The Lost Boy

to Alice – Mrs Turnbough – I climbed into Gordon’s car as we set out for another foster home. He assured me that he had discovered the perfect home, even though my new parents had never had any foster children before and only received their license yesterday. My head began to swim with emotions. The more Gordon tried to convince me about my new foster parents, the more I knew how desperate he was to place me.
    A half mile later, Gordon parked his car in front of a small brown house. Stepping out of the car, I exhaled and gave the woman who stood on the porch a false smile. Before Gordon could introduce us, the woman flew down the stairs and smothered me against her chest. My arms hung from my side as the woman’s sandpaper-like hands scoured my face. I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought the woman mistook me for another child. After an eternity of cheek pinching and another round of bone-crushing hugs, the lady held me at arm’s length. “Oh, just look at you!” the woman cooed, as she shook my shoulders so fast that my head bounced up and down. “Oh, I could just eat you alive! Gordon, he’s
sooo
cute! David, ” the woman shrieked, as she jerked me up the stairs and into the house, “I’ve waited so long for a boy like you!”
    I stumbled into the small living room, fighting hard not to lose my balance. The moment my head cleared, the crazy woman shoved me onto her couch. Gordon tried his best to calm the woman down by forcing her to read endless stacks of papers before assuming custody of me. Finally, he sat her down and explained everything he could about my character, over and over again, emphasizing the fact that if she had any questions, to give him a call. “Oh, not to worry, ” the lady said, as she smiled at me and seized my hand. “A little boy like this should be no problem at all.”
    Gordon and I blinked at each other at the same moment. “Well then, ” he chuckled, “I’ll be on my way and let you two get to know each other.”
    I walked Gordon to the door. Without the lady knowing, he bent down and whispered, “Now be a good
little
boy.” I cringed, as he knew I would.
    After Gordon drove away, the woman flopped onto the couch. She batted her eyes and shook her head from side to side for several minutes. I thought she was going to cry. “Well … just look at you!”
    I returned her smile, and without thinking, I stuck out my hand. “I’m David Pelzer.”
    The woman covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, how silly of me. I’m Joanne Nulls, and you may call me Mrs Nulls. How’s that sound?”
    I nodded my head, knowing full well that Joanne thought of me as a kid rather than the y-year-old teenager that I wanted to be recognized as. “That’s very kind of you … Mrs Nulls, ” I replied.
    In a flash, Mrs Nulls sprang up from the couch and proudly showed me a framed picture of her husband. “This is Michael, ” she cooed.
“Mr Nulls.
He works at the post office, ” she stated, as she cradled the photograph to her chest and patted it as if she were holding a child. But I felt better after finally meeting Mr Nulls, who insisted that I openly address him as
“Michael”
I knew by the look on Joanne’s face that she didn’t like Michael’s easygoing nature or having her rules challenged.
    She would always seem to bite her lip in front of Michael, but the moment he left for work, she would return to treating me as if I were a toy doll. Joanne insisted on washing my hair, prohibited me to ride my bike past the corner of the block and instead of the $2.50 allowance I had received from the Catanzes, she proudly dropped two quarters into the palm of my hand. “Now, don’t spend this all in one place, ” she warned.
    “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t, ” I assured her, wondering what to do with two measly quarters.
    Because of Joanne’s restrictions, I spent most of my time wandering through her home. The living room was smothered with every item from the Avon catalog. I’d spend hours gazing at the thousands of articles. By early afternoon I became so bored that I’d plop down in front of the television and watch Speed Racer cartoons. When I could not stand another animated episode, I’d drag myself to my room and kill time by coloring in a coloring book she had given me.
    Just as when I lived with Mother, I seemed to know when something was wrong. Even with my bedroom door closed, I could hear hushed disagreements turn into raging battles. Several times I heard