The Lost Boy by Dave Pelzer Page A

important, ” Mother stated. Before she sent me away, she gave me a final hug. “Have a happy life.”
    I turned away sniffling. I didn’t look back. I thought about what Mother had last said.
Have a happy life.
I felt as if she were giving me away. I almost collapsed when I reached Ms Gold, who helped me load her car with my prized possessions. We stood together as Mother drove off. I waved to everyone, but only Mother returned my gesture. Her window was rolled up, but I watched Mother’s lips as she repeated, “Have a happy life.”
    “How about an ice cream?” Ms Gold asked, breaking the tension.
    I stood up straight and smiled. “Yes, ma’am!”
    Pam gently took my hand, wrapping her long fingers around mine, and led me to the cafeteria. We strolled past the other cars and a few scattered trees. I caught a whiff of the trees’ scent. Then I stopped to gaze at the sun. I stood still for a moment, taking in my surroundings. A soft wind blew through my hair. I didn’t shiver. The grass was a bright yellow-green. I knew that my world was different now.
    Ms Gold stopped to look at the sun, too. “David, are you going to be all right?”
    “Yes!” I smiled. “I just don’t want to forget this first day of the rest of my life!”

4 – New Beginnings
    After the effects of the trial had worn off, my insides became numb.
    I fully realized that Mother could not physically harm me. But I still felt an eerie sensation that told me Mother was somewhere out there, coiled like a rattlesnake, waiting to reach out and strike with a vengeance.
    But another part of me felt that I would never see Mother or my brothers again. I became confused, sensing that I didn’t deserve to live with them, that I was unworthy and that Mother had thrown me away. I tried my best to tell myself that through the wonder of the county’s social services and the court system, I had a new lease on my life. I tried my best to isolate my past, to bury my dark experiences deep inside my heart. Like a light switch, I imagined myself flicking off my entire past.
    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