a smart remark and immediately closed it. He amazingly didn’t have one. After a few moments of silence, Ben had to ask for the more specific answer he’d been seeking…if he could just eke it out. “Are you?”

Nick pulled up to the traffic light, glad to be out of Ben’s neighborhood. This was not a fun place to be. Looking over to the ragamuffin, he wondered if he should continue teasing or see what was really up. Ben looked downright scared now.

“What would you think if I was?”

Ben shrugged and started picking at a loose thread in his shorts. “I’d wonder if you were going to…uh…yanno…”

“Come after you?”

The boy silently nodded and directed his attention out his window, biting his nails. Nick respected the silence wondering what might be haunting him so. He hoped his worst thoughts were just a sign of paranoia.

After traveling a few miles and realizing Ben had finally looked back to the front, showing some comfort again, Nick decided to pry a little. See what might be making this kid tick. “Has something like that happened to you before?”

Nothing. No response. Silence. Unmoving body. Unchanging face. It said a thousand words. Nick felt nauseous. Taking a deep breath, he saw that being a mentor was not just about baseball games, ice cream and fishing trips. Did he have it in him to do this? He guessed it was time to find out.

“Well, first…gay men don’t go after young boys.”

“I’m not a boy.”

“Okay, minors. You’re a minor and that’s just…it’s illegal and wrong.”

“Doesn’t stop everyone.”

“It would me.”

“So are you saying…” Now his eyes were full of fear. Time to meet with Solana again. How was he supposed to deal with this?

“No, I’m not. I’m just saying that…if someone did something like that to you it wasn’t because they were gay. It’s because they were sick…violent…fucked up.” Grimacing at his foul language, he quickly corrected himself. “Screwed up…sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Fucked up is right.”

“Yeah…I guess it is. But, if it makes you feel any better…I’m not gay.”

Ben tried not to react, he really did. He failed miserably. The sigh that escaped him and the change in demeanor were melodramatic at best. The poor kid had been scared to death. Trying to pull up his cocky mode once again, he sat up straight and punched on the CD player. “Good to know…good to know. Oh JESUS! You like Linkin Park!?”

“Hell yeah, man…crank it up there.”

What do I do to ignore them behind me?
Do I follow my instincts blindly?
Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?
Do I sit here and try to stand it?
Or do I try to catch them red-handed?
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,
Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?
Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin
I make the right moves but I'm lost within
I put on my daily façade but then
I just end up getting hurt again
By myself (Myself)**