The Lost Boy

wasn’t easy on him, either. It’s all that kept him going. He lived for the station. But his drinking … it’s all that he knows.”
    “Thanks, Uncle Lee, ” I said, as I shook his hand. “Thanks for not putting me off. At least now I know.”
    Uncle Lee walked me down to my motorcycle. “I should see your dad in a few days. Hell, maybe you can help him out of this mess.”
    “Yeah, ” I replied, “maybe.”
    Two weekends later, I rode on a Greyhound bus to the Mission district of San Francisco. At the bus station I waited for Father for over an hour. From outside I spotted a rundown bar. I took a chance, walked across the street and found Father slumped over on top of a table. My head swiveled around, searching for help. I couldn’t believe how people strolled by Father’s table without the slightest concern, or sat by the bar nursing their drinks as if my father were invisible.
    I gently shook my childhood superhero from his slumber. Father’s coughing seemed to awaken him. His stench was so bad that I held my breath until I could help him stumble from the bar. The outside air seemed to clear his head. In the sunlight Father looked worse than I ever imagined. I deliberately did not look at his face. I wanted to remember my father for the man he once was – the tall, rugged, strong firefighter with gleaming white teeth, who placed himself in danger to help a fellow fireman or rescue a child from a burning building.
    Father and I walked for several blocks without saying a word. I knew better than to question him on his drinking or his lifestyle. But Uncle Lee’s warning about doing something, anything, to help Father echoed in my mind. Without thinking, I closed my eyes, spun around and held out my hand, stopping him. “What happened, Dad?”
    Father stopped and let out a hacking cough. His hands trembled as he struggled to light a cigarette. “You’d be better off forgetting all about it, the whole thing – your mother, the house, everything. It never happened.” Father took a deep drag. I tried to look into his eyes, but he kept dodging my glance. “It’s your mother. She’s crazy … You’d be better off forgetting the whole thing, ” he ordered with a wave of his hand, as if sweeping the
family secret
under the carpet for the final time.
    “No, Dad, it’s you! I’m worried about you!” A chill blew across my face. My body shuddered, and I clamped my eyes shut. I wanted to cry out to Father, and yet I didn’t have the guts to tell him how much I was scared for him. My brain struggled with what was right and what was proper. I knew by Father’s look that his life was his business and that no one ever questioned a father’s authority, but he was a walking death. His hands rattled every few seconds and his eyelids were dropped so low that he could barely see. I felt so awkward. I didn’t want to make Father mad, but I soon found myself becoming upset.
Why weren’t you there for me? Couldn’t you have at least called me? Can t you be like a regular dad, with a job and a family, so I could be with you and play catch or go fishing? Why can’t you be normal?
my brain screamed.
    I sucked in a deep breath before I opened my eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re my dad … and I love you.”
    Father wheezed as he turned away. I knew he had heard me but he couldn’t bring himself to reply. The river of alcohol and the destroyed family life had stripped him of his innermost feelings. I realized that inside, my father was truly dead. Moments later he and I continued our journey to nowhere, with our heads bent down, looking at no one -especially not ourselves.
    Hours later, before Father loaded me onto the bus, he pulled me aside. “I want to show you something, ” he said with pride, as he reached behind him and plucked out a black leather covering with the emblem of the fireman’s shield on it. Father smiled as he opened the casing, revealing a bright, shiny silver fireman’s badge. “Here, hold it, ” he said, as he gently placed the badge in my open palms.
    “R-1522, ” I read aloud, knowing that the R signified that Father was indeed retired and not fired as I had feared, while the numbers were those assigned to Father when he first joined.
    “That’s all I have now. That’s one of the only things in my life that I didn’t screw up too badly. No one can ever take that away from me, ” he stated with conviction, pointing to his prize. “Someday you’ll