The Lost Boy

but after all the years of being put down by others who
felt
they were so superior, I had had it. And seeing how Larry Jr treated Chris made my blood boil. I had to do something.
    As I felt my breathing become heavier, I could tell I was getting to Larry. His face became tight as I badgered him relentlessly. For once, I was on the giving end. I liked the feeling. Larry’s face twisted from side to side until he elbowed me against the kitchen countertop. I felt my head strike something hard, but my anger kept the pain away.
    Before Larry stormed out of the kitchen, he raised his fist at Chris. “Hey, man, you better watch yourself, or one of these days you may find yourself getting tripped down the stairs and breaking that retard neck of yours. And know this: it’s going to take someone more than this excuse of a wimp to fight your battles!
    “And you!” Larry stopped as he looked at me. “You better watch that mouth of yours. If I wanted to … I could clean your clock … just like that!” he boasted, as he snapped his fingers. “Both of you, stay the hell outta my way. You got me? You pair of freaks!”
    I clamped my hands on the countertop until I heard Larry slam the door to his bedroom so hard that the windows upstairs rattled. After a few seconds, I finally released my grip. I closed my eyes as I tried to control my breathing. It seemed to take me forever to breathe normally again.
    I opened my eyes and searched for Chris. He had disappeared. As I ran out of the kitchen and into the living room, I heard the door to Chris’s room slam shut, too. I raced downstairs and quickly knocked on Chris’s door before I burst in. He sat on the foot of his bed, staring at the floor. Tears rolled down his face. I tilted my head to one side. “Did Larry hit you?”
    “Na … ah … no! I ca … can take ah … care of myself, you know! I don’t need a li … little runt to …” Chris stuttered.
    “Man, what are you talking about?” I asked. “Larry is the biggest creep on the planet. I’m tired of him picking on me and you all the time.”
    Chris’s head shot up. “You ah … just bet … better take care of yourself. Ah … you can get into a lot … of… of trouble. If Mom … ah ever heard you ah … swear … swearing … she’d …”
    I brushed Chris’s statement away with my hands as I watched him limp his way to his stereo. He grabbed a thick, red cartridge, then shoved it into a tape machine he called an eight-track player. I had never seen one before. After a couple of clicking sounds, a singing group called Three Dog Night began to wail “Joy to the World.” As Chris’s worn-out speakers vibrated, I sat next to him on his bed. I realized that what I had done upstairs was wrong. “Hey man, ” I told Chris, “I’m sorry. I was just ticked off.” Chris indicated that he forgave me. I smiled back. “Hey Chris, what does Larry mean when he says he’d ‘clean my clock’?”
    Chris laughed as drool escaped the side of his mouth. “Ee … ah … means he’ll kick your butt!”
    “But why does he pick on you? You never do anything to him. I don’t understand.”
    Chris’s eyes shone. “Ah man, you are ah … fun … funny. Look at me. He don’t need a reason. People like Larry pick on me ‘cause I’m … I’m ah diff… different. You’re … ah different, too. You’s small and gots a big mouth.”
    I leaned back on Chris’s bed as he went on to explain that his real parents had abandoned him as a small child and he had lived in foster care ever since. He told me that he had been in over a dozen foster homes until he moved in with Rudy and Lilian. The Catanzes were the closest thing to a real home for him. I listened carefully as Chris talked. In a way, his stuttering reminded me of myself just a few months ago. But Chris seemed scared. Behind his eyes he looked frightened. Chris informed me that this was his last year in foster care.
    “What does that mean?” I asked, as the tape cartridge changed tracks.
    Chris swallowed hard, trying his best to concentrate before he answered. “Uhm … it … ah means that when you turn uh … 18, you … move out and have to ah … to take care of yourself.”
    “And you’re 17?” I asked.
    Chris nodded.
    “Then who’s going to take care of you?”
    Chris glanced down at the floor. He rubbed his hands together for several seconds. At first I thought that maybe he had not heard me, but when he looked back up at me, I realized why he