The Lost Boy by Dave Pelzer Page A

up, still clutching my right arm. I wiped my face as best I could before I opened the door to leave.
    The doctor sprang up from behind his desk. “All right, you can leave early. We’ve made progress today. Don’t let this upset you. I’ll pencil you in for next …”
    Slam! I closed the door with all my might.
    In the outer office, the elderly receptionist jumped from her seat. I stopped by her desk for a moment. The woman seemed as if she were about to scold me, until she took a long look at my face. She stopped mid-sentence and turned away as she seized the phone. The next patient turned his head, too, as I marched out of the office.
    By accident I slammed the door to Lilian’s car. She flung her paperback book into the air. “David! What … ? You’re early. Is everything all right?”
    I clenched my two hands together. “No! No! No!” I yelled. “That man, ” I pointed my ringer at the building across the street, “is sick! He asked me the weirdest questions. Today he asked me how I felt when …”
    “Well, David, ” she said in a firm voice, “that’s his job. He’s the doctor. I’m sure he’s only trying to help …”
    “No!” I blurted, as I shook my head. “He doesn’t ask questions like you or Ms Gold, but sick ones. Like,
what did it feel like to be burned on a gas stove?
And that
it was all right to hate my mother,
“[__] I said, imitating the doctor’s tone of voice. “I don’t know what to say or do around him. He’s weird. He’s the one who needs help, not me. He’s the sick one.”
    “Is that the reason why you were so upset last week? Did he treat you like that last time?” Lilian asked.
    I nodded. “I just don’t know. I feel so dumb, so small. I mean, I know what happened with Mother, and I was wrong and I’m really trying to forget all about it. I mean, maybe my mom’s sick. I know it’s the booze, but I have to know: Am I sick, too? Am I going to end up like her? I just want to know. I just want to know why it all happened the way it did. We were the perfect family. What happened?”
    After I blew off my steam, I stretched out in the passenger seat. Lilian leaned over, “All better now?”
    “Yes, ma’am, ” I answered. She started the car. I could feel myself drifting off to sleep. I held my right arm just above my wrist. I strained myself to stay awake a little bit longer. “Mrs C, I don’t ever want to go back there – ever, ” I said. And then my world went black.
    I stayed by myself in my room for the next few days. Then Big Larry asked if I wanted to watch him bowl. I happily accepted, and once again my big foster brother and I set out for another adventure. I found out our destination as we rode our bikes through nearby Daly City. Larry and I rode down the small street that led into the parking lot of Thomas Edison Elementary School. Slowing my bike, I watched as the children played on the swing sets. I skidded to a stop, breathing in the smell of fresh tanbark. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I was a child who happily played in the same play yard during recess.
    A heavy fog seemed to hover over the school before it lowered itself. The outline of the children became lost as the gray mist seemed to swallow them, too. After a few minutes, only their sounds of laughter told me that the children were even there.
    I shook off the thoughts of my past as I pumped my bike up another hill and away from my old school. About 10 minutes later, Larry and I stopped at the Sky Line grocery store – the same store I had stolen from when I ran from the school during my lunch recess. I stayed close to Larry’s side. I thought for sure someone would recognize me. “Are you okay?” Larry asked as we strolled down the aisles.
    “Yeah, ” I answered in a low voice. My eyes darted around every corner. I walked in slow motion and grabbed Larry’s belt to tell him to slow down. I was on Mother’s turf now.
    “Hey man, what’s your problem?” he asked after my