The Lost Boy Page 6

  As the two ladies chatted for several minutes, Lilian leaned close to Ms. Gold, hanging on her every word and shaking her head from side to side. “No contact? None at all?” she asked.

  “Correct,” Ms. Gold replied. “David is to have no contact with his mother or his brothers, unless Mrs. Pelzer makes the arrangements.”

  “And the father?” Lilian asked.

  “Not a problem. He has your number and should be calling you soon. David’s father did not make it to the court proceedings, but I’ve kept him informed of David’s status.”

  Mrs. Catanze leaned a little closer to Ms. Gold. “Anything special I need to know?”

  “Well,” Ms. Gold began, “David is still in the adjustment phase. He’s a bit hyper and into everything— and I mean everything. He’s a bit light fingered, if you know what I mean.”

  Sitting on the couch, I acted as if I were not paying attention, but I could hear every word.

  “David,” Mrs. Catanze said, “why don’t you wait in the kitchen, and I’ll be with you in just a few moments.”

  As I followed Mrs. Catanze into the kitchen, I still held on to my grocery bag. I sat by the table and drank a glass of water as Lilian closed the sliding door, separating the two rooms. I could hear Mrs. Catanze sit back down, but the two women started whispering. I watched the numbers of a clock radio flip over every time a minute passed. Before I knew it, the sliding door opened.

  Ms. Gold smiled at me before giving me a hug. “I really think you’re going to like it here,” she said. “There’s a play park nearby, and you’ll have lots of other foster children to play with. I’ll check in on you as soon as I can, so be extra good.”

  I gave Ms. Gold another quick hug, thinking I’d see her in a few days, and waved good-bye to her from the upstairs window. Before Ms. Gold drove down the street, she waved a final good-bye, then blew me a kiss. I stared through the window, not knowing what to do next.

  “Well,” Mrs. Catanze asked, “would you like to see your room?”

  My eyes lit up as she took my hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Remember what I told you.” Lilian warned.

  I nodded my head. “I’m sorry. I forget things sometimes.”

  Mrs. Catanze led me into the first room down the hall. After putting my clothes away I joined her on the twin-sized bed. “I need to explain a few things to you—the home rules. You are responsible for keeping your room clean and helping out with the chores. You do not enter someone else’s room without their permission first. There is no lying or stealing in this home. If you want to go somewhere, you first ask me and tell me where and how long you’ll be away . . .”

  “You mean I get to go anywhere I want to?” I asked, amazed that I suddenly had all of this unexpected freedom.

  “Within reason, of course,” Lilian responded. “This home is not a prison. As long as you act responsible, you’ll be treated as such. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Catanze,” I said in a soft, slow voice, still feeling awkward calling her Mom.

  Mrs. Catanze patted my leg before leaving the room and closing the door. I leaned back on the bed, smelling the fresh-scented pillowcase. I tried to focus on the sounds of cars rushing up and down the steep street, until I finally gave in to sleep. As my mind began to drift off, I began to feel safe and secure in my new setting.

  Sometime later I awoke to the sounds of voices, coming from the kitchen. After I cleared my eyes, I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

  “Is this him?” someone with long blond hair chided. “This ain’t no kid. He’s a runt.”

  Lilian leaned over and smacked the tall, blond teenager in the arm. “Larry, now watch your mouth! David, please excuse him. This,” she said, still staring at Larry, “is Larry Junior. You’ll meet Big Larry in a few minutes.”

  “C’mon Larry, he’s small, but kinda cute. Hi, I’m Connie. And I don’t want you going through my things in my room. You got that?” As Connie leaned over, I nearly choked on her perfume. She had shiny black hair and long eyelashes, and wore a minidress. I couldn’t help myself as I stared up at her legs. Connie stepped back, and her face turned red. “Mom, he’s a little pervert!”

  I turned to Mrs. Catanze. “What’s a ‘pree-vert’?”

  Lilian laughed. “Someone who shouldn’t look up young ladies’ dresses!”

  I didn’t understand. I wanted to know what it meant. I began to ask the same question when Mrs. Catanze cut me off. “And this is Big Larry.”

  I looked as far up as I could, to see a huge man with dark curly hair and black-framed glasses. He had a kind, gentle face. Big Larry smiled as he shook my hand. “Mom,” he said, “I’m gonna go to the show tonight. Mind if I take Dave with me?”

  Lilian smiled. “I don’t mind, but you make sure you take care of him.”

  “Yeah,” Larry Jr. chimed, “make sure he doesn’t get scared or see anything that’s . . . nasty!”

  About an hour later Big Larry and I began our journey to the movie theater. I could tell that he was childlike and shy. I liked him immediately. As we walked up and down the endless streets of Daly City, we both talked about things of no importance. Somehow we each knew not to ask why the other was in foster care. It was a sort of code that was explained to me while I stayed at Aunt Mary’s home. The closer we strolled to the theater, the more Big Larry became my friend.

  Larry claimed to have seen the movie Live and Let Die a dozen times, so I couldn’t understand why he so badly wanted to see it again. But after the first 10 minutes of the show, I, too, sat paralyzed. I became mesmerized by the action scenes and the fast-paced music that carried the film. After years of living in the dark, craving adventure, I finally saw it on film. While Larry gazed at the girls in bikinis, I fidgeted in my seat, waiting impatiently for James Bond to make his next narrow escape from death while at the same time saving the world from doom. After seeing this movie, the character of James Bond became etched in my mind, much in the same way as Superman had years earlier.

  The next day was just as special. Rudy, Lilian’s husband, loaded their two cars full of foster children and mountains of food for their annual Fourth of July family get-together picnic at Junipero Serra Park—the same park I went to as a small boy when I was considered a member of Mother’s Family. When we arrived at the park, I helped carry containers and bags full of goodies, not knowing where to place them. “What do I do with these?” I asked no one in particular.

  “David, just place it anywhere,” Rudy replied.

  “But all of the tables are already full of stuff from other people,” I whined.

  Lilian stepped beside Rudy. They joined hands. “Yes, David, we know,” she said. “These people are our family.”

  I looked at the scores of adults drinking soda and beer. Kids ran in every direction as they played tag. “Wow, all these people are your kids?”

  Suddenly a woman screamed. I nearly recoiled into my protective shell as the woman frantically ran toward me in thick, funny-looking wooden shoes. “Mom! Dad!” the woman howled. She then tried to wrap her arms around both Lilian and Rudy. I stared at her face. She didn’t look anything like Mr. or Mrs. Catanze.

  Lilian cried as she blew her nose, then gave her handkerchief to the woman and closed her eyes for a brief moment to recompose herself. “David, this is one of our first foster children, Kathy.”

  Now I understood. I turned my head from side to side, straining my eyes as streams of people flocked over to Rudy and Lilian.

  “And Mom, Dad, I got a job. I’m married. I’m going to night school and this . . . is my new baby!” Kathy announced, as a man with a beard handed over a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket into Rudy’s open arms. “Oh Mom, Dad, it’s so good to see you!” Kathy cried.

  A small mob of adults crowded around the Catanzes. Swarms of children jumped up and down, screaming for attention, as babies and hugs were exchanged. After a few minutes, I excused myself from the crowd and made my way to the edge of
the hill. I sat down, staring at the planes lifting off from the nearby airport.

  “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” a familiar voice said.

  I turned to look at Big Larry.

  “Every year it’s the same thing, but more people. I guess you can say they love kids. So what do you think?” Larry asked.

  “Wow! There must be hundreds of folks here!” I exclaimed. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Yeah, last year. How about you?”

  I stopped for a moment to study a jumbo jet dipping its wing to the west. “When I was a kid . . .” I caught myself, not sure if I really wanted to say anything. I had held back so much for so long. I cleared my throat before continuing. “My parents—my real mom and dad—would always take my two brothers and me to this park when we were just kids.” I smiled. “We’d spend the entire day just down the hill, playing on the swing set. . . .” I closed my eyes, seeing Ron, Stan and me as happy, bright-faced kids. I wondered what they were doing now. . . .

  “Dave! Hey, David! Earth to Dave, come in!” Larry blared as he cupped his hands together, acting as if they formed into a blowhorn.

  “Sorry,” I automatically replied. “I think . . . I think I’ll take a walk.”

  After asking permission from Lilian, I strolled down the paved hill. A few minutes later I found myself standing on the same grassy area as I did a lifetime ago. Back then, I was a member of the perfect family. Now I was still a child, searching for my past. I walked toward the swing set and sat on one of the black swings. I kicked the sand, filling the heels of my shoes with some of it. My mind began to drift off again.

  “Hey mister? Are you going to play or what?” a small child asked.

  I slid off the swing and walked away. My insides felt hollow. In front of me, beneath a shade of trees, a young couple sat on the same table as Mother and Father did years ago. The woman got up and called out to her children with her hands on her hips—just as Mother had done when she had called to her children. For a second our eyes met. The lady smiled at me as she bowed her head. As I heard the sounds of children running from the swing set, I closed my eyes, wishing I had the answers to why everything had gone so wrong with Mother and me.

  The two questions that tumbled over and over in my mind were whether Mother ever loved me and why she treated me the way she did.

  Later that evening I wanted so badly to talk to Mrs. Catanze, but I couldn’t work up the nerve. The next morning I woke up late and shuffled into the kitchen. “She ain’t here, runt,” Larry Jr. hissed. “You’ll have to feed yourself.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to cook, and I didn’t know where the cereal bowls were, or even where the cereal was.

  “So,” Larry Jr. began, “I hear your mother used to kick the crap outta you. Tell me, what’s it like? I mean, to have someone use your face for a mop?”

  I couldn’t believe this creep. Every time I was with Larry Jr., he was always trying to put me down. I bit my lip, trying to think of something to say. I failed to think of anything smooth. A surge of anger began to race through me.

  “So tell me, man, what’s it like? I mean, I’m curious. Seriously, what’s it like to have the crap kicked out of you? Why didn’t you fight back? What are you, some sort of wimp?”

  I turned away from him and ran to my room. I could hear him laughing behind me as I slammed the door shut. I burrowed into my bed and cried without knowing why. I stayed in the room all day.

  “Mrs. Catanze, am I a wimp?” I asked her the next day as she drove me to the shopping mall.

  “A wimp? David, where did you hear that?”

  I did not want to rat on Larry Jr. But he was a turd, and I didn’t like him anyway. I still felt upset about how he and the other big kids thought of me. I swallowed hard before I answered Lilian.

  “Pay Larry no mind,” Mrs. Catanze said afterward. “He’s a very upset young man. David, we have quite an array of . . .”

  I gave her a puzzled look.

  “. . . quite a mixture of young folks who have different . . . special needs. Larry is just at that age when he’s rebellious. He wants to fight everything and everyone. Give him a wide berth—lots of room. He’s just feeling you out. Give it some time. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand, but am I a wimp ’cause I didn’t fight back? I mean, is it right to fight your own mother?”

  Mrs. Catanze shoved the gear shift into park as she stopped in front of Tanforan Park. She turned to the right as she took off her glasses. “No, David,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You are not a wimp for not fighting back. I don’t know all that happened, but I do know you’re not a wimp. Now come on. I’ve got a check here for $127 from the county to buy you some clothes. And,” Lilian smiled, “I’m not afraid to spend it. Lesson number one: Let’s go shopping!”

  As Lilian took my hand, I screeched, “Wow, $127! That’s a lot of money!”

  “Not for a growing boy. And you do plan on growing, don’t you? That’s all the money they gave us for this year. Wait until you have kids of your own,” Lilian stated, as she opened the door into Sears.

  A couple of hours and three shopping bags later, Lilian and I returned to her home. I smiled from ear to ear as I closed the door to my room, then laid out all of my clothes as neatly as I could. Next, I arranged the shirts by their colors and folded my underwear briefs and socks just right before putting them away. I sat by the foot of the bed for a few seconds before I ripped open the drawers and rearranged my clothes again. After the fourth time, I slowly opened the drawers. As gently as I could, I removed a dark blue shirt. My hands trembled. I breathed in the smell of cotton. Yes! I told myself. These are my clothes! Clothes that no one had ever touched or worn before. Not rags that Mother had made me wear or clothes she had given me out of pity, that she had stored since last Christmas, or clothes from Aunt Mary that other foster children had worn before.

  “Yes!” I squealed out loud. Then without thinking, I flung open the drawers and threw everything back on the bed. It took me forever to repack my clothes. But I didn’t care—I was having fun.

  A few days later, before lunch, Lilian hung up the phone in the kitchen before calling me away from the television. “So,” she asked, “how are you feeling today?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Fine, I guess.” My eyes grew wide. “Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble?”

  “No, no,” she said in a calm voice. “Now stop that. Why do you always say that whenever someone asks you a simple question?”

  I shook my head. I understood what she said, but I did not know why I always felt on edge whenever someone asked me a question. “I dunno.”

  Lilian nodded. “Hey, let’s say we have some lunch. I’ll kick Larry Junior out, and it will just be the two of us, all right?”

  My face lit up. “Sure!” I liked it whenever Mrs. Catanze and I were alone. I felt special.

  Lilian made a couple of bologna sandwiches as I grabbed a bag of chips. She first warned, then ordered me to slow down my eating and to use better table manners. I obeyed her by not seizing everything in sight or shoving food into my mouth. I smiled at her, proving to her that I could indeed chew with my mouth closed.

  Mrs. Catanze seemed to take her time as she delicately ate her sandwich. I almost asked her why she chewed so slow, when I heard a loud banging on the door. Without thinking, I blurted, “I’ll get it!” Still chomping on my food, I bolted down the stairs and opened the door. A split second later I nearly coughed up my food. My brain locked up. I couldn’t break away from looking at her.

  “Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?” Mother asked in a kind voice.

  From behind me, I could hear Lilian rush down the staircase. “Hello . . . I’m Lilian Catanze. We spoke on the phone today. We were just finishing lunch.”

  “You did say 1:00 P.M., didn’t you?” Mother asked in a demanding tone.

  “Uhh . . . yes, I did. Please come in,” Lilian said.

  Mother m
arched in, followed by the boys. Stan came in last, with a grin on his face as he pushed in my bike, which Grandmother had purchased for me last Christmas. I remembered that day when Mother had allowed me to ride the bike, twice. I had never ridden before, and I fell several times before I got the hang of it. And at the end of the day I ran over a nail, and the front tire went flat. Now as Stan shoved the bike into Lilian’s house, I could immediately see that both tires were flat and parts were missing from the bike.

  But I didn’t care. The yellow and candy-apple-red Murray bicycle with its metallic-red banana seat was my prized possession. I was shocked that Mother decided to give it to me.

  Mother and the boys only visited for a few minutes, but Lilian made it a point to stay by my side. Even though Mother’s attitude seemed more relaxed—not cold and demeaning, as when she had come to see me at Aunt Mary’s—she still wouldn’t talk to me. I had so much to tell her. I wanted to show her my room, my new clothes and the artwork that I did in school. Above all, I wanted so badly to prove to Mother that I was indeed worthy of her acceptance.

  “Well,” Mother said as she got up from the couch, “I just wanted to drop by. Remember, David, I will be checking in on you from time to time, so . . . you be good,” Mother stated in a sly voice.

  Lilian raised her hand, stopping me before I could say anything. “Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Pelzer. And remember, do call if you drop by again,” Lilian replied, as Mother stepped through the door.

  I raced up the stairs. I stopped in front of a tall window and remained perched behind the glass as I watched Mother and the boys pile into her faded gray station wagon. As she drove off, I waved frantically, but no one saw me. In my heart I knew my effort was in vain. I wished that just once—just once—someone would smile and wave back.

  Lilian let out a deep sigh, then placed her hands on my shoulders. “So, that’s your mother? Are you all right?”

  I nodded my head yes. I looked up at Lilian. Tears rolled down my face. “She doesn’t love me, does she? I mean . . . I just don’t understand. Why? Why won’t she even talk to me? Am I that bad? Why didn’t you tell me she was coming over? Why?