Chasing Stars by L. Duarte

recognize a celestial voice when they hear it.
    The angel’s name was Dan. He was the pastor of the church where I was arrested. The miracle of all miracles was that he had come to take me with him. Unbelievable, but true.
    When Dan came, he had all the paperwork ready to become my foster parent. I left with him the same day. Later, Dan told me, he was a foster parent for emergency placements for transitional children. For this reason, it took him only a week to be cleared as my foster parent. I stayed two weeks in the hospital, and then went to court. Dan accompanied me. He convinced the judge to give me a fresh start under his care. The judge ruled I had to do tons of community services and probation, on which I had to wear a horrendous leg bracelet for an entire year.
    If someone had asked me then, I would have said that I thought Dan was just a crazy fool, not an angel. Because he had to be a nutcase in order to want me. I had an extensive and ugly record, and Dan had a beautiful family that included a daughter about a year younger than me. Securing the paperwork in one hand, he placed the other hand on my shoulder and guided me outside the hospital. I gathered all my strength not to squirm away from his embrace. Having someone touch me was unbearable, but I endured it because I had learned in the past not to openly defy a foster parent.
    “Well, son, first things first.”
    He held open the car door and turned to face me. I glared at him and thought, here is when he lays down the rules and here is when I begin to plan my runaway.
    “Finally, we are able to head home. You can call me Dan. It is a pleasure to have you join our family.” Oh-Kay, that caught me off guard and, though it was not enough to convince me of his good intentions, my trembling hand reached for his. After being a case number for so long, I knew better. Foster families can be categorized. Some are well-intentioned families, eager to take foster kids as charity cases to earn brownie points from society. For some families, fostering children is simply a source of extra income. To others…do not ask me about those. I try to erase those memories from any wide-awake moments, though they chase me in my nightmares.
    “You are very quiet son, you haven’t even introduced yourself. Of course, I am babbling so much, I didn’t even give you the chance to speak.” He said. “What do you like to be called son?”
    “James,” I replied dryly.
    “Well, James, do you have a nick name?” Dan grinned.
    Seriously? He had my damn record, why the stupid questions? I rolled my eyes. “No, just James Williams.”
    “Hmm, I shall call you Will. For I know for a fact, son, that you are the will of God in my life,” he added another grin, I guess for drama effect. Psycho. I did mention he was crazy for fostering me, right. I rest my case.
    I had just turned sixteen when my path crossed with Dan. The memories of those days are hazy. Withdrawal from meth is not as pretty as they make it out to be in movies.
    Part of Dan’s arrangement with the court was for me to get counseling and to clean up the church’s graffiti. On my second day at his home, Dan gathered the supplies and we went to the church. After he pulled the drape covering the graffiti, I briefly admired my artwork. Minus the profanities, it looked somewhat neat.
    “Well, son, looks like we have our work cut out for us,” he announced.
    Enough with the son bull, I mentally grimaced. “If you say so,” I said under my breath.
    Until then, life had been a chain of unfortunate events, teaching me to be skeptical. Nothing had prepared me for what Dan had in store for me. For the first time in my life, I conceived that I mattered to someone. Together, for the following week, we cleaned and painted the church. All the while, he stood by my side, with his even voice, and his ever-present grin, telling me all about himself and his family.
    After seven days of hard work, we sat on the step of the pulpit,