The Lost Boy

phone.
    “Child!” Mother hissed. “Boy … get this straight! I don’t care what they say! I don’t care what they do! You’re not out of this yet! I’ll get you back! You hear me?
I’ll get you back!”
    When she heard Aunt Mary hang up the phone, Mother released my arm and pushed me away. I sat back in the wide chair and watched my savior stroll back into the living room and sit down beside me. “I’m sorry about that, ” Aunt Mary said.
    Mother batted her eyes and waved her hand. Suddenly she became regal. The act was on. “That? Oh, the phone? No problem. I have to … I mean, we have to get going anyway.”
    I stole a glance at my brothers. Their eyes were hard and fixed. I gazed at them, wondering what they thought of me. Except for Kevin, who was still a toddler, the three of them seemed as if they wanted to throw me outside and stomp on me. I knew they hated me, and I felt I deserved it. For I had exposed the family secret.
    I tried to imagine what it must be like for them to live with Mother now. I prayed that somehow my brothers would forgive me. I felt like a deserter. I also prayed that the cycle of hate had not moved on to one of them. I felt sorry for them. They had to live in total hell.
    After another round of pleasantries and final warnings from Mother to Aunt Mary,
The Family
departed. As I heard the sound of Mother’s tyres from her station wagon mash down on the rocks as she drove away, I remained glued to the chair. I sat in the living room for the rest of the afternoon, rocking back and forth, repeating Mother’s pledge over and over again,
“I’ll get you back. I’ll get you back.”
    That evening I couldn’t eat. In bed I rolled back and forth until I sat up clutching my knees. The Mother was right. I knew in my heart she would get me back. I stared out the window of my room. I could hear the wind howl through the tops of trees and the branches rub against each other. My chest began to tighten. I cried. I knew at that moment there was no escape for me.
    At school the next day I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I strolled around the schoolyard like a zombie. Later that afternoon I met Ms Gold at Aunt Mary’s home. “David, we’re going to court in two days. I need to ask you just a few questions to clarify our case. Okay, honey?” she asked with a bright smile.
    I refused to speak and sat rigidly at the far end of the couch. I couldn’t look at Ms Gold. To her dismay I muttered, “I don’t think I should say anything.”
    Ms Gold’s mouth nearly fell to the carpet. She began to speak, but I raised my hand, cutting her off. I then retracted as many statements as I could, claiming that I had lied about everything. I had caused all of the household problems. I told her that I had fallen down the stairs. I had run into doorknobs. I had beaten myself. I had stabbed myself. I then cried to Ms Gold that my mommy was a beautiful, kind woman, with the perfect flower garden, the perfect home, the perfect family, and that I craved her attention because of my other brothers. And everything was all my fault.
    Ms Gold became speechless. She scooted over to where I sat. She tried several times to reach out and hold my hand. I brushed her delicate fingers away. She became so frustrated that she began to cry. After several hours and many attempts, Ms Gold looked at me with dried streaks of tears and blotches of black eyeliner running down her face. “David, honey, ” she sniffled. “I don’t understand. Why won’t you talk to me? Please, honey.”
    Then she tried to switch tactics. She stood up and pointed her finger at me. “Don’t you know how important this case is? Don’t you know that all I talk about in my office is a cute little boy who is brave enough to tell me his secret?”
    I looked through Ms Gold and tuned her out. “I don’t think I should say anything else, ” I coldly replied.
    Ms Gold bent over, trying to force me to look into her face. “David, please …” she begged.
    But to me, she just wasn’t there. I knew that my social worker was trying everything in her power to help me, but I feared Mother’s wrath more than Ms Gold’s. From the moment Mother stated “I’ll get you back, ” I knew everything in my new world was lost.
    Ms Gold reached out to hold my hand. I slapped her fingers away. I turned my back to her. “David James Pelzer!” she barked. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Do you understand what you’re doing? You had