The Lost Boy

by Dave Pelzer

  I met John the next day in the schoolyard during recess. He seemed extremely upset because our teacher had scolded him in front of the class about not turning in his homework. John boasted to his two other friends and me that he was going to get even with the teacher. He seemed to guard his words as I leaned in closer to hear his plan.

  “Hey, man, you’re not going to fink on me, are you?”

  “No way!” I assured him.

  “All right. You see, you have to be a member of my gang to hang around me. I tell you what. You meet us at the parking lot after school. I’ll tell you the plan then.”

  I accepted John’s challenge, knowing I was getting into trouble. In class he would always act tough; even the rich football boys stayed away from him. As I daydreamed in class that day, I thought a thousand times about chickening out. I told myself that when the bell rang at the end of the day, I’d stay behind and be the last person to leave. Then I’d sneak around the parking lot, missing the boys. The next day I’d simply tell John that I had forgotten.

  When the bell rang that afternoon I flung the lid to my desk open as if I were frantically searching for something. I heard the kids’ feet shuffle as they flocked out of the class. When I felt I was safe, I slowly closed the lid to my desk . . . and saw John standing in front of me. I let out a sigh, accepting the fact that I had to go with him. John flipped up the collar of his black vinyl jacket. At the parking lot, John’s two friends fidgeted as they, too, tried to look cool.

  “This is it,” John bragged. “I’ve decided the new kid here is good enough to join our gang. He’s going to flatten the tires of Mr. Smith’s new car. And I mean tires, as in two or more,” he stated as he stared into my eyes. “That way Smith won’t be able to use his spare tire. Pretty smart, eh?” John laughed.

  I turned away from him. I knew that when I stole candy and toys from the stores, I was wrong. But I had never hurt anyone’s personal property before, and I didn’t want to now. I could feel the stares around me. I swallowed hard. “Gosh, John . . . I really don’t think we oughta . . .”

  As John’s face turned red, he punched me in the arm. “Hey, man, you said you wanted to be my friend and join my gang, didn’t you?”

  Some of them began to close in around me. The two other boys nodded in approval.

  “Yeah, man, all right. I’ll do it. But, after that, I’m in the gang, and I don’t have to do anything like this again, right? ” I said in a broken voice, as fear overtook my weak efforts to sound tough.

  John slapped the back of my shoulder. “See, I told ya! The kid’s all right!”

  I narrowed my eyes and tightened my face. I became cold inside. “Let’s do it!” I said in my new macho voice.

  John led me to a brand new, light yellow sedan. He nodded at me as he eased himself away from the scene of the crime. The two other boys giggled as they followed their leader.

  I let out a deep breath and knelt down, not believing what I was about to do. I could feel my heart race. I wanted to stand up and run away, but I shook it off. Come on! I yelled at myself. Just do it! Come on!

  I scanned the area before I tried to unscrew the cap to the tire stem. After a few seconds my fingers began to tremble, and I still had not removed the rubber cap. I felt as if every eye were on me, as the sounds of other people slamming their car doors echoed above my head.

  Finally, the black cap fell onto the ground. Immediately I snatched a pencil from my back pocket. I turned behind me and met John’s eyes. His face was tight, and he raised his eyebrows telling me how disappointed he was with my performance. John then mouthed, “Come on, move it!”

  I took a quick breath before I jammed the end of the pencil into the stem of the tire. The air seemed to explode as it howled out of the tiny opening. I knew that everyone could hear what I was doing. I hesitated for a second as I searched for John, who nodded for me to continue. A blanket of fear seemed to cover me. No! I yelled at myself. This is totally wrong! On purpose I snapped the end of my pencil, stood up and walked past John, who dared me to finish the job. I brushed past him as I made my way out of the parking lot. John and the gang taunted me all the way down the street, until they turned the corner to John’s house.

  The next day, John’s razzing continued. In the schoolyard, without warning, he shoved me to the ground. As I got up, a small circle formed. “Fight! Fight!” they chanted. I kept my head down as I tried to break through the crowd. A round of insults flew above me.

  Within minutes, the entire school seemed to know that I had betrayed John and his gang. I felt a coldness that was worse than the one at Thomas Edison Elementary School.

  The next morning, I made a string of excuses to Lilian about how I felt too sick to go to school. I never told her about John or my social problems at school. If I did, I knew Rudy and Ms. Gold would be furious.

  After a few weeks of the cold shoulder, I apologized to John and his gang. As a way of showing my friendship, I presented John with a carton of Marlboro cigarettes I had stolen the day before. “All right, kid,” John smiled. “The boys and I forgive your weakness, but you still have to be initiated into our group.”

  I nodded to myself as my mind replayed all the stories I had heard about John punching and kicking the two other boys of his gang until they fell to the ground. I saw myself with a bloody face, broken glasses and smashed-in teeth. I stared into his eyes, giving him my tough-guy look. “Okay man, I can handle it!” I said smoothly.

  “No man,” John said as he showed off his unlit cigarette. “I’ve got something special for you. Listen carefully. I’m tired of Mr. Smith. He thinks he’s so tough ’cause he’s the teacher. He wrote a letter to my mother, and because of him she’s on my ass. So . . . I say . . . let’s burn down his class!”

  My mouth fell open. “Nah, man, you, ah . . . can’t be serious?”

  “Hey, I’m not saying you got to do it. I’m just saying I need you to be the lookout for me, that’s all. I can’t count on those two wusses. They’re wimps. But you . . . you’ve got guts.” Suddenly John’s voice changed. “And if you ever fink on me, I will stomp all over you.” A split second later he changed his tone back again. “Hey man, don’t sweat it. I’m not talking about doing it today. Just be there when I need ya. All right?”

  “Yeah, man,” I nodded. “I’ll help you out. I’m cool.” I walked away, telling myself that he was just acting tough. Nobody ever burns down a school, I assured myself. But what if he’s serious? What should I do? I couldn’t tell Mrs. Catanze and especially not the teachers. But no matter what, I would never turn John in. Not because I wanted to be nice, but because of the fear of being brutalized and living through the humiliation afterward.

  I dreaded running into John over the next few days, as he continually renewed his vow that one day soon, he was going to teach the teacher a lesson. As the weeks dragged by, I began to think that he was simply showing off to receive attention from anyone who’d listen. At times, whenever a large crowd gathered, I’d brag, too, stating that John and I had developed “The Plan” that would show everyone in the school just how tough we were. The more I boasted, the larger the crowds grew. I was amazed at how the kids who had ridiculed me before were now hanging on my every word. After a few days of spinning tales, John’s involvement disappeared, as I found myself stating that I would be the person who would do the deed.

  Weeks passed, and soon I had forgotten about “The Plan”—until one day after school, John had a deep, cold look in his eyes as he ordered me to be back at the school in an hour. I felt a lump creep up my throat. “Okay man, I’ll be back,” I said, before I could think of an excuse. About an hour later, as I walked back on the school grounds, I prayed that he had chickened out.

  The smell of papers burning filled the hallway. I broke into a run as I followed the smoke and made my way to the classroom module. Seconds later I found John bent over a small hole, as black smoke poured out of a kicked-in air vent. I stood in total disbelief. I never thought he’d ac
tually do it.

  “John!” I yelled.

  John’s head shot up. “Jesus, man. Where ya been? Come on . . . help me!” I stood behind him, still unsure of myself. “Come on, man, help me! Help me put out the fire!” he cried.

  My brain locked up until I shook my head clear, as smoke continued to escape the open vent. John’s face was seized with terror. After a few seconds, he fell backward. “No way, man! It’s out of control! I’m outta here! Come on, let’s go!” Before I could reply, I saw his shadow disappear down the hall.

  I bent down in front of the vent and turned my head, coughing from the dark smoke. A small, red orange fire began to take form. In a flash I grabbed the can of lighter fluid that John had left and pulled it out from the vent. As I withdrew the can, I squeezed it so hard that a stream of fluid ignited, racing from the can and toward my hand, soaking it with the clear fluid. For a moment I thought the tin can would explode—and my right hand with it.

  I hurled the can behind me and searched for help. Time seemed to stand still until I finally heard the sound of small shoes skipping across the hallway. A little girl stopped a few feet beside me then gawked. “Get help!” I yelled. “Pull the alarm! Pull the alarm!” The girl threw both hands on her tiny mouth. “Come on!” I ordered. “Move your ass!”

  The girl blinked her eyes. “Oh . . . I’m telling,” the girl cooed before she broke into a run. A few moments later I heard the clanging sound of the alarm. Using both hands, I scooped up pebbles of gravel and tossed them into the flames. Knowing that fire needed oxygen to grow stronger, I intended to shovel enough gravel to snuff it out.

  When I saw that the mountain-sized pile of gravel smothered the flames, I fell backward to watch the wisps of gray smoke that rose. I wiped the sweat from my face with my blackened hands. My head snapped to the right when I heard someone scream, “Over here! The fire’s over here!” A feeling of fear crept up my spine. A moment later I sprinted down the street as the screeching sounds of fire trucks pierced my ears and a small fleet of trucks raced by. Out of habit, I waved. A fireman strapped to the end of one of the trucks smiled as he waved back.

  The next morning I met John on the corner by his house. We both agreed to deny any involvement in yesterday’s fire, and he again stressed his threat to me. “Besides,” John said with a wide smile, “you’re a member of the gang now. You’re vice president.”

  I felt on top of the world, until I strolled into the classroom. Every head turned my way as my sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Smith, sprang up from his desk, grabbed my arm and led me into the principal’s office. “How could you have done it?” my teacher asked. “I would have never expected something like that from you.”

  Later I sat in front of the principal, who informed me he was going to call the police, the fire chief and my foster parents. I shuddered at the last part of his statement. All I could think of was Rudy’s face. “Before you say anything,” the principal stated, “you’ve already been identified as starting the fire . . .”

  “No!” I blurted. “I didn’t do it! Honest, sir.”

  “Really?” the principal smiled. “Fine. I believe you. Show me your hands.”

  I stuck out my two arms, unsure of the principal’s intentions. He leaned over and grabbed my hands. Then he rubbed the stubbles from my burned hairs. “I think I’ve seen enough,” he said as he flung my arms back at me.

  “But I didn’t do it!” I began to cry.

  “Look at yourself. I can still smell the smoke on you. I have statements from teachers claiming that you were the child who’s been bragging about this same thing. For goodness sake, your father’s a fireman. You don’t need to say another thing. The police will be here soon, and you can tell your story to them. You’re excused to wait in the other room. I have phone calls to make,” the principal said, with a wave of his hand.

  I closed the door behind me and began to sit down. I could feel the resentment from the elderly secretary. I nodded at her as I took my seat. She gave me an evil glance before she huffed in my direction and turned away. “Foster child! We don’t need your kind! ”

  I gripped the arms of the chair and leaped out of the seat. “I know what you think of me! All of you! But know this. I didn’t do it!” I yelled, as I slammed the door behind me. A moment later I could see the principal fly out of his office, waving his fist at me. Without thinking I ran from the school and didn’t stop until I reached the bottom of the hill by John’s house. I hopped the fence, hid in his play fort and waited for him.

  “Man, this is too cool! You escaped!” John panted, when he discovered me knocking on his back door hours later.

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “Man, the kids in school think the police came to arrest you and you beat ’em up and ran off. Man, this is just too much!” he said, unable to control himself. “Everyone thinks you’re so cool!”

  “Wait a minute, man! Stop it! Wait up!” I yelled, cutting him off. “The principal thinks I did it. He thinks I started the fire and that I’ve already been identified. You gotta help me, man. You gotta tell them the truth!”

  “Hey man, no way,” John said, backing away from me with his hands in the air. “You’re on your own.”

  I shook my head from side to side. Tears were starting to swell in my eyes, but I held them back. “Man, this is serious. You gotta help me. What am I going to do?”

  “Yeah man, all right. You can’t go home. . . . Tell you what. I’ll hide you here until we figure out what to do.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to relax my heaving chest. “But you gotta tell them what really happened at school.” John’s mouth quivered. He began to mutter something. In a flash I grabbed his shirt. “Shut up and listen! You did it! I didn’t! I saved your ass! I put out the fire! You tell ’em the truth! I mean it!” I yelled.

  John’s tough-guy act melted away. “Yeah . . . all right. Tomorrow, man, okay? Just relax.”

  That night I shivered on a makeshift wooden bed in John’s clubhouse outside. Earlier I had picked up the phone to call Lilian, but I slammed it down when I heard Rudy’s stern voice on the other end. “David!” he had said after a long pause, “I know it’s you! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll . . .”

  The next day the hours seemed to drag on as I waited for John’s return. When he finally came home, he flung the sliding door open. I ran inside to warm myself. “Okay?” I asked, rubbing my hands. “Everything’s all right. You told ’em, right? You told them the truth?” I asked, feeling relieved that the incident was over and I could go back to the Catanzes.

  John slumped his shoulders and stared at the floor. I knew even before he spoke that I was doomed. “Man, you promised!” I whimpered.

  “Well . . . the principal pulled me from class,” he said in a soft voice, as he continued to stare at the floor. He stopped for a moment. I thought he was about to give me another excuse when he looked up and into my eyes and smiled. “I told him . . . you did it. That it was your idea.”

  My hands began to shake. “You what? What did you do?”

  John grinned. “What did I do? I didn’t do a thing. Man, you gotta go. You can’t stay here,” he said in a dry voice.

  I was dumbstruck. “Where do I go? What do I do?”

  “You should have thought about that before you burned the room, man.”

  My mind tumbled in confusion. “I thought you were my friend,” I pleaded, as John turned away.

  Moments later I quietly closed the door to his house, then made my way to the local shopping center in hopes of finding food to steal. I jumped in a clump of bushes whenever I heard a car coming. This is stupid, I yelled at myself. I can’t live like this. I turned around and made my way to Rudy and Lilian’s home. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and crept up the stairs, hearing the television set blare above me. As I shuffled into the living room, I was greeted by Larry Jr.’s alligator smile. “He’s . . . here!”

  Lilian dropped the blanket she was crocheting. “My God, Dav
id, where have you been? Are you all right?”

  Before I could reply, I could feel the floor vibrate from Rudy storming down the hallway. “Where is he?” he bellowed.

  I swallowed hard before I gave my prepared speech, that everything was a simple misunderstanding. That I, in fact, was the one who put out the fire, and not the person who started it. I knew Rudy would yell at me for a few minutes and he’d probably ground me for another week for not coming home, but I knew once they understood the truth, everything would go back to normal. I smiled at Rudy, who breathed above me like a dragon. “You’re not going to believe this, but . . .”

  “You’re damn right I’m not!” Rudy roared. “I don’t believe anything anymore. In the last two days I’ve had calls from the school, the police, juvenile probation, your father and that mother of yours. Ever since he stepped foot in this house . . .” Rudy pointed at Lilian before focusing again on me. “I told you to keep your nose clean, and now you go off and do something like this! What in the hell were you thinking about? I can’t believe it! Stealing isn’t good enough for you? No, you’ve got to prove yourself, is that it? You say you feel lost, that you don’t fit in— well, I know who you are. You’re an arsonist! That’s what you are! Were you the one who’s been setting all those grass fires around here . . . ?”

  “My God, Rudy, settle down,” Lilian broke in. “He wasn’t even here back then.”

  “Well, I’ve seen enough. I’ve heard enough. That’s it—he’s out of here!” Rudy yelled. Then he shook his head and let out a deep sigh, indicating he was finished.

  A long silence followed. He breathed over me while Lilian stayed glued by his side. Up until a few moments ago, I felt I could have cleared up the confusion with a few words, but I suddenly realized it was my past actions that had led Rudy to his conclusion. To him I was guilty, and I knew that nothing I could say would change his mind. I gazed up at Rudy with tears in my eyes. I wanted so much for him to believe in me.