The Lost Boy (7 page)

I quickly became accustomed to the routine at Aunt Mary’s home, as well as to my new school. Even though I was spontaneous and free at Aunt Mary’s, I still became lifeless and shy around my classmates. It seemed difficult for me to make friends. I stood out, especially whenever children asked why I didn’t live with my parents. And whenever some of my classmates persisted, I stuttered and turned away. I couldn’t look into their eyes.

Other times I’d happily state, “I’m a foster child!” I was proud to be a member of my new family. I began to repeat this saying until one day one of the older foster children pulled me aside at school, warning me not to tell anyone “what” I was because “... a lot of folks don’t like our kind.”

“‘Our kind?’ What are you taking about?” I asked. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Don’t worry, little brother. You’ll find out soon enough. Just be cool and keep your mouth shut.” I obeyed the command, realizing I now lived in another world of prejudice.

During recess, I watched the other kids laugh as they played tag and handball, while I kept to myself and wandered around the school in a daze. No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept flashing back to my other school in Daly City. I thought of Mr Ziegler and his animated “happy face” suns, which he would draw on my papers, Mrs Woodworth’s dreaded spelling tests or running to the library, where Ms Howell played “Octopus’s Garden, ” by the Beatles, on her record player.

In my new school I had completely lost interest. I no longer absorbed my subjects as I had just a few weeks ago. I sat behind the gray steel desk half-dazed, scribbling on my papers, counting down the minutes until the end of the school day. What was once my sanctuary soon became a prison that kept me from my playtime at my foster home. As my attention span drifted, my handwriting, once cursive and graceful, became chicken scratch.

At Aunt Mary’s my awkward sense of humor and naive excitability made me popular with the older foster children. Whenever some of them were granted permission to leave Mary’s home for the afternoon, I was allowed to tag along. Sometimes they stole candy bars from the local grocery stores. Wanting total acceptance and having already stolen food for years, I immediately followed their lead. If someone stole two candy bars, I stole four. It seemed so easy to me that after a few afternoon trips, I became a legend within the group. I was fully aware that what I was doing was wrong. I also knew that some of the bigger boys were using me, but I didn’t care. After years of isolation, I was finally accepted within a group.

My stealing was done within the foster home as well. Waiting until everyone was outside, I’d sneak into the kitchen and take slices of bread and stash them under my pillow. Then late at night I’d sit up on my bed and nibble on my prize, like a mouse nibbling on a piece of cheese. One Sunday afternoon I grew tired of bread and decided to steal Dolly Madison cupcakes from the freezer. In the early morning hours I awoke to find an army of ants leading to the head of my bed. As quickly and quietly as I could, I tiptoed to the bathroom and flushed my goodies, along with the ants, down the toilet. The next day, as Aunt Mary prepared our lunches for school, she discovered the missing desserts and blamed Teresa, one of the other foster children.

Even though Teresa was severely scolded and grounded to her room after school that day, I remained silent. I didn’t steal from Aunt Mary’s home for the thrill of it, but only to have a ready-made storage of food in case I ever became hungry.

It didn’t take long for Aunt Mary to discover that I was the one responsible for the missing food. From that moment on, Aunt Mary eyed me carefully around her home and did her best to restrict my afternoon adventures. At first I felt ashamed because I had betrayed her trust and kindness. But on the other hand, I simply didn’t care what “Old Maid” Aunt Mary thought of me. My only concern was total acceptance by the older foster children.

My welcome at Aunt Mary’s was probably worn out even before the first week of July, when I was placed in my first permanent foster home. Just as before, when the police officer had driven me to Aunt Mary’s for the first time, I couldn’t wait to see the new home. My new foster mother, Lilian Catanze, greeted Ms Gold and me at the door. As I followed Mrs Catanze and Ms Gold up the wide, open stairs that led into the living room, I tightly clutched a brown grocery bag containing all my worldly possessions. The night before, I made sure to pack my bag and keep it close to my side.

I knew from experience that if I left anything behind, I would never see it again. I was shocked when I first witnessed the foster children who transformed into frenzied piranhas whenever a child left Aunt Mary’s home. Within seconds of the child’s departure, the others would swarm through the room, checking under the bed, in the closets and through the clothes hamper – everywhere – searching for clothes, toys or other valuables. The ultimate prize was to find a stash of money. I quickly discovered that it didn’t matter whether the thieves needed or even desired the items. Possession of an article, any article, meant trading power for other things -household chores, late-night desserts or an exchange for money. As usual, I adapted quickly, and joined in the hunt whenever a child left. I learned that rather than walking a child to the car and wishing him or her good luck, I would instead say my good-byes in Aunt Mary’s home … and then stay close to the departing child’s room so I could have a head start on the other kids. But as a sign of respect, we all knew to never enter a room until the child had left. I also learned that deals were usually made the night before, and as a courtesy the roommate would get first dibs. So I, too, would give away a few shirts and a couple of toys.

As I began to imagine the other foster children ransacking my old room, I heard Mrs Catanze ask, “Well, David, what do you think?”

Still holding my bag, I shook my head up and down before saying, “It’s a very nice house, ma’am.”

Mrs Catanze waved a finger in my face. “Now, we’ll have none of that. Everyone here calls me either ‘Lilian’ or ‘Mom.’ You may call me ‘Mom.’”

I again nodded, but this time at both women. I didn’t feel comfortable calling Mrs Catanze, some lady I just met a few moments ago, Mom.

As the two ladies chatted for several minutes, Lilian leaned close to Ms Gold, hanging on her every word and shaking her head from side to side. “No contact? None at all?” she asked.

“Correct, ” Ms Gold replied. “David is to have no contact with his mother or his brothers, unless Mrs Pelzer makes the arrangements.”

“And the father?” Lilian asked.

“Not a problem. He has your number and should be calling you soon. David’s father did not make it to the court proceedings, but I’ve kept him informed of David’s status.”

Mrs Catanze leaned a little closer to Ms Gold. “Anything special I need to know?”

“Well, ” Ms Gold began, “David is still in the adjustment phase. He’s a bit hyper and into everything – and I mean everything. He’s a bit light fingered, if you know what I mean.”

Sitting on the couch, I acted as if I were not paying attention, but I could hear every word.

“David, ” Mrs Catanze said, “why don’t you wait in the kitchen, and I’ll be with you in just a few moments.”

As I followed Mrs Catanze into the kitchen, I still held on to my grocery bag. I sat by the table and drank a glass of water as Lilian closed the sliding door, separating the two rooms. I could hear Mrs Catanze sit back down, but the two women started whispering. I watched the numbers of a clock radio flip over every time a minute passed. Before I knew it, the sliding door opened.

Ms Gold smiled at me before giving me a hug. “I really think you’re going to like it here, ” she said. “There’s a play park nearby, and you’ll have lots of other foster children to play with. I’ll check in on you as soon as I can, so be extra good.”

I gave Ms Gold another quick hug, thinking I’d see her in a few days, and waved good-bye to her from the upstairs window. Before Ms Gold drove down the street, she waved a final good-bye, then blew me a kiss. I stared through the window, not knowing what to do next.

“Well, ” Mrs Catanze asked, “would you like to see your room?”

My eyes lit up as she took my hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Remember what I told you, ” Lilian warned.

I nodded my head. “I’m sorry. I forget things sometimes.”

Mrs Catanze led me into the first room down the hall. After putting my clothes away I joined her on the twin-sized bed. “I need to explain a few things to you – the home rules. You are responsible for keeping your room clean and helping out with the chores. You do not enter someone else’s room without their permission first. There is no lying or stealing in this home. If you want to go somewhere, you first ask me and tell me where and how long you’ll be away …”

“You mean I get to go anywhere I want to?” I asked, amazed that I suddenly had all of this unexpected freedom.

“Within reason, of course, ” Lilian responded. “This home is not a prison. As long as you act responsible, you’ll be treated as such. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mrs Catanze, ” I said in a soft, slow voice, still feeling awkward calling her Mom.

Mrs Catanze patted my leg before leaving the room and closing the door. I leaned back on the bed, smelling the fresh-scented pillowcase. I tried to focus on the sounds of cars rushing up and down the steep street, until I finally gave in to sleep. As my mind began to drift off, I began to feel safe and secure in my new setting.

Sometime later I awoke to the sounds of voices, coming from the kitchen. After I cleared my eyes, I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Is this him?” someone with long blond hair chided. “This ain’t no kid. He’s a runt.”

Lilian leaned over and smacked the tall, blond teenager in the arm. “Larry, now watch your mouth! David, please excuse him. This, ” she said, still staring at Larry, “is Larry Junior. You’ll meet Big Larry in a few minutes.”

“C’mon Larry, he’s small, but kinda cute. Hi, I’m Connie. And I don’t want you going through my things in my room. You got that?” As Connie leaned over, I nearly choked on her perfume. She had shiny black hair and long eyelashes, and wore a minidress. I couldn’t help myself as I stared up at her legs. Connie stepped back, and her face turned red. “Mom, he’s a little pervert!”

I turned to Mrs Catanze. “What’s a ‘pree-vert’?”

Lilian laughed. “Someone who shouldn’t look up young ladies’ dresses!”

I didn’t understand. I wanted to know what it meant. I began to ask the same question when Mrs Catanze cut me off. “And this is Big Larry.”

I looked as far up as I could, to see a huge man with dark curly hair and black-framed glasses. He had a kind, gentle face. Big Larry smiled as he shook my hand. “Mom, ” he said, “I’m gonna go to the show tonight. Mind if I take Dave with me?”

Lilian smiled. “I don’t mind, but you make sure you take care of him.”

“Yeah, ” Larry Jr chimed, “make sure he doesn’t get scared or see anything that’s … nasty!”

About an hour later Big Larry and I began our journey to the movie theater. I could tell that he was childlike and shy. I liked him immediately. As we walked up and down the endless streets of Daly City, we both talked about things of no importance. Somehow we each knew not to ask why the other was in foster care. It was a sort of code that was explained to me while I stayed in Aunt Mary’s home. The closer we strolled to the theater, the more Big Larry became my friend.

Larry claimed to have seen the movie
Live and Let Die
a dozen times, so I couldn’t understand why he so badly wanted to see it again. But after the first 10 minutes of the show, I, too, sat paralysed. I became mesmerized by the action scenes and the fast-paced music that carried the film. After years of living in the dark, craving adventure, I finally saw it on film. While Larry gazed at the girls in bikinis, I fidgeted in my seat, waiting impatiently for James Bond to make his next narrow escape from death while at the same time saving the world from doom. After seeing this movie, the character of James Bond became etched in my mind, much in the same way as Superman had years earlier.

The next day was just as special. Rudy, Lilian’s husband, loaded their two cars full of foster children and mountains of food for their annual Fourth of July family get-together picnic at Junipero Serra Park – the same park I went to as a small boy when I was considered a member of Mother’s Family. When we arrived at the park, I helped carry containers and bags full of goodies, not knowing where to place them. “What do I do with these?” I asked no one in particular.

“David, just place it anywhere, ” Rudy replied.

“But all of the tables are already full of stuff from other people, ” I whined.

Lilian stepped beside Rudy. They joined hands. “Yes, David, we know, ” she said. “These people are our family.”

I looked at the scores of adults drinking soda and beer. Kids ran in every direction as they played tag. “Wow, all these people are your kids?”

Suddenly a woman screamed. I nearly recoiled into my protective shell as the woman frantically ran toward me in thick, funny-looking wooden shoes. “Mom! Dad!” the woman howled. She then tried to wrap her arms around both Lilian and Rudy. I stared at her face. She didn’t look anything like Mr or Mrs Catanze.

Lilian cried as she blew her nose, then gave her handkerchief to the woman and closed her eyes for a brief moment to recompose herself. “David, this is one of our first foster children, Kathy.”

Now I understood. I turned my head from side to side, straining my eyes as streams of people flocked over to Rudy and Lilian.

“And Mom, Dad, I got a job. I’m married. I’m going to night school and this … is my new baby!” Kathy announced, as a man with a beard handed over a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket into Rudy’s open arms. “Oh, Mom, Dad, it’s so good to see you!” Kathy cried.

A small mob of adults crowded around the Catanzes. Swarms of children jumped up and down, screaming for attention, as babies and hugs were exchanged. After a few minutes, I excused myself from the crowd and made my way to the edge of the hill. I sat down, staring at the planes lifting off from the nearby airport.