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What's Fair? copyright comidacomida 2020

Life's not fair, and anyone who thinks it is only sets themselves up to be a victim. I learned it at a young age and I laugh at people who still don't get it in their thirties, or forties, or fifties. Some people get to grow up with a loving family, or even a family period. Me? I grew up in foster care. Mom skipped out on me and my dad when I was still a pup and he always made sure that I knew it was my fault. His folks hated him so no real family on that side, and when he ended up going to jail for a little run in with the police at 2am while driving home from the bar there was only one option for me: 'the system'.

I've wasted a lot of hours of my life hearing people complain about family trouble, or how their parents are always invading their life and making suggestions or trying to control them. I just laugh-- been over ten years since I saw my dad... closer to twenty for my mom. Nah... my 'family' pretty much amounts to a long list of temporary assignments; my life growing up was like a sitcom where the supporting cast changed every season, only it wasn't half as well written and nowhere near funny. To be honest, it sucked like hell.

Most of my foster families sucked, and, in some unlucky twist of fate, the worse they were the longer I usually ended up getting stuck with em. Fortunately, the 'longest' was barely over a year and a half-- most of em were places I'd end up for a school year. Yeah... school sucked too, especially since I never had a chance to make any friends and oh, unlucky me if anyone at the school found out I was a foster cub. Crazy enough, though, the best family I'd had during that time was one where hiding it wasn't an option.

My high school senior year was the worst and the best of my time. I got placed with a new family about two weeks before school started but I was already looking forward to the end of the school year because then I'd be free-- free of school and free of the system. I'd be an adult wolf, and then I wouldn't have to deal with all the crap that came from being 'a ward of the state'. I didn't realize though just how much I'd come to change my view of what foster families could be. Unlike everywhere else I'd been during my time in the system, I was actually willing to say they were more than a foster family; they were MY foster family.

One thing that needs to be said to anyone that didn't grow up in the system: when you're a foster cub you get used to having nothing. The room you're staying in isn't your room; the house where you're staying isn't your house; the family you're living with isn't your family. Hell... half the time you walk around in clothes that aren't yours and the food you eat, especially if the family you're with is real bad, is usually the leftovers from THEIR dinner that you get since they're required to feed you. None of this was true with the final foster family; the Stillwaters were something else entirely.

Mr. and Mrs. Stillwater were the kind of folks you'd expect to see in some snapshot of perfect Americana. Mr. Stillwater was a university professor and Mrs. Stillwater was a stay-at-home wife. Yeah-- they STILL exist! They'd been foster parents for I guess around 6 years before I got into the picture, and they were the family that all the cubs who knew about em wanted to go to; the fact that I got paired with em was just a coincidence, but it was a happy one for everyone, including me, and including their only son, a little furball named Clark who was just starting his freshman year.

I'd had foster brothers before, and a foster sister on one occasion, but there was never really any incentive to get close to them for any reason; usually they just avoided me as much as they could despite sharing the same house, and, if they did have any reason to interact, it was usually because they HAD to. They tended to have the same viewpoint of their foster brother as their parents had of their foster son: I was the side effect of getting a government check every month-- a necessary evil they had to deal with if they wanted that sweet, sweet cash. The Stillwaters were nothing like that.

When I first moved in I'd barely gotten settled before I was swept up in a whirlwind of activity surrounding the upcoming school year. Mrs. Stillwater had me join her and Clark in the car to go clothes shopping. While that wasn't normal, I'd been tugged along a few times in the past since my case worker always made sure I had a few usable pairs of clothes but I knew the extra money foster families got to kit out their foster cubs either wasn't very much or else it got 'repurposed' for other, less foster-cub centric purposes. The exact opposite happened that summer.

Mrs. Stillwater doted over me almost as much as she did Clark and, despite how guarded I was and how careful I made sure to be in order to avoid being let down, by the time the day was over my tail had somehow decided to start swaying. There had only ever been one time in my life I'd lived with a family that actually treated me like a person and, as that memory came flooding back in, my tail tucked plenty quick; if the Stillwaters were anything like the Montgomeries then I was due for one hell of a Sunday when they forced me to attend church so they could tell me how great they were and how broken I was.

It was a tale as old as time: the only 'nice' foster families were the god fearing ones that didn't care so much as they pitied. Oddly, that Sunday we didn't go to church. The Stillwaters, as it turned out, were not very 'preachy' people, and, based on a short talk I had with Mr. Stillwater that Sunday, he mentioned they didn't really follow any established religion. That statement, and the following weeks continued to blow my mind as I got my first taste of what it was like to have people pay attention to me for more reasons than how many dollars I could net them a month. I also had my first taste of what it was like to have a little brother.

Over the course of those weeks before school the Stillwaters treated me like their Son. They became MY family. Clark was a great kid and, even though he was a Lynx I didn't care; he was MY brother. One thing I can say for sure: whenever someone who's had nothing gets something, they aggressively defend it. Even though I've come a long way since then I still have a lasting policy: don't mess with my shit. By the end of the first week of school I realized just how much of a problem I would have with anyone who didn't follow that simple rule. I found out that Thursday while waiting for Mrs. Stillwater to pick ups up that someone was picking on Clark.

He was already waiting by the pick-up area when I got out to the curb. Clark's ears were a thing of beauty in how they always stuck upward, little fur tufts at the top fluttering in the wind like little streamers of optimism and happiness. They were NOT up that day, and before I got close I could tell he was crying. Relationships and feelings had not been my strong point but seeing him hurt like that made my heart hurt too. Taking a seat next to him and reached over and gave him a light cuff on the arm. "What's up, squirt?"

He gave some lame ass excuse and I didn't believe it at the time, and for good reason too-- it only took me a day to find out what WAS bugging him, and the source of his distress was a Sophmore Schnauzer named Wesley Scott. In addition to having a general dislike for anyone who had a first name for a last name, I REALLY didn't like someone messing with my brother. I decided right then and there to screw that damn little bully over.

It's a dangerous prospect for a foster cub to get in trouble; no matter how strict parents were, foster parents were usually worse, and they weren't the hardest issues to deal with: case manager were usually ten times worse. That, and if I acted out there was a very real chance that it could have resulted in me being placed into the care of a different family and after a few weeks with the Stillwaters I was NOT about to let that happen. Then again, I wasn't about to let anyone pick on my little brother.

I'm not gonna go into detail about what I did finally decide to do but, rest assured, it couldn't be traced back to me and didn't cause any lasting PHYSICAL harm to Wesley. What I did probably wasn't legal, but it also wasn't illegal enough that anyone could call it 'criminal', but it was enough to get me to let it go and that little punk never bothered Clark again. Best of all, it never got traced back to me. Damn it, I loved my little brother and, even if we were just foster brothers he was still family to me.

Sure, maybe it was coincidence that I ended up being placed in his house. Yeah, it was a coincidence that we entered into each other's life and I probably never would have met him if life hadn't sucked so much, but, like I said: life isn't fair. Sometimes though, you can do that old tired out saying of making lemonade with the lemons you're given, but that doesn't guarantee you get sugar. For me, the Stillwaters were my lemonade, and Clark was definitely the sugar... MY sugar.

I would like to say that there was a happily-ever-after that came out of all of this... that I stayed with the Stillwaters after I was done with the foster system and all that, but, like I said in the beginning, life isn't fair. No, life is life, and, as expected, even after all the wonderful things they did for me, once I graduated the system moved me into the exit strategy and the time ultimately came to say goodbye. I was used to goodbyes by that point, but I didn't realize just how much THAT one would hurt.

Sure, I guess I could have asked to stay, and I'm pretty sure they would have found a way to make room for me but, at the same time, I knew that there were foster cubs out there who needed that room-- that needed the kind of care that the Stillwaters could give when so few foster families gave a damn. Nah... life isn't fair, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't try to help nudge the scales just a little. The Stillwaters had helped me more than I knew and I realized the best thing I could do to pay them back was to step out of the way and let them help someone else. They were my family, but it was MY decision; I wasn't going to devalue them by hanging on when it was time to let go.

Funny thing though: I landed on my feet. I've never been one for school or education, but I got a pretty damn decent job at a gas station and auto shop combo type place. After working there as general labor they started teaching me about cars. I ended up working as a line mechanic and, within a few years they moved up to a lead mechanic. Last year I made manager. Last week, I got an unexpected visit.

I almost didn't recognize the well-dressed fluffy Lynx that came in just before close to get some gas. It'd been awhile since I manned the pumps or the register but the guy in charge of that was out back taking a smoke break and I offered to cover for him. Despite the strange familiarity of the pointed ears and the pom-pom tufts at the tips celebrating life, I didn't realize who I was looking at until his eyes widened in recognition... and he called me by my name without needing to look at my coveralls. It was Clark.

He ended up waiting around for me to clock out and insisted that we went to dinner. We ended up talking for hours and hours about everything and nothing. We caught up on old times, and reminisced about his freshman year in high school, and, damn it, I ended up getting choked up a little when he mentioned how different high school was without me there. I almost made grooves in the table with my claws when I wondered if anyone had been picking on him in my absence but, thankfully, he didn't make any indication that he'd had any trouble, and that made me happy; my tail started wagging again.

Toward the end of an all-too-short diner that had, nevertheless taken up hours of time, I began to feel that sense of pain and loss in my heart; I honestly didn't want my time with him to end. His smile was the same as I'd remembered and every time our eyes met I got that same feeling that apparently never left me since he and I had been foster brothers. Clark had been MY brother, and, despite the years I spent trying to keep the past in the past, I felt it all the same: I'd missed him. What I hadn't realized was how much he'd missed me.

The place we'd gone closed at midnight and, before I knew it, we were being given the check and told that they had to clean up; the time had finally come to say goodbye. Only, it hadn't. I will never forget the strange way he moved as we walked back to our respective cars; mine was a twenty year old pickup and his was a current year sedan. Our rides were a good indicator of just how different we were. Clark wore a button up shirt and slacks while I had a t shirt and jeans under the coveralls I hadn't yet taken off. He was a refined, white-collar Lynx while I was a managing mechanic at an auto shop. He was small and timid and-- reaching out to hold my paw.

Before I could get into my car, Clark told me that he never forgot how I'd helped him through the tough time he had getting used to high school. He said that he always thought of me as his guiding light and that, whenever he felt any self doubt or questioned his abilities he always thought of me. I hadn't realized I'd made such a difference, but I also hadn't realized just how much I meant to him until I heard him finish his meandering thought. "And... and I... would... like to know.... it is okay... if... I..." his ears reddened noticeably as he fidgeted, "What I mean is... may... I... maybe... kiss you goodnight?"

Life is full of coincidences. Life isn't always fair. Life also throws curveballs and, occasionally, can throw you a bone. Clark didn't end up kissing me goodnight-- we went back to his place and, eventually, he kissed me good morning. He had made an impression on me as a brother and apparently I had made a lasting impression on him too. I loved Clark as a brother, and I love him now as a boyfriend. As MY boyfriend, like I said before, I'll do anything I can to keep what's mine. I'm just thankful every day I wake up next to him that he feels the same way.