The Lost Boy

understand.”
    I nodded my head. I understood. I always had. In the past I had imagined Father dressed in his crisp, dark blue fireman’s uniform, as he strolled to a podium to receive his badge of honor in front of a frenzied crowd shouting his name, with his beautiful wife and family standing by his side. As a child, I had dreamed of Father’s big day.
    I now looked into his eyes as I gave him his lifetime achievement. “I’m really proud of you, Dad, ” I said, gazing down at the badge. “I truly am.” For a split second Father’s eyes gleamed. And for a moment in time his pain disappeared.
    A few minutes later Father stopped me on the steps of the bus. He hesitated. His eyes looked down. “Get out of here, ” he mumbled. “David, get as far away from here as you can. Your brother Ronald joined the service, and you’re almost at that age. Get out, ” Father said as he patted my shoulder. As he turned away, his final words were, “Do what you have to. Don’t end up like me.”
    I pressed my face to the window of the bus and strained my eyes as I watched Father disappear into the crowd. I wanted to jump off and hug him, to hold his hand or sit by his side the way I did as a child whenever he read his evening paper – like the dad I knew so many years ago. I wanted him to be a part of my life. I wanted a dad. As the bus lumbered out of San Francisco, I lost control of my emotions and cried inside. I clenched my fist, as the tremendous pressure I had stored for years burst inside my soul. I realized the horribly lonely life that Father lived. I prayed with all my heart that God would watch over him and keep him warm at night and free from any harm. A mountain of guilt weighed on my shoulders. I felt so bad for everything in my father’s life.
    After visiting Uncle Lee, I had fantasized that maybe I could buy a home in Guerneville and have Father move in. Only then could I help ease his pain or could we spend some time together as father and son. But I knew, as always, that fantasies were dreams and reality was life. I cried throughout the bus ride to Alice’s home. I knew that Father was dying, and I became terrified that I would never see him again.
    Months afterward, during the summer of 1978, after dozens of interviews, I landed a job selling cars. Selling cars was mentally exhausting. The upper managers would threaten the sales staff one day, then bait us with money incentives the next. The competition was fierce, but I somehow managed to keep my head above water. If I had a weekend off, I’d race off to Duinsmoore and forget about having to be an adult, as Paul, Dave and I searched for new adventure on four wheels -loaned to me by the car dealer. Once, after seeing a movie on Hollywood stuntmen, the three of us sat facing forward as I drove backward in a perfectly straight line, without looking behind my back. Our stunt caused a few wrecks with confused drivers, and the three of us had a few minor scrapes with the law. But I knew my adventurous times would be coming to an end when Paul and Dave matured and began to look for jobs, too.
    More than ever, I sought guidance from Duinsmoore Drive. One time Dan drove to Alice’s home so he could talk me out of my pipe dream of becoming a Hollywood stuntman. With his son Paul by his side, Mr Brazell spent hours of his time telling me how foolish I was. I had always been fond of Dan, and as I walked him and Paul outside after abandoning my lame idea. I realized that I was closer to Dan than to my own father.
    The Marshes were just as caring. Many times I’d help Sandra with her housework, as I learned other ways to become self-sufficient. Mr Marsh recommended that I join the service. Immediately I’d think of the Air Force, but as a freshman in high school I had taken the aptitude test and failed miserably. I had convinced myself that I could make it in the outside world without any schooling.
    Summer passed, and I decided – because I was almost 18 and had to make money in order to survive – to drop out of high school. Alice was livid, but my career as a salesman was on the rise. Out of a sales staff of over 40, I was consistently one of the top five salesmen. But months after my i8th birthday, the recession hit, gas prices shot up, my savings withered and the reality of going nowhere fast hit me in the face.
    To escape my troubles, one Sunday I rode off in my beat-up, orange ‘65 Mustang and headed north to find the Russian River. I didn’t