The Lost Boy

rags and clean the bathroom. You do know how to clean a bathroom, don’t you?”
    I smiled and said to myself,
Like you wouldn’t believe!
As I gazed up at her, I cocked my neck to one side. “How much?”
    Lilian blinked her eyes. “What?”
    “How much to clean the bathroom?” I stated in my most serious voice.
    Mrs Catanze nodded her head. “Oh, I understand. Okay, little big man, I’ll tell you what: I’ll pay you a quarter …”
    Before Lilian could complete her sentence, I replied, “No! Not enough.”
    “Aren’t you the greedy one. Okay, how much?”
    I could feel myself retreat inside. Big Larry hadn’t taught me what to do in this case. “I dunno, ” I said, as I felt all my confidence shrinking away.
    “I’ll tell you what, ” she said, hovering over me. “I’ll give you 30 cents. Take it or leave it.”
    I knew from what Big Larry had instructed me to do that whenever someone said “take it or leave it, ” it meant I should take the deal and run. I nodded my head triumphantly. “It’s a deal. Let’s shake on it.”
    Looking at Lilian, I could tell she wasn’t ready for all my high-powered art of deal making. I felt I had tricked her into not only paying me, but giving me more money than she had originally offered.
    It took me nearly two hours to clean the bathroom – as Mrs Catanze put it, “by the employer’s standards.” I felt that she had somehow taken advantage of me. As I scrubbed the tile floor for the third time, I knew that evening I would need to talk to Big Larry and complain about our fool-proof plan.
    My mixed feelings suddenly disappeared when Lilian dropped a nickel and a quarter into my eager palm. Forgetting to thank her, I raced into my room, found a jar I had saved and dropped the change into the jar. I stared into the jar every day. In less than a month I had earned over four dollars – more than enough, I figured, to fix my bike. Finally, after the right amount of pestering again, Tony, Lilian’s son, drove me in the back of his beat-up orange Chevy pickup truck to the bicycle shop. Tony knew, without my bugging him, all the parts I needed. I didn’t seem to notice how when the bill arrived, Tony came up with more cash than I had.
    That day, without permission, I borrowed some tools I had found and began to piece my bike together. After dozens of attempts at forcing the inner tubes into both tyres I wiped off my bloody knuckles, jumped on my bike and, for the first time in my life, let out a howl of victory as I breezed down the street without a care in the world.
    I remember August 21, 1973, as
my
day on
my
bike. That day was the first time I felt that I was a
normal
kid, caught up in the splendor of a never-ending day. For years I had heard the sounds of kids zooming down the street, screaming with joy as they flew by on their bikes. That day I must have ridden up and down the street a thousand times. Mrs Catanze had to drag me inside. “David Pelzer, it’s been dark for over an hour now! Get your little butt in here, now!” she barked, as I sailed past her in defiance.
    Even though my legs ached from the strain of pumping my bike up the street, I didn’t want my special day to end. As Lilian stood with her hands on her hips, I jumped off my bike and puffed all the way as I walked my bike up to her home. I could tell by the look on her face that she was about to yell at me. But I beat her to the punch by giving her my best smile.
    “All right, ” she said as she threw her arm around me. “Get in here. Don’t worry; tomorrow’s another day. After you’re done with your chores, you can take your bike to the park.”
    I clenched my fist in victory. “Yes!” I cried.
    Early the next morning, as I stepped out of bed, I discovered that I could barely bend my legs. I looked into the mirror and smiled.
    “Yes!”

5 – Adrift
    After my initial taste of freedom, I spent as much time as I could riding my Murray bicycle. As soon as I rolled out of bed, I’d scramble to the open window (I never slept with the blinds down) and check the weather. Then I’d gulp down breakfast, blitz through my chores, race down the stairs and slam the front door shut, after yelling to Mrs Catanze that I was leaving.
    Mrs Catanze usually watched my departure through her kitchen window. Never missing an opportunity to show off, I’d wave to her behind my back. At times I’d pedal down the street so fast that I thought I was flying. Minutes later I’d prop my feet