Melvin B. Casey
July 20th 2070 (cancer)
He could have the perfect boy next door look to him if he'd just let himself.
But that would be lying. He can't hide the look to his pale eyes that reveal that his life wasn't all park visits and fresh baked pies. More often than not he looks scruffy-his dark blonde hair is too long, and always falling into his face. His beard grows in rough patches on his face, a prickly mustache decorates his upper lip. Speaking of, his lips are normal, thin, nothing to write home about and usually wrapped around a hand rolled cigarette. Despite being on the road for long stretches of time he hasn't let his body dissolve into the pudgy physique of unuse. He is tall, lean with defined but not massive muscle.
Rochelle (Wilder) Casey-Mom anesthesiologist
Edgar Wilder-Bio-father-truck driver
Friday Casey-Step-father-police officer
Blunt Melancholy Reserved
Hand-holding(he thinks its a lost art)
The flutter of new love
Bullies Confrontation Clowns Sunlight(and not in the 'i'm so depressed' way, but in the sense it actually irritates his eyes) Blood.
Seasonal allergies but they are easily controlled with meds.
Making s'mores with his mother over her tiny stove. The way she used to ruffle his hair.
Moving to Ridgway and finally getting friends.
You'd think it was the moment when he walked into a blood bath when he was just a child.
And true, he can still see the scene when he closes his eyes but his worst memory is what came after. The uncertainty, the shuffling around. The sense of loss and abandonment.
Dying. Which is odd, because he spend a lot of time thinking about dying. Most of it is probably tying to figure out what's so bad about dying anyway.
To be happy. Such a simple life goal, but really that's all there is. To have someone love him and accept him for him and to spend as much time being happy with that person as possible.
Physically he likes blondes or light brown hair color. Its a slight preference but one that wouldn't make him judge someone harshly for not having those specifics. He likes kind eyes, a kind face it whatever manner it comes about. He's more concerned about the inside, as corny as it sounds. It doesn't matter how beautiful the person is if he doesn't have a connection with them. He wants someone he could spend hours talking about nothing with, who can make him feel that all consuming life altering love. He wants earthquakes and fireworks.
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while, But my God it's so beautiful when the boy smiles, Wanna hold him, maybe I'll just sing about it.
Mel doesn’t remember his father.
Not exactly, not his face or distinct features. He mostly remembers him in senses…the way he sounded, the way he smelled. How his heavy booted feet would make him run and hide whenever he heard them.
His mother was smart but she was troubled. Still, she didn’t deserve to be saddled with an angry addict. Despite her higher merit level she moved into a rundown neighborhood when she got her partnering notification. He's not sure what his birth was the result of as different accusations of how he came to be were screamed across the halls of his home from as early as he could remember. Maybe it was on purpose for the neighbors sake, maybe it was an accident, maybe it was forced upon his mother after a drunken night. Whatever the truth, neither of the Wilder's seemed particularly interested in their son once he came about.
Despising her husband Rochelle bestowed the name of the only man she did care about onto her newborn son-her father, Melvin Bartholomew. So perhaps, in a way, she cared more than she let on. But that was how their relationship went, Mel never knew
Melvin was a scrawny, runt of a child who did his best to stay hidden. Of course, scrawny, runty children are perfect targets for bigger, meaner kids so Mel quickly learned he either had to learn to take a punch or stand up for himself. He learned to do both, refusing to be a bully like his peers or his father. He only pushed back when he reached his breaking point.
He was only five when his father left one day and never came back. His mother only stated ‘good riddance’ when asked what became of him. And for a time it was just the two of them, and it was nice. Without the distraction of a husband Rochelle was more attentive and loving and the tow of them cramped in a downtown apartment are some of his best memories.
His mother was re-partnered less than a year later to Friday Casey who had an eight year old son. Melvin became a Casey and a year later was made into the middle child when his mother gave birth to a daughter.
They were…happy. Or as happy as a forced together, mismatched family could be. His step brother was mostly kind, teaching him a few defense maneuvers at home but pretending to not know him at school. He doted on his younger sister, showing her the affection his mother was often times too distracted to bestow on them.
He was ten when he came home from a particularly rough day of school to find his step-father lying in a pool of blood, his mother missing. They found out later that the final disagreement had come when Friday Casey finally discovered his wife had been stock piling a little from his paychecks for years. She had been fed up with the experiments of her town and had been silently planning her escape to a city that was free of them. Once confronted she’d panicked and accidentally killed her husband with his own gun. At least that was the story she told. He found out later most of that was a lie.
Mel spent many nights wondering if she ever planned to take him with her when she left.
With no will, Melvin was shuttled off with the first relatives who would taken him. The biological Casey children went to the their grandparents. Friday’s parents, understandably, wanted nothing to do with the child of the woman who had killed their son. He stayed with one family until either they had children of their own or got tired of him before being shipped off to stay with another family member. It was hard to shake the sense of not belonging of being an outsider when even the people who were supposed to want you couldn't be bothered with you.
Finally, at 15 he packed his bags to move with his relatives in Ridgeway. They thought the quiet sullen boy was depressed-and he'd have good reason to be, having loss his family. But Melvin wasn't depressed, not really because he didn't feel sad...he didn't feel anything. The quiet lonely emptiness should have bothered him but it didn't It couldn't. It was a protection. He realized if he didn't feel anything nothing could hurt him.
He stayed with his relatives, keeping his head down, not making waves. Or at least trying to. It became clear to him that his relatives only kept him around for the extra credits h made possible to him. Extra credits which he never saw. He was forced to wear hand me downs from older cousins so he got a part time job hoping that being able to get better clothing would help him fit in better. After months of saving every scrap he had enough to purchase a pair of shows that were currently in style. But when he was there, in the store, shoes in hand he realized he didn't want them. The shoes weren't going to change who he was. Wouldn't make the bullies suddenly respect him. He spent the creds buying art supplies for a friend instead.
He wasn't excited to see what the EggHeads at the DOS had in store for him with his aptitude test but was relieved to know he wouldn't be shackled to a desk. After high school he went to college to get a BS in Forestry. It was tough at first, his allergies and avoidance of sunlight making him more miserable than usual. But as he got through the classes, received valuable information on fire safety and fell in love with the treasures of the park he realized he was well suited to the job. All he had to do was make sure his allergy prescription was filled and invest in good sunglasses.
At 22 he was partnered. She was beautiful, and smart and funny but she fully held onto an idealistic way of thinking. She didn't have an original thought in her head and couldn't conceptualize anything outside of the tiny little box she was in. Mel tried to foster independent thought in her, but she bucked him. She cried the night of their wedding because he didn't want to fuck her immediately.
And it wasn’t as though he didn't wan to. He hadn’t had much luck on the dating scene and was a virgin as well. He just didn't have any desire to rush into it with no connection and Alyssa made it hard to connect with her. And she was never satisfied. Just as he was becoming comfortable with his increasing job duties she began to push him for job change. And not because she thought it would make him happier-but because she was embarrassed to have to tell her medical friends her husband was a park ranger.
For her sanity he eventually relented even though he didn't feel the connection. She was happy to keep the home in addition to working. Finally able to seduce her husband and confidently maintaining her household Alyssa was ready to become a perfect mother. But it seemed the more Alyssa strove for the fake, cookie cutter perfection the more he despised her. The sickly sweet smiles of his neighbors made him want to scream.
Their schedules were weird, Mel never wanted to have sex, were the excuses for the first few years. But then they discovered they would need medical intervention to actually have children. Mel refused, not wanting to have to go through all that work to bring a child into their facade. Alyssa revolted. She wailed and threatened and begged but Mel wouldn't relent. It was horrible but he actually preferred this Alyssa..for once she wasn't faking and was showing how she really felt.
Depressed on not being able to keep up with her perfect image she'd taken a razor blade to her wrist as she bathed.
Of course he felt responsible. he should have paid more attention, noticed the warning signs. Tried harder.
He loathes the day when he gets his next notice.