The Lost Boy

out a few wrinkles, but if I could only get you to modify your behavior, you’d be fine. Now, do you have any questions for me?”
    “Yes, ma’am … Have you heard anything from my dad?”
    Ms Gold raised her eyebrows. “Hasn’t he been by to visit? He was supposed to have seen you weeks ago, ” she said, as she flipped through her notebook.
    I shook my head no. “I’ve wrote him some letters, but I don’t think I have the right address. I don’t get any letters back … and I don’t have his phone number. Do you know if my dad’s okay?”
    She swallowed hard. “Well … I … do know your father’s moved into another apartment … and he’s transferred to a different fire station.”
    Tears dribbled down my face. “Can I call him? I just want to hear his voice.”
    “Honey, I don’t have his number. But I promise I’ll try to call your father as soon as I can. I’ll try to call him today. Is that why you drove by your mother’s house and tried to call her a few weeks ago?”
    “I dunno, ” I answered. I didn’t dare tell Ms Gold about cruising by Mother’s house the other Saturday night. “How come I’m not allowed to call her?”
    “David, what is it you’re expecting? What are you looking for?” she asked in a soft tone, as she, too, seemed to search for answers.
    “I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to see or talk to her or the boys. What did I do? I just want to know … why things happened like they did. I don’t want to turn into the kind of person she is now. The psychiatrist says I should hate my mom. You tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
    “Well, I don’t believe you should hate your mother, or anyone else for that matter. How could I put this … ?” Ms Gold put a finger to her mouth and gazed at the ceiling. “David, your mother’s a wounded animal. I have no logical answer why she changed her telephone number or why she acts the way she does.” She drew me to her side. “David, you’re a little boy – excuse me, a 12-year-young man – who’s a little confused, thinks too much about some things and not enough about other things. I know you must have had to think ahead a great deal in order to survive, but you need to turn that off. You may never find your answers, and I don’t want your past to tear you up.
I
don’t even know why these things happen to children, and
I
may never know. But I do know that you need to be very careful of what you’re doing right now, today, rather than trying to find the answers to your past. I’ll help you as much as I can, but you have to really make a better effort to maintain yourself.”
    Ms Gold held me for a long time. I heard her sniffle and felt her body shudder. I turned to look up at her – my loving social worker. “Why are you crying?”
    “Honey, I just don’t want to lose you, ” she said, smiling.
    I smiled back. “I won’t run away again.”
    “Honey, I can only tell you one more time. You need to be very, very good. I don’t want to lose you.”
    “I’ll be good, I promise, ” I said, trying to reassure my angel.
    After Ms Gold’s visit, I returned to my usual joyful self. I felt good inside again. I didn’t think about the nutty psychiatrist, I made an extra effort to get along with Larry Jr and I performed my chores with pride. I did not even mind being grounded. I simply snuck downstairs, borrowed some old car wax and polished my bike from end to end. I kept my room spotless, and waited impatiently for a change of pace and for the start of the school year.
    Once school started I kept to myself, as I watched other kids from my class show off their fancy clothes and their colored markers. During recess I strolled out to the grass and watched some of the boys play football. I turned my head for a moment and a second later a football struck the side of my face. As I rubbed the sting on my right cheek, I could hear laughter. “Hey, man, ” the biggest kid shouted, “throw us the ball.” I became nervous as I bent down to pick up the ball. I had never thrown a football before. I knew I couldn’t throw a smooth spiral. I tried to imitate the other boys as I sucked in my breath, then flung the ball. The football wobbled end over end before it dived a few feet in front of me.
    “What’s the matter, man?” a kid said as he picked up the ball. “Haven’t you ever thrown a football before?”
    Before I could reply, a boy from my class strolled over. “Yeah … he’s the one I was