by Dave Pelzer
“Yeah man, what’s up?”
“Don’t tell . . . but I used to live on this street.”
Larry’s head swiveled to the street sign. “Cool! Which house?”
“The dark green one. On the left side, in the middle of the block,” I said, as I pointed down the street.
“Hey, man, I don’t know about this,” he said, shaking his head. “Mom would definitely say no. So, no it’s not a good idea! What if your mother or your brothers are outside?”
I parked my bike behind a clump of bushes, staying close as I peered down the street. I could hear Larry stumbling behind me. My heart raced. I knew that what I was doing was wrong and dangerous. “If you decide to accept this mission . . .” Larry whispered, as if we were both working on an assignment from Mission: Impossible.
“Come on. The coast is clear,” I said, giving Larry the high sign.
Larry shook his head. “I don’t know about this.”
“Come on,” I begged. “I’ve never asked you for anything. Mrs. C. will never find out. Besides, I’ll . . . I’ll do your chores for a whole week. Okay? Please?”
“Okay, kid. It’s your neck.”
I jumped back on my bike and kept the pressure on my brake as I slowly rode. No one seemed to be outside. I could see that the garage door to Mother’s house was closed. As we approached the green and black house, I let out a shriek of joy. This is so cool, I told myself.
Suddenly a pair of heads popped up from my brothers’ bedroom window. “Shit!” I muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Larry asked.
“Just go!” I snapped.
“What?”
“I said, let’s go!”
“Hey man, what’s the problem?”
“Not now!” I yelled. “Come on! Go! Go! Go!”
I leaned forward on my handle bars and pedaled so hard that I thought my chain would fly off. I skidded to a stop at the bottom of the street. My heart seemed as if it were stuck in my throat. I waited for the garage door to swing open, followed by Mother racing out in her station wagon or my brothers flying on their bikes and chasing after me down the street. I had already calculated several escape routes.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“See what? Man, what’s wrong with you?” Larry asked.
“The window!” I said, still panting as I pointed up the street. “My brothers . . . they saw me!” My eyes stayed fixed on every sound, every movement, from The House.
Nothing happened.
“Man,” Big Larry whined, “you got too much of that James Bond stuff in your head. I didn’t see nothing. You’re just seeing things. Come on, let’s go. And remember,” Larry said, as he pedaled off, “a deal’s a deal.”
“Just as long as Mrs. C. don’t find out!” I replied, as I tried to catch up.
Hours later I felt a cold chill as Larry and I returned to Lilian’s home. “What’s up?” I whispered to Larry. He gave me one of his “I dunno” looks.
“Hey,” he said, “I’ll go upstairs, get a bite to eat and check things out for you, okay?”
I eagerly agreed as I watched Larry from the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly Mrs. Catanze came into view. By instinct I hid in the shadows. “Larry!” she barked. “Get that overstuffed face up here this moment! And you,” she pointed her finger down at me, “I can see you! You can wait for me in your room. Now move it! The both of you.”
My eyes became the size of silver dollars. I smiled wide, showing my teeth as I pointed at my chest. “Me?” I asked. She returned my smile. I could see that her hands were on her hips. That was the moment I knew I was in serious trouble. I waited in my room and wondered what I may have done. I hadn’t stolen any candy from the local stores in the last several days. And Larry Jr. and I were staying out of each other’s way. I had no idea what I did wrong.
I didn’t have to strain my ears to listen. “. . . you’re supposed to be responsible when David’s with you. He’s just a baby. You’ve seen what he’s like.”
“Come on now, Mom. He’s 12 years old. He does okay for himself. Besides, we didn’t do nothin’,” Larry shot back. I still had no idea what Larry and I did wrong.
“No? Then why has David’s mother, the Mother Superior, been on the phone with me all afternoon?”
Uh oh, I said to myself as I swallowed hard. From outside I heard the sound of a car door slam shut. I jumped to the window to see Rudy wave at me. I slumped back on my bed, waiting my turn.
“Mister Pelzer . . . get your little butt in here, now!” Lilian yelled.
In an instant I sprang up and ran into the kitchen. I knew I was in an interesting position. Even though I was in trouble, it wasn’t as though Mrs. Catanze was going to beat me. As I entered the kitchen, I became anxious to see what exactly Lilian had in store for me. This was the first time that I was in what Big Larry had called “The Dog House.”
“Tell me,” Lilian began, with her hands glued on her hips, “tell me that you didn’t convince this walking paramecium over here to drive by your mother’s house.”
I swallowed hard and again attempted to turn on my charm, flashing Mrs. C. my best smile. “Para . . . ?”
“An insect with no brains! And that’s what you’re going to be if I don’t get any answers!” Lilian spouted.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on here?” Rudy shouted as he entered the kitchen.
“Freeze! Don’t either one of you move!” Lilian warned, as she turned to her husband.
Without her knowing, I cupped my hand to my mouth and let out a giggle. I thought her remark about Big Larry was hilarious. I could imagine him with big bug eyes and oversized wings, flying around, trying to find something to eat. I had never seen Lilian get that upset before. And I knew that all I had to do was ride out the storm. What’s the big deal? I said to myself.
On the other hand, Big Larry looked as if he had just weathered some pretty rough seas.
Lilian marched right up to Rudy, whose eyes darted between Larry and me. “The moron twins—Doofus and Wonder Boy here—took a little ride by his mother’s house.”
“Jesus!” Rudy exhaled.
I stood in front of the three of them, not understanding the consequences of my actions. What’s the big deal? I asked myself again.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “It’s all my fault. I asked Larry to do it. All we did was ride down the street. What’s the problem?” I asked innocently.
“Well, your mother has been on the phone all afternoon, ranting and raving about you,” Lilian said, pointing a finger at me, “terrorizing the streets.”
“No!” I shook my head. “She’s lying! All we did was ride down the street. We didn’t do anything, honest,” I said, doing my best to sound calm.
“David,” Lilian said as she let out a deep breath, “don’t you understand? You are not allowed to go anywhere near her house, her boys or her.”
My hands shot up in the air. “Wait! Slow down. What do you mean, I’m not allowed? ” I shouted, as I tried to get Lilian’s attention. But I couldn’t stop her; she was on a roll.
“That’s only the half of it. Your mother, the sainted Mother Teresa, tells me that if I cannot manage The Boy, she’ll find someone who can!”
My mind fought to sort out the words allowed and manage.
Lilian bent down. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again! You’re grounded!”
“Grounded?”
“That’s right, you’re grounded until . . . until I decide to unground you!” Lilian finished with a huff before I could ask her what she meant.
Larry stood in disbelief. “Man, I told you that was a bad idea.”
“So . . . ? That’s it?” I asked. I knew Lilian was mad, but I expected . . . well, I didn’t know what to expect. This I can handle, I told myself.
As Big Larry wiped his forehead, Lilian marched back in the kitchen. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Wonder Boy,” she said as she looked at me. “I forgot— your father’s coming over tomorrow morning
at 7:00, so you’ll have to get up early. You can manage that, can’t you?” Lilian asked with a sly smile.
“Yes, ma’am. I can manage,” I replied in a sheepish tone.
“And you!” she yelled as she turned her attention to Larry. “Go to your room!”
Larry shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, Mom, do I have to?”
“Move it!” Lilian barked.
Once Larry left the kitchen, Lilian wiped her eyes. “Come here and sit down. Now listen very carefully. Your mother . . .” She stopped to clear her throat. “David, I’ve been taking care of kids since I don’t know when. I have never, ever met anyone as cold as your mother.”
“You’re telling me!” I interrupted.
“David, this is not the time to act funny. You have to understand something: You’re a foster child. A foster child. And because of that, you’ve got two strikes against you. You have to be careful of everything you say and everything you do. If you get into trouble, we . . . we could lose you.”
I knew by the seriousness of her tone that what she was telling me was important. But I simply could not understand the message.
Lilian nodded, indicating she was again talking over my head. “David, if you get into trouble, you could end up in the hall—juvenile hall. That’s where they send foster children who end up in trouble. It’s a place you never want to end up. I don’t know what your mother’s up to, but you, young man, better learn how to manage yourself a little better. Otherwise you’ll be grounded—for a year.” Lilian patted my knees and then walked out of the kitchen.
I knew that she was using Mother to scare me. I also knew that Mother could never get to me, now that I was in foster care . . . could she?
“Hey, Mrs. C.,” I shouted, “what’s grounded ?”
“Oh, don’t you worry. You’ll soon find out,” Lilian laughed, as she strolled down the hall and into her bedroom. “You’ll manage!”
That evening I thought long and hard about what Lilian had told me. After Rudy and Lilian left for dinner, I had an overwhelming urge to call Mother. Strangely, I just wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice. I picked up the phone several times, but I couldn’t bring myself to dial her number.
I wiped away my tears as Connie bounced into the kitchen. “Hey, what’s up?”
I broke down and told her what I was trying to do. Without a word, Connie took the phone and dialed my mother’s number. Moments later I nearly choked as I heard the recording that Mother’s number was “. . . no longer in service.” Connie persisted and called the operator, who confirmed the number was now unlisted.
I stood in front of Connie not knowing what to say or do. I didn’t know how I should feel. I knew that Mother had changed her telephone number as a form of another “game”—I was not allowed the privilege of her number.
After Connie’s date came to pick her up, I sat down and stared at the television. I had never been alone in the house before. I counted the hours until Father would pick me up the next morning. I drifted off to sleep as I watched the black-and-white snowflakes dance across the TV screen.
The next morning I stumbled out of bed as I rubbed my eyes, then made my way over to the bedroom window. I turned and looked behind me. I didn’t remember how I got to bed. After I put on my best clothes and washed my face, twice, I ran to the living room window. I stood tall as I waited for Father.
After a few minutes my shoulders became sore, but I remained rigid as the clock in the living room struck 7:00. At 7:35 I heard the distinctive sounds of Father’s borrowed VW. I allowed myself a smile after making sure my hair was just right. I could see an off-brown VW struggle as it made its way up the street. But the car continued to drive by. Well, maybe he doesn’t have the right address, I told myself. He’ll be back in a few seconds.
At 7:55 I heard the sound of another VW Bug go past Lilian’s home.
I then convinced myself that I had heard the wrong time—that Father would pick me up at 8:00, not 7:00; that I had made another mistake. Whoops, stupid me! I said to myself.
Eight o’clock came and went, as did more than a dozen cars that cruised by. As every car drove up the street, I knew in my heart that the next car had to be the one with Father in it.
Around nine o’clock Lilian yawned as she stumbled into the kitchen. “David, are you still here?” I merely nodded. “Well, let me check the calendar. I know your father said 7:00 A.M. sharp. For goodness sake, I wrote it down.”
“I know, Mrs. C.,” I said, trying not to show my feelings. “He’ll be here any . . .” My head spun to the window when I heard the rumblings of another VW lurch its way up the steep street. “See? Here he is!” I cried out, as I pointed at the window. I grabbed Lilian’s hand. I wanted to show her off as Dad pulled into the driveway. “Yes!” I shouted.
The car slowed for a moment, but only to shift into a lower gear before chugging its way past. My hand fell from Lilian’s grip. She looked at me as if she wanted to say something to make me feel better.
My insides felt tight. A solid lump was caught in my throat. “Don’t say it!” I yelled. “He’ll be here! I know he will! You’ll see! My dad will be pulling up here any second! You watch! My father loves me! And one of these days we’re going to live together and . . . and we’ll be happy for the rest of our lives. I know she doesn’t love me, but my dad does. She’s the one who needs a psychiatrist, not me. She’s the sick one. . . .”
My chest seemed to shrink as I continued to ramble on. I felt a firm grip on my shoulder. I clenched my right fist, spun around and swung wildly. As my eyes focused on my target, I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. A moment later I struck Rudy, square in the forearm.
I looked up with tears in my eyes. Rudy had never seen me act like that before. In an instant I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t. I was tired of being sorry for everything—for not understanding words or phrases; for feeling so humiliated by Larry Jr. and the crazy psychiatrist; for riding my bike down a street; or for just trying to hear my mother’s voice. And then I was telling myself that I was the one who got the time wrong for when Father would drop by!
I had known all along that Father wasn’t coming; that he was probably lost in some bar. He never made it for a visit. But I had always told myself that this time was going to be different, that today Father was going to make it and we would have such a good time.
I just could not accept the realities of my life. How in God’s name did I let it come to this? I asked myself. I knew, as I stood staring out the living room window, that I would spend another day hiding in the only place I felt safe and warm—the covers of my bed.
I looked up at Rudy and then at Lilian. I wanted to tell them both how sorry I was, how bad I felt inside. I opened my mouth. Before I could say the words, I turned away. As I marched into my room, I could hear Rudy whisper to Lilian, “I think we have a serious problem.”
CHAPTER
6
The Defiant One
A few weeks before I started the sixth grade, I began to turn off my feelings. By then I was completely drained of emotion. I had become fed up with the teeter-totter effect of my new life. On the up side, I was elated to play in the bright rays of the summer sun. On the down side, I dreaded being teased by other children or having to wait like a trained dog for the remote possibility of a visit from Father. I was fully aware that a cold change was taking place inside of me. I did not care. I told myself that in order to survive, I had to become so hard so that I would never allow anyone to hurt me again.
At times, instead of riding to the park, I would journey to the local grocery store and stuff my pockets full of candy that I would steal. I didn’t even want the sweets; I knew I could never eat all those candy bars. I stole to discover if I could get away with it. I felt a gut-wrenching thrill of calculating my next move, followed by the spine-tingling sensation of strolling out of the store uncaught. Sometimes I’d steal from the same store two or three times a day. Whatever I did not smuggle into Mrs. Catanze’s home, I’d g
ive away to kids in the park, or I would leave the candy in small piles just outside the store’s entrance.
When swiping candy became too boring, I raised the stakes by stealing larger objects—toy models. I became so arrogant that several times I would simply strut into the store, snatch an oversized model and stroll right out—all in less than a minute. Some of the kids from the neighborhood who had heard of my candy giveaways would follow me to the stores and watch me. I loved the attention. It got to the point where the kids would dare me to steal things for them. My only concern was for acceptance. It was almost like the days when I would play with the younger foster children at Aunt Mary’s home. I felt so good inside whenever the kids would call my name or greet me as I rode into the play park. Now I was receiving the same kind of attention again.
Whenever I decided to steal a serious item, I became extremely focused inside. Before making my move I would imagine every aisle and the entire layout of the toy shelves. I plotted my primary and alternate routes of escape. In the event that I was caught, plan number one called for an “off-the-cuff” lie, while plan number two meant that I would simply run like hell.
One time, as a group of kids waited outside the store, I turned myself off, once again becoming a cyborg—half human, half machine. My mission: grab and go. Johnny Jones wanted a B-17 Flying Fortress model airplane. I accepted the challenge, taking three deep breaths before grabbing the glass door and pulling it toward my chest. I could hear the boys cheering me on, but I shut them out as the door closed behind me. I knew that somewhere in the store Johnny was watching. He wanted to see my bravery in person. I didn’t care. I had an objective to accomplish.
In order not to be noticed by the string of checkout clerks, I walked down the first aisle leading to the back of the store. I then swiveled right and slowed my pace. By then my ears had become like radar, distinguishing between the sounds of the shoppers and the store employees. I slowed my pace before I turned right again and bent my head down to see if anyone was behind me. The coast was clear. My heart was racing as my objective came into view on the top shelf of aisle 4. I knew this job was going to be a challenge. For a split second something didn’t feel right. I thought of aborting. Negative, I told myself a second later. As I reached up with both hands, I could hear, then feel someone walking up the aisle. I shook the thought clear as I strained my legs to reach a little higher. A moment later I plucked my prize from the shelf. I showed no emotion as I marched down the aisle, passing Johnny, who was grinning from ear to ear.
