The Lost Boy (17 page)

“And off the record, ” the judge stated, “young man, the charge of arson is a most serious one. The only reason I am not sentencing you for that is I have no direct proof. While it appears you
may not
have committed this crime, you have in fact been skating on thin ice for quite some time. You appear to have some good qualities and ample guidance, ” the judge said, nodding to Mrs Catanze, “but … be wise enough to employ them both.”

Immediately after the judge struck his gavel, Gordon whispered, “You’ll be out in 30, 34 days.”

“But I didn’t do it!” I whined.

“Doesn’t matter, ” Gordon stated matter-of-factly. “That’s rarely the issue. Believe me, kid, ” he said, pointing to the judge, “that guy’s a Santa Claus. If the prosecution had any hard evidence, I’d be fitting you for a straitjacket for the funny farm right about now. Besides, the ol’ man has a soft spot for scrawny little wimps like you. Come on, back to your cell, you animal, ” Gordon joked, as we stood up.

Without warning, Mother stepped in front of Gordon and me. “You’re wrong! You’re all wrong! You’ll see! I warned that social worker broad, and now I’m warning you!” Mother screeched, as she thrust her finger at Mr Hutchenson. “He’s bad! He’s evil! You’ll see. And next time he’ll hurt somebody! The sooner
that boy
is dealt with, the sooner you’ll see that I was right and I didn’t do a damn thing wrong! You’re fooling yourself if you think this is the end of it! You watch! There’s only one place for
that boy.
You’ll see!” Then she stormed out of the room, yanking Kevin behind her.

I inched my way to Gordon, whose face was chalk white. “Where does your mother live?”

“At home, ” I replied.

“Oh?” Gordon asked, as he raised his eyebrows. “The home you
burned?
I mean, if you burned the basement … you must have gutted the house, too.”

“Yeah!” I laughed, after I realized he was only joking.

Thirty-four days later, I cried as I stuffed my collection of arts-and-crafts projects and the folders of schoolwork I had acquired into a small cardboard box. In an awkward sense, I didn’t want to leave. In “the outs” – the outside world – it was too easy for me to get into trouble. While at Hillcrest, I had grown used to my surroundings. I knew exactly what was expected of me. I felt safe and secure. As Carl Miguel escorted me to the front desk, he explained that the outside world would indeed be the real test of my survival. “Pelz, ” Carl said, as he took my hand, “hope I never see you again.”

I returned Carl’s handshake before I gleamed at Mrs Catanze, who seemed shocked at the sight of my pants, which I had grown out of. “Well?” she asked.

“How’s my turtle?” I inquired.

“Right about now, I’d say he’s soup.”

“Mom!” I whined, knowing Lilian was only teasing me. “Come on, ” I said, as I spread my fingers, “Let’s go home!”

Lilian’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when she realized that this was the first time I had called her house my home. She took my open hand. “Home it is!”

Things were never the same after I was released from juvenile hall and returned to the Catanzes. The other foster kids seemed to eye me with suspicion. Whenever I walked into a room, they would suddenly quit talking and flash me fake smiles. Whenever I’d try to join in on a conversation, I’d find myself standing in front of everyone with my hands buried in my pant pockets. Then after an eternity of silence I’d leave the living room, feeling stares on the back of my neck. Even Big Larry, whom I once considered my “big brother, ” brushed me off before he moved out. After a few days of the cold shoulder, I found myself spending all of my time fiddling in my room. I didn’t even care that my Murray bike began to rust.

One Friday afternoon, in July 1974, Gordon Hutchenson dropped by. I felt a surge of excitement as he marched up the stairs and to my room. I couldn’t wait for someone to talk to. But I knew by his grim look that something was horribly wrong. “What is it?” I asked in a low voice.

Gordon placed a hand on my shoulder. “You need to pack a bag, ” he said with pity.

I brushed his hand away. Visions of Hillcrest filled my head. “Why?” I exclaimed. “What’d I do?”

Gordon gently explained that I was not in any trouble and that he knew about the struggle I was having at the Catanzes’ home since I had moved back. He also stated that he had been trying to move me into another foster home with fewer kids. “Besides, ” he confessed, “I’m in a jam. I got a bigger kid being released next Monday from The Hill and, well, he’s been assigned to live here. So come on now, move it.”

I wanted to cry, but instead I ran to my room. My heart raced from a combination of excitement and fear of not knowing what was going to happen to me next. With the speed of lightning I flung drawers open, yanked clothes from hangers and stuffed everything I could into a large brown grocery bag. Minutes later, I stole a moment of time to take a final look at the room I had slept, cried, played and spent so much time thinking in for just over a year. Even when I had thought that my world was crumbling around me, I always felt safe and secure in
my
room. As I gently closed the door, I closed my eyes and yelled at myself for again being so stupid. The first two ultimate rules of being a foster child that I had learned while at Aunt Mary’s were never to become too attached to anyone and never to take someone’s home for granted. And I had foolishly broken both rules. I had been so naive as to convince myself that I would live with Rudy and Lilian for the rest of my life. I closed my eyes as I fought back the tears.

After Gordon placed a phone call to another foster home, he had to separate Lilian and me as we sobbed in each other’s arms. I looked into Lilian’s eyes, promising her that I would be a good boy and that I’d stay in touch. Outside, Gordon swung open the door to his brown Chevy Nova, then hurled my belongings in the backseat before allowing me to slide into his car. As he backed out of the driveway, I could clearly see the streaks of black mascara run down Lilian’s face. She stood in front of the same living room window where I had spent so many endless hours – waiting for the remote possibility of a visit from my father. As I waved good-bye to Lilian for the last time, I suddenly realized that she and Rudy had cared for me and treated me better than my own parents.

Neither Gordon nor I spoke a single word for several minutes. He finally cleared his throat. “Hey, Dave, I know this is all coming at you pretty fast, but, ah …”

“But why?” I whined.

Gordon’s face tightened with frustration. “Listen!” he barked. “It’s rare, damn rare, that a kid stays in a home for as long as you did. You know that, don’t you? And you were there for how long? Over a year? Hell, that’s a record.”

I sank in the seat, knowing that everything he was saying was true. I had taken so much for granted for so long. I turned my head to the window, watching familiar parts of the city zoom past.

Gordon broke my concentration. “Hey, David, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped on you like that. It’s just that sometimes I forget what it’s like to be a kid in your position. You see, I had assigned you to another home yesterday, but I got stuck in court before I could pick you up. And, well, now that home has another kid and … hell, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You could take me back to the Catanzes, ” I suggested in a soft voice.

“Can’t do that. Like I already said, I had signed you out of the Catanzes’ yesterday, which means they are no longer your legal guardians. It’s, well, very complicated to explain. The bottom line is, I’ve got to find you a home.”

As Gordon stumbled for words, my heart seized with fear. I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my bike and, more important, my pet turtle. Gordon laughed when I told him, so I playfully tugged his arm. He knew how much my things meant to me, but we both knew finding me a place to stay was far more important.

Gordon stopped off at his home. Soon the phone became glued to his ear as he pleaded, then begged, foster parents on the other end of the line to take me in, if only for a few days. After several hours, he slammed down the phone in frustration. “Damn it!” he said. “There are never enough homes! And all the homes we have are full!” I watched him as he again attacked the phone. Seconds later his tone changed. Even though he turned his back to me, I could still hear him quietly ask, “What’s the count on A-Wing? Yeah? Okay, put a bed on hold for Pelzer. No, no, he’s clean; no charges. I’m just trying to
place
him, and I’m running out of homes. Okay, thanks. I’ll give you a call before we come in.”

As Gordon spun around to look at me, he realized I knew what was about to happen. “Sorry, David, I just don’t know what else to do.”

I was so mentally exhausted, I no longer cared. In a strange way I actually looked forward to the routine at The Hill and seeing counselors like Carl Miguel again. Before I could tell Gordon to drive me to The Hill, he snapped his fingers and grabbed his jacket, streaking out the front door and ordering me to follow him to the car. Inside the Chevy Nova he gave me a sly smile. “I should have thought of this earlier. It’s impossible for some of these parents to say no, once they’ve had a good look at you kids. I know it’s a raw deal, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

I squinted my eyes as I tried to understand what Gordon’s words meant. Before I could ask, my chest jerked forward as he jammed the gear shift into park. “Well, ” he proudly announced, “this is it. Put on your best face.” Gordon surged with pride as he rapped his knuckles on the screen door, a split second before he marched in.

I felt like a burglar as I tiptoed into someone else’s home without permission. A pair of heads popped out from a nearby kitchen. “Just be cool and have a seat.” Gordon gestured to a couch before giving me a wink. He spun on his heels and opened his arms. “Harold! Alice! Good to see ya! How have you been?” He strolled into the kitchen.

I shook my head and chuckled to myself at Gordon’s chameleon-like personality. I knew if he wanted to, he could charm anyone into anything. He reminded me of those crazy guys on TV who desperately tried to con people into buying cars.

Before Gordon pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, I knew we were in trouble. The man, Harold, who was wearing a straw hat, shook his head. “Nope, can’t take any more. Got no room, ” he grumbled as he took a drag from a thin cigarette.

I clutched my already crumpled bag and was about to stand up to leave when the lady, Alice, said, “Now, Leo, settle down. He looks like a good kid.” Alice leaned over and gave me a smile. I raised my eyebrows and smiled back.

“We’re not licensed for boys. You know that, ” Harold stated.

Gordon butted in. “It’d only be for a few days, just until I can find him another home. I should have a place for him by, let’s say, Monday … Wednesday by the latest. You’d really be doing me, and David, a big favor.”

“And the papers?” Alice asked.

Gordon raised a finger. “Uhm … I don’t have them with me, but … I’ll bring them by next week and … we’ll just … we’ll just backlog the dates … Hey, look at the time! I gotta run! Thanks again. I’ll see you next week, ” he said, and fled from the house before Harold and Alice could change their minds.

I sat glued to the couch, hugging my bag to my chest. I kept my head bent down while Alice and Harold eyed me with caution and crept into the living room. “Well, where’s he going to sleep?” Harold asked in a stern tone. After a small squabble, Alice decided I would share a room with Michelle, a 17-year-old foster child who worked at night. Harold continued to protest, claiming that sharing a room with a young lady was not proper. Trying to make a good first impression, I marched up to him, looked him straight in the eye and shrieked, “Oh, it’s okay! I don’t mind!”

As the words spilled out, I knew I was in trouble. For the next four nights, I curled up beneath a set of old wool blankets on the living-room couch. I didn’t know why I had made Harold so upset, but at least I had a place to stay. For that, I was thankful.

The next week, after taking a quick survey of my contents in my grocery bag and waving goodbye 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.