The Lost Boy

whistles through my body. The sun has set and the evening fog begins to roll in from the nearby ocean. I clamp my hands inside my armpits and make my way down the street. My teeth begin to chatter. The thrill of the great escape begins to wear off. I begin to think that maybe,
maybe,
Mother was right. As much as she beat me and yelled at me, at least the garage was warmer than out here.
Besides,
I tell myself,
I
do
lie and steal food. Maybe I
do
deserve to be punished.
I stop for a second to rethink my plan. If I turn back now, right now, she’ll yell and beat me – but I’m used to that. If I’m lucky, tomorrow she may feed me some leftover scraps from dinner. Then I can steal food from school the next day. Really, all I have to do is go back. I smile to myself. I’ve survived worse from Mother before.
    I stop midstride. The thought of returning to The House doesn’t sound half bad.
Besides,
I tell myself,
I could never find the river anyway.
I turn around. She was right.
    I picture myself sitting at the bottom of the stairs, shaking with fear, frightened of every sound I may hear from above. Counting the seconds and being terrified by every set of commercials; then waiting for the sound of the floor to creak upstairs when Mother gets up from the couch, strolls into the kitchen to pour herself a drink and then screeches for me to come upstairs – where she’ll beat me until I can no longer stand. I may be unable to crawl away.
    I hate commercials.
    The sound of a nearby cricket rubbing its wings brings me back to reality. I try to find the insect and stop for a moment when I think I’m close. The chirping stops. I remain perfectly still. If I catch it, maybe I could put the cricket in my pocket and make it my pet. I hear the cricket again. As I bend over to reach out, I hear the rumbling sounds of Mother’s car from behind me. I dive beside a nearby car the moment before the headlights spot me. The car creeps down the street. The sound of Mother’s squeaky brakes pierces through my ears. She’s searching for me. I begin to wheeze. I clamp my eyes closed as her headlights inch their way toward me. I wait for the sound of Mother’s car to grind to a halt, followed by her leaping from the car, then throwing me back into her station wagon. I count the seconds. I open my eyes slowly, turning my head to the left just in time to see the rear brakes light up before the brakes squeal. It’s over! She’s found me! In a way, I’m relieved. I would have never made it to the river. The anticipation drained me.
Come on, come on,
I say to myself.
Just do it. Come on.
    The car cruises past me.
    I don’t believe it! I jump up from behind the car and stare at a shiny two-door sedan tapping its brakes every few seconds. Suddenly I feel light-headed. My stomach tightens up. A surge of fluid climbs up my throat. I stumble over to someone’s grass and try to throw up. After a few seconds of dry heaves because of my empty stomach, I glance up at the stars. I can see patches of clear sky through the foggy mist. Bright silver stars twinkle above me. I try to remember how long it’s been since I’ve been outside like this. I take a few deep breaths.
    “No!”
I yell.
“I’m not going back! I’m never going back!”
I turn around and walk back down the street, north toward the Golden Gate Bridge. After a few seconds I walk past the car, which is now parked in someone’s driveway. I can see a couple standing at the top of the steps being greeted by the host. The sound of laughter and music escape through the open door. I wonder what it would be like to be welcomed in a home. As I make my way past a house, my nose detects the smell of food, and the thought of wolfing down something to eat possesses me. It’s Saturday night – that means I haven’t eaten anything since Friday morning at school.
Food,
I think to myself.
I have to find some food.
    Sometime later I make my way to my old church. Years ago, Mother sent my two brothers, Ron and Stan, and me to afternoon catechism classes for a few weeks. I haven’t been to the church since I was seven. I gently open the door. Immediately I can feel the heat seep through the holes in my pants and my paper-thin shirt. As quietly as I can, I close the door behind me. I can see the priest picking up books from the pews. I hide beside the door, hoping he won’t see me. The priest makes his way to the back pews toward me. I so badly want to say, but
... 7
close my eyes, trying