Hummel's Home for Non-Conforming Adolescents

Chapter 2: Hummel's Home

"Welcome to home 1557, Anderson. I am Kate and I'm the manager here. This is where you will be living from now on." A tall and thin middle-aged woman with shiny jet black hair, a fresh manicure, and what was surely a designer dress motioned around her hurriedly. Her words were emotionless and flat, like they had been rehearsed a hundred times and uttered in practice hundreds more. Blaine felt sick, and not just because of the stifling heat that caused beads of sweat to roll down his back, or the stench of mold and dirty dampness that assaulted his nose. His life, as he knew it, was over. This sharp and cold woman in front of him was in charge of his well-being until he turned of age. Even if he had not been merely eleven years old, Blaine would have longed for his mother.

"Here are your two appointed uniforms and a handful of personal items. Let me give you the tour."

Blaine stumbled back as Kate shoved a paper bag at his chest and took off walking through the house. He held in his hands the only possessions he would have for years. The bag was heartbreakingly light, giving away that it held extremely limited contents. Blaine's eyes filled with tears as he reached to straighten a bow tie that was not there anymore, a nervous habit he was not sure he would ever break.

The last few hours of his life had been a blur, but his brain was starting to catch up with what was happening to him and register a whole slew of emotions. He had more or less been ripped from his home with no chance to say goodbye to his parents and transported to a government facility where he was given his mark. From there, he was thrown in the back of a van with three other boys and the four of them were distributed among various homes in the area. If he had learned anything in the past day, it was that the mark on his arm meant nobody would treat him the same ever again.

An overwhelming sadness washed over Blaine as he scampered to catch up with the severe-looking lady, his wide, too-innocent eyes looking around in fear.

"This is the kitchen," Kate told him. "We receive shipments of food every other Wednesday and there's a rotating schedule for who is in charge of making the meals."

What she called the kitchen was really just a fridge, an oven, and a few cupboards shoved in one corner of a small room. It seemed too small for the number of residents that it needed to feed, but what really caught his eye was the boy who stood at the oven, stirring something foul-smelling in a large pan. His standard issue clothes that looked ready to disintegrate at any moment draped pathetically across his slumped skeleton. His head was roughly shaven, eyes sunken, and streaks of grime caked the premature worry lines he sported.

Blaine had only seen people like him out on the streets begging for money; he never thought he would someday be one of those people. The boy looked up and caught him staring, and offered him a wary smile.

Blaine's breath caught in his throat because in that moment he saw himself. Looking into the boy's face was like looking into his own future, a future he suddenly wanted to do anything to avoid.

The muted sound of Kate's heels clicking across the uneven linoleum floor caused Blaine's head to snap up in the opposite direction just in time to see her disappear around the corner, not looking back to check if he was following. Tearing his eyes away from his new housemate, he jogged to catch up and found himself in a room with a large, worn couch, a broken television set, and a bookshelf with tattered old volumes stacked haphazardly.

"Here's the common room where you can spend your free time, though as you'll notice, it is usually empty because there isn't much free time to be had." She motioned to a chart on the wall that had fourteen boys' names written across the side with what appeared to be jobs next to them. "This is where you will find your work assignment for the day. The duration and type of work you do will be up to the person to whom you are assigned that day. You'll begin tomorrow. The van leaves at 7:00am sharp."

Blaine caught sight of some of the assignments. They were vague enough to leave him questioning what the next day might hold. Sanitary, shipping, construction, Ricky…

He noticed that one or two of the boys just had names next to theirs, and wondered what that meant. An unexplained sinking feeling settled over him.

Kate was moving on again, so Blaine followed her into the saddest room he had seen yet. He could feel the thick air in the small, rectangular room, and it smelled like nothing in the space had been washed in months. Blaine could have sworn he saw small brown bugs scurrying to hide from the light. He breathed through his mouth and braced himself against the doorframe so he would not gag or faint. In doing so, his paper bag of belongings fell to the floor with a soft thud, eliciting a glare from Kate.

"Clumsiness will not do, Anderson. I cannot send you out on jobs if you'll be dropping things left and right." She turned back around to look into the room. "Here are the living quarters. The bathroom is to the left. You will take the empty bed in the middle there, and you'll find a cubby for your uniforms by your bed. We have a lot of turnover with boys leaving and being removed from the home, so if you don't like the placement of your bed, you will have ample opportunity to move when someone else leaves."

"Bed" was hardly the word Blaine would have used to describe the mess of soiled, infested cots that had been crammed into every available nook and cranny. He thought wistfully of his clean, plush bed at home and had to fight the urge to turn on his heel and run. It was pointless, anyway.

"If there is anything else you need, Ethan can help you. He is the head boy of the house, and he helps me run things. That's his room just down the hall. Now, it's probably best to go to bed since you'll need to be up early in the morning to check your assignment. I hope you enjoy your time here, Anderson," she said with a forced smile that resembled a grimace before waltzing out of the room as if she had a million other things she would rather be doing. He envied her the freedom to leave whenever she wanted. His sentence was airtight, and possibly for life.

In somewhat of a daze, Blaine located the empty cot that Kate had indicated and flopped down after brushing off dirt and a few bugs, allowing himself to dissolve into fits of sobs for what would be the last time in six years.

"Welcome to home 2461, Anderson."

Blaine had been ushered inside by the driver of the van that had picked him up. The man was short and round with watery eyes and evidently no ability to smile. The signature NCEA (Non-Conformist Enforcement Agency) jacket he sported gave him false reason to believe he was above everyone else he came into contact with. The man followed closely behind as he pushed Blaine across the threshold, and Blaine, flinching away from the contact, was now standing in the entryway of the new house — Hummel's House — face-to-face with a tall, balding man wearing a plaid flannel and jeans, who Blaine assumed must be the house manager.

"I'm Burt Hummel." He made no move to shake Blaine's hand, but was looking directly at Blaine without judging him, which was entirely out of the ordinary, in the teenager's experience. Most NCs were only looked at by the general population with either disdain, fear, or to size them up for a job. Burt's steady gaze put him at ease in a way that was far too uncomfortable. "Here are your clothes and personal items. I'll show you around and show you where you can put them."

Burt's eyes shifted from Blaine to the government worker behind him, hardening slightly as the man continued to follow them through the short entryway into the common area.

It was slightly cleaner and, unfortunately, had less books on the shelf than the common room in his last home, but his heart sank to see that the resemblance was uncanny, right down to the broken television set and springs popping out of the sofa. He was momentarily thankful it was not summertime, and therefore, the air was not heavy and reeking of uncleanliness.

Blaine noted the job chart on the wall and counted fourteen names, the same as what he was used to. Bile rose in his throat before he could look at what the assignments were, so his eyes slid over the rest of the chart and back to Burt without processing any of the hand written words. Burt was looking at him again with something unrecognizable in his eyes that made Blaine feel uneasy. Blaine dropped his gaze respectfully to the ground, catching Burt's head shake out of the corner of his eye. Blaine and the government worker were then led through the kitchen and to the closed door of the dormitory in silence.

"The boys are sleeping. Most of them have had long days of work and have to get up early to go back out again tomorrow. When we're finished and you're ready to settle in, I'll bring you back here," Burt said in a hushed voice, motioning to the door. "My room and the head boy's room are up these stairs, in case you ever need one of us. Let's head back to the entry and we can make sure your paperwork is all squared away."

Blaine knew enough by that point to recognize when a house manger was working the system, but he also knew not to expect a government official to care enough to push for the truth. Apparently whatever horrors were hiding behind the closed door of the dormitory there at Hummel's House were so awful that Burt did not even want to show the short NCEA man tagging along, though Blaine suspected the man would have turned a blind eye anyway. He bit his lip, willing away the tears, a feat at which he had become remarkably adept. He had almost dropped his hardened expectations of the world and allowed himself to hope that things could actually be better than they were before, but it appeared it would be more of exactly the same. More awful jobs, more cramped and dirty living, more of nobody caring.

Blaine sighed, exhaling the very last tendril of hope from his heart, and trailed behind the towering, intimidating man who would now run his life. He sat idly by in the manager's impeccably clean, yet untidy office as Burt signed the papers, accepting Blaine into his care. Blaine noticed how Burt took the time to read through each page of the document, and signed with what could only be described as pride, as opposed to his previous house manager, who had actually looked the other direction when she signed her name. Burt was an enigma to Blaine. He seemed to be just as strict, just as much in league with the government as the other house managers he'd met or heard about, but the little nuances in his looks, his behavior, and his speech, made Blaine wonder if he really was different.

Burt Hummel remembered exactly where he was the day the news broke that the Non-Conformist laws had passed in the senate. He could not be sure why he remembered; he had never known or cared for someone whom the laws would affect. Still, twenty years later, he could vividly recall sitting in his high school cafeteria and hearing the radio announcement that anyone between the ages of ten and eighteen who demonstrated any homosexual tendencies could be turned in and would be taken into government custody immediately to undergo "correction."

At the time, nobody knew exactly what custody and correction meant. Within weeks, though, government-run homes began popping up across the country to house teenage boys and girls who had been deemed "Non-Conforming." Burt never paid it much mind, since he had no personal ties to the matter, but even he heard horror stories of some of what the kids his age and younger had to go through. There were very loose regulations in place for what could and could not happen to an NC, especially when they were hired out on jobs.

The garage Burt worked for after school and his football team started hiring kids from the local homes to do heavy, cheap labor, and Burt had the feeling that they were some of the best jobs out there for NCs. He tried his hardest not to stare at the black markings on their arms or the pitiful way they grew thinner and more hopeless each week, but he could not help but to occasionally catch a glimpse of the eyes that screamed "help me," causing a heaviness to weigh him down from the pit of his stomach.

Burt knew something was wrong with the way NCs were being treated, but it wasn't until he was out of high school and met the beautiful Elizabeth that he realized just how wrong it was. His sweet Lizzie, whom he counted himself beyond lucky to have found, was the fairest, most compassionate person he knew, and as they grew to know each other, he realized that her views on the matter were right. Homosexuals did not pose a threat to society, nor did their behavior need to be corrected, especially in such a horrendous manner as the rumors told.

A year later, in an extraordinary stroke of luck, Elizabeth agreed to marry Burt, and not long after, they wed and gave birth to their beautiful little boy, Kurt. Becoming a parent added something extra to their vehement opposition of the NC laws, as they could now empathize with the children and parents who were separated against their will. Nobody's innocent, helpless child should have to go through what these boys and girls were faced with just because of who they loved.

Burt and Elizabeth began saving their money to hire boys and girls from nearby homes to do simple, easy jobs for them that would give them a short reprieve from their usual daily routine. Elizabeth always made sure the too-thin, too-dirty teenagers were sent off with full bellies and clean clothes. It wasn't enough, but it was what they could do.

Then, the unthinkable happened, and Elizabeth passed unexpectedly, leaving Burt to continue on by himself. Fighting through the grief of losing his beloved wife, he steadfastly upheld what he and Elizabeth had started, as tough as it was on his finances. Seeing the relief on the faces of the boys and girls who were dropped off at his door in the mornings and their smiles at the full plate of food he gave them for lunch made the struggle worth it.

When he finally surfaced from the ocean of grief he felt after nearly a year of going monotonously through the motions, Burt started paying closer attention to his son and noticed some differences between Kurt and the other boys he knew. Terrified, Burt started to realize that his son, his kind, smart son who loved tea parties and dressing up Barbie dolls, might be gay. He knew what happened to gay kids, and while he never wanted Kurt to have to hide from who he was, he never wanted Kurt to be marked.

From that day forward, Burt made sure to instill in Kurt that he could be whoever he wanted to be at home, as long as he stuck to the standard when he went out in public. The two of them were happy, but as Kurt aged, and as Burt realized that others were starting to grow suspicious of some of Kurt's behaviors, he became more and more afraid of the dangers lurking around every corner for Kurt. So he did the only thing he could think of to protect his son: he turned over ownership of his tire shop and applied to open an NC home.

With all of the paperwork signed and Blaine officially transferred into home 2461, the NCEA worker took his leave. Burt made no move to exit the office as he watched the man retreat, so Blaine stood awkwardly while he waited for instructions. They listened to the dirt and pebbles shift under the weight of the van as it drove away, and finally, Burt looked back to Blaine, strangely apologetic.

"Wish I could have given you a heads up," Burt said, the tone of his voice completely different from the flat tone it had had a few minutes prior. "Come on, I'll show you to the dorm."

Blaine was thoroughly confused, but as someone who had learned to roll with the punches and not let anything faze him, he followed obediently.

Burt opened the door that had previously been closed and led Blaine into the dormitory. Shock colored Blaine's expression as he realized that the overcrowded room contained beds that appeared lived-in, but were all empty.

"What—?" he began, but Burt held up his hand to stop his question mid-sentence. He cowered back automatically at the raised hand, curling in on himself in preparation, but Burt was walking straight ahead, not even realizing that Blaine had stopped.

It took a few moments for Blaine to catch his breath and realize that he would not be punished for speaking out of turn, and by the time he straightened out of his defensive posture, Burt had noticed that Blaine was no longer behind him.

"You coming, kid?"

Blaine, not wanting to push his luck by disobeying twice in a row, rolled the tension out of his shoulders and walked quickly ahead to where Burt awaited him on the other side of the dorm.

They stood in a hallway with a large barn door that seemed to be permanently set in place to the right of the entrance to the communal bathroom, but Burt fiddled around between the door and the wall and flipped a hidden catch. The door, now mobile, slid easily aside as Burt pushed it to cover the bathroom entrance.

A darkened staircase has materialized in front of them, and the older man gestured ahead. "After you,"

Blaine gave him a blank stare, wondering if he was serious. Into what kind of torture chamber was he expected to walk willingly? He half-anticipated being ignored and feeling a forward shove at his back to prod him down the stairs, but neither came. Instead, Burt smiled widely and proudly. "Welcome to Hummel's Home, Blaine."