The Lost Boy

to absorb the heat for a moment, before my hand again reaches for the door.
    Once outside I cross the street, where I can see a row of stores. I stop in front of a doughnut shop. One early morning, years ago, Father stopped to pick up some doughnuts before he drove the family to the Russian River. It was a magical time for me. Now I stare through the glass, then up at the fat, jolly, animated cartoon characters that were painted on the wall and going through the various stages of making doughnuts.
    From my left the smell of pizza makes my head turn. I stumble past a few stores until I stop in front of a pizza bar. My mouth waters. Without thinking I open the door and make my way, in a daze, to the back of the room. My eyes take a few minutes to adjust. I can make out a pool table, the sounds of beer mugs clashing together and laughter. I can feel stares from above me, and I stop at the far corner of the bar. My eyes dart around in search of abandoned food. Finding none, I make my way to the pool table, where two men have just finished a game. I find a quarter on the table and slowly cover it with my fingers. I look around before dragging the quarter over the edge of the pool table and into my hand. The coin feels warm. As casually as possible I stroll back to the bar. A voice explodes above me. I try to ignore the sound. From behind, someone grabs my left shoulder. Instantly I tighten my upper body, waiting for a blow to my face or stomach. “Hey kid, what are you doing?”
    I spin around toward the voice, but I refuse to look up.
    “
I said, what are you doing?” the voice again asks.
    I look up at a man wearing a white apron covered with red pizza sauce. He places his hands on his hips, waiting for a reply. I try to answer, but I begin to stutter. “Uhm. Noth … nothing … sir.”
    The man places his hand on my shoulder and leads me to the end of the bar. He then stops and bends down. “Hey kid, you need to give me the quarter.”
    I shake my head no. Before I can tell him a lie, the man says, “Hey, man, I saw you do it. Now give it back. Those guys over there need it to play pool.” I clench my fist. That quarter can buy me some food, maybe even a piece of pizza. The man continues to stare at me. Slowly I uncurl my fingers and drop the coin into the man’s hand. He flicks the quarter over to a pair of men holding pool sticks. “Thanks, Mark, ” one of them yells.
    “
Yeah, man, no problem.” I try to turn away, looking for the front door, when Mark grabs me. “What are you doing here? Why’d you steal that quarter?”
    I retreat inside my shell and stare at the floor.
    “
Hey, man, ” Mark raises his voice. “I asked you a question.”
    “I didn’t steal anything. I… I just thought that… I mean, I just saw the quarter and …I…”
    “First off, I saw you steal the quarter, and secondly, the guys need it so they can play pool. Besides, man, what were you going to do with a quarter anyway?”
    I could feel an eruption of anger surge through me. “Food!” I blurt out. “All I wanted was to buy a piece of pizza! Okay?”
    “A piece of pizza?” Mark laughs. “Man, where are you from … Mars?”
    I try to think of an answer. I can feel myself lock up inside. I empty my lungs of breath and shrug my shoulders.
    “
Hey, man, calm down. Here, pull up a stool.” Mark says in a soft voice. “Jerry, give me a Coke.” Mark now looks down at me. I try to pull my arms into my sleeves – to hide my slash marks and bruises. I try to turn away from him. “Hey, kid, are you all right?” Mark asks.
    I shake my head from side to side.
No!
I say to myself.
I’m not all right. Nothing’s right!
I
so
badly want to tell him, but …
    “
Here, drink up, ” Mark says as he slides over the glass of Coke. I grab the red plastic glass with both hands and suck on the paper straw until the soda is gone.
    “
Hey, kid, ” Mark asks, “what’s your name? You got a home? Where do you live?”
    I’m so ashamed. I know I can’t answer. I act as if I did not hear him.
    Mark nods his head in approval. “Don’t move, ” he states as he grabs my glass. From behind the bar I can see him fill up the glass as he grabs the phone. The phone cord stretches to its limit as Mark strains to five me another Coke. After he hangs up the phone, Mark sits back down. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
    “Mother and I don’t get along, ” I mumble, hoping no one can hear me. “She … ah … she … told