The Lost Boy

stranger side, such as
Your Erroneous Zones.
I found myself intrigued with the basic theories of survival traits, as written by Dr Abraham Maslow. At times I’d become frustrated with the big words, but I hung tough and soon discovered it had taken a lot just for me to make it as far as I had. Although on the inside, parts of me still felt awkward and hollow, I realized
I
was stronger than most of the kids at school who seemed to live in a “normal” world.
    At Alice’s home I found myself opening up to her about everything, all the time. Sometimes she and I would gab far into the early morning hours. I never worried about how I talked or what I said. Whenever I became nervous and began to stutter, Alice would teach me how to slow down my train of thought, and have me picture myself saying the words before I spoke them. Within a few weeks my speech problem disappeared.
    Every Saturday afternoon, after Alice danced her usual jig to
American Bandstand,
she and I would venture past the railroad tracks on our way to the same mall where Mrs Catanze had taken me shopping for my clothes. We always saw a movie, and that was the only way Alice could get me to sit still for any length of time. As I sat quietly beside her, I’d wring my hands as I scrutinized every scene. My mind raced to stay one step ahead of the sometimes mindless plot. I became fascinated by complicated screenplays and how the director pieced everything together. After every show, Alice and I went back and forth with our own critiques.
    Other times, for no special reason, she would buy me toys “just because.” At first I felt awkward and unworthy, partly because I was not used to receiving presents, and also because I knew how hard Harold worked and how he saved every penny. In time I learned to accept presents. For me that was a very hard lesson to swallow.
    The most important gift the Turnboughs gave me was my one last chance at being a kid, while preparing me for my life as an adult. In an effort to show Alice and Harold how much they meant to me, one afternoon at the kitchen table – the famed “Table of Talk” – I plucked a soiled piece of torn paper from my pant pocket and ripped it into tiny fragments. “Now, what’s that all about?” Harold scowled, as tears rolled down Alice’s cheeks.
    “I don’t need it anymore, ” I boasted. “And I know your phone number, too. Wanna hear?” Alice nodded her head yes. “It’s 555-2647, ” I proudly stated, as I looked straight into Harold’s blue eyes.
    “Well, maybe now’s the time to get that unlisted phone number, ” he grumbled, before winking at me.
    Whenever Alice and I talked for any great length of time, the subject of my future always came up. Even the simple question “What do you want to do when you grow up, David?” caused me to become scared from the bottom of my soul. I always seemed to picture Chris, the foster kid from the Catanzes’ home, and how frightened he was to turn 18. I had never thought that far ahead. In order to survive against Mother’s torture, I only had to plan hour by hour, or day by day at the most. Being alone in the wide open world was the most frightening thing I could ever possibly imagine. I’d become so scared and tense that I’d begin to stutter again. Alice always seemed to calm me down, but at night, when I finally had a room of my own to sleep in, I’d shiver with fear at the thought of how I was going to buy food or where I would live. I would think so hard that I’d fall asleep with an enormous headache. For me, at age 15, the countdown began.
    Soon after the initial shock wore off, I decided to find ways to make money. I started out by shining shoes, and my first day out I earned $21.00 polishing dozens of shoes in just under six hours. I felt so proud as I juggled my shoe-shine kit and a box of doughnuts in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers for Alice and a couple of paperback books for Harold in the other. I soon added a job at a watch repair shop, where I worked about 20 hours a week for $10, 25 take-home pay. The amount of money wasn’t important to me. At the end of the work week, I’d fall asleep feeling that I had accomplished something – and that was what was important. While other kids played street ball or hung around the mall,
I
was becoming self-sufficient.
    It was very difficult for me to find anything I had in common with the other kids at school. Most of them fought to impress others by acting cool. I knew that