The Lost Boy
When she entered his world, it was a place of grandeur and refinement. A world of crystal chandeliers and champagne fountains. Those days are long over, just like their love. Was it the lifestyle that saddened her, or his devilish smile? Maybe it was his ice-blue eyes that could invade one’s soul. She was one of the brave few to look into them so innocently. Not realizing that he was stealing her heart with only a glance.
She was way beneath his class, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered for he knew he would have her. She was a poor girl and someone he could create to be the perfect wife, mother, and, most importantly, lover. He had dated so many others of privilege, but they all came across as fake. He wanted something real, someone as real and genuine as him.
The truth was, he was not the suave and debonair man that everyone thought he was. He just worked hard and created what he thought everyone would want. Created a character in a world where he didn’t belong. He had been a homeless boy who panhandled his way through life. He would use just what he needed to live and then hide the rest. It had been survival that turned into a job. He watched the people as he begged. He saw how they looked down at him; how they pitied him. What they didn’t know was he was watching them. Watching how they acted toward each other. Their manners and even their diction.
When he was thirteen, he realized he had enough money to put in the bank. He couldn’t risk losing all that he worked for. So, with tattered clothes, he walked into the town bank. A glorious palace of wealth, brass was everywhere. The brass gleamed like gold, and he thought there was a faint aroma of money in the air; inspecting the location further, he saw the big mahogany desks. Well-dressed men sat behind them talking on the phone or with a patron.
“May I help you?” A smartly dressed woman asked.
He removed his cap and bowed his head slightly. Almost too frightened to look into her violet eyes, he had never seen such enchanting eyes in all of his young life. His words got stuck in his throat when he tried to speak.
“I can’t help you unless you tell me what you need, son.”
Son, a word he couldn’t remember hearing. His mom had called him that when he was a little boy. She’d ruffle his hair as she made dinner and tell him how proud she was of him. As she took her last breath, she uttered these words to him. “I love you, my son.” Those words would rattle around in his head as this stranger tapped her foot.
“If you don’t have a reason to be here, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She said it tersely.
He didn’t have a chance to respond as the doors busted open and little did he know his salvation had arrived. A hail of gunfire filled the air. He was in a bank robbery. The woman who was discussing what he wanted was gone, and he was left standing there alone. Gripping his hat in his hand, the only thing he feared was losing his money. The money he had worked so hard for.
“Everyone on the ground. This is a robbery.” The guy in pinstripes didn’t need to explain, it appeared that everyone was aware of what was happening. The main robber headed toward the tellers. He left the other patrons alone.
While everyone lay on the floor, he didn’t bother. He had faced adversity all his life. These men wouldn’t hurt a kid. He knew in his gut that these guys at their core were a lot like him. They were fighters and knew his struggle. Mr. Pinstripe spotted him and grabbed his shoulder. “Where ya going, kid?” Mr. Pinstripe asked as he pointed a gun in his face.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
“Where’s your folks?”
“Don’t have any, sir?” He responded, looking at the ground.
Mr. Pinstripe leaned closer and whispered. “You do now.”
Mr. Pinstripe heard the complaints from his minions, but none of it mattered, for he saw himself in the teenager. He knew what he could become and wanted to give him the life he never had. He would become a world-class man with the help of Mr. Pinstripe and never have to beg again.
© 2015 copyright D.M. Needom all rights reserved.