The Lost Boy

as I pointed at the window. I grabbed Lilian’s hand. I wanted to show her off as Dad pulled into the driveway. “Yes!” I shouted.
    The car slowed for a moment, but only to shift into a lower gear before chugging its way past. My hand fell from Lilian’s grip. She looked at me as if she wanted to say something to make me feel better.
    My insides felt tight. A solid lump was caught in my throat. “Don’t say it!” I yelled. “He’ll be here! I know he will! You’ll see! My dad will be pulling up here any second! You watch! My father loves me! And one of these days we’re going to live together and … and we’ll be happy for the rest of our lives. I know
she
doesn’t love me, but my dad does.
She’s
the one who needs a psychiatrist, not me.
She’s
the sick one …”
    My chest seemed to shrink as I continued to ramble on. I felt a firm grip on my shoulder. I clenched my right fist, spun round and swung wildly. As my eyes focused on my target, I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. A moment later I struck Rudy, square in the forearm.
    I looked up with tears in my eyes. Rudy had never seen me act like that before. In an instant I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t. I was tired of being sorry for everything – for not understanding words or phrases; for feeling so humiliated by Larry Jr, and the crazy psychiatrist; for riding my bike down a street; or for just trying to hear my mother’s voice. And then I was telling myself that
I
was the one who got the time wrong for when Father would drop by!
    I had known all along that Father wasn’t coming; that he was probably lost in some bar. He never made it for a visit. But I had always told myself that this time was going to be different, that today Father was going to make it and we would have such a good time.
    I just could not accept the realities of my life.
How in God’s name did I let it come to this?
I asked myself. I knew, as I stood staring out the living room window, that I would spend another day hiding in the only place I felt safe and warm – the covers of my bed.
    I looked up at Rudy and then at Lilian. I wanted to tell them both how sorry I was, how bad I felt inside. I opened my mouth. Before I could say the words, I turned away. As I marched into my room, I could hear Rudy whisper to Lilian, “I think we have a serious problem.”

6 – The Defiant One
    A few weeks before I started the sixth grade, I began to turn off my feelings. By then I was completely drained of emotion. I had become fed up with the teeter-totter effect of my new life. On the up side, I was elated to play in the bright rays of the summer sun. On the down side, I dreaded being teased by other children or having to wait like a trained dog for the remote possibility of a visit from Father. I was fully aware that a cold change was taking place inside of me. I did not care. I told myself that in order to survive,
I
had to become so hard so that
I
would never allow anyone to hurt
me
again.
    At times, instead of riding to the park, I would journey to the local grocery store and stuff my pockets full of candy that I would steal. I didn’t even want the sweets; I knew I could never eat all those candy bars. I stole to discover if I could get away with it. I felt a gut-wrenching thrill of calculating my next move, followed by the spine-tingling sensation of strolling out of the store uncaught. Sometimes I’d steal from the same store two or three times a day. Whatever I did not smuggle into Mrs Catanze’s home, I’d give away to kids in the park, or I would leave the candy in small piles just outside the store’s entrance.
    When swiping candy became too boring, I raised the stakes by stealing larger objects – toy models. I became so arrogant that several times I would simply strut into the store, snatch an over-sized model and stroll right out – all in less than a minute. Some of the kids from the neighborhood who had heard of my candy giveaways would follow me to the stores and watch me. I loved the attention. It got to the point where the kids would dare me to steal things for them. My only concern was for acceptance. It was almost like the days when I would play with the younger foster children at Aunt Mary’s home. I felt so good inside whenever the kids would call my name or greet me as I rode into the play park. Now I was receiving the same kind of attention again.
    Whenever I decided to steal a serious item, I became extremely focused inside. Before making my