Missing

Though I certainly have no shortage of irrational fears in regard to my children, the fear that I described yesterday actually has some basis in reality.

In 2003, on Diminutive One's first day of Kindergarten, for 45 agonizing minutes, his whereabouts were unknown.

It was the longest 45 minutes of my entire life.

The day started off well, despite my feelings of foreboding. Because of certain behavioral traits that are common to Spirited children, I had anticipated difficulty. School has never been his favorite thing. We started him in pre-school at three, because we knew it would take a good long time for him to acclimate to the classroom routine and learn how to transition from one activity to another. It's something he still struggles with.

But to my surprise, he was eager to be off. There were several reasons. There was the Thomas the Tank Engine backpack; all stiff and new and irresistibly cheery looking. There were the numerous new school supplies; brightly colored, newly sharpened, and boldly inscribed with his name.

And then there was the bus.

For some reason, that big lumbering yellow beast held some sort of strange appeal for him; probably because his brother had the privilege of riding it when he did not. Day after day he begged and pleaded to be allowed on the bus, long after it had departed.

When I told him he would be going to school with big brother this year, the very first thing out of his mouth was, "YAY! I get to ride the bus!"

He jumped up and down with glee.

I was less than thrilled by the prospect. He had turned five only one week prior to the first day of school and he was small for his age as well. He really looked closer to three than five. He would be riding the bus with kids from kindergarten to 5th grade and I didn't relish the idea of him being at the mercy of some hulking, slack-jawed fifth-grader who decided to make him a target.

But what you have to understand is that with a Spirited child, picking your battles is absolutely paramount. I knew if I chose to fight this particular battle, it would be a long, arduous and ultimately, losing one. I decided it was not the hill I wanted to die on.

After all, I would be right there to see him get on, his brother would be on the bus with him, and each afternoon he would be escorted by an aide to the door of the bus. What could go wrong?

What indeed.

When the first day of school came, he was up with the sun and could scarcely eat his breakfast. He had little patience for pictur taking but I did manage to snap a few. I wish I could show them to you. He was so damned cute. God made him extra cute so I wouldn't kill him. Seriously...ask anybody that has a Spirited kid. They are extraordinarily cute. It's a Darwin thing.

Anyway...the bus came and he got on, scarcely giving me a backward glance. I should have been happy, because it could have gone completely the other way. His first day of pre-school did not go as smoothly, and I was really anticipating a repeat of that debacle.

But my last chick had left the nest and I was a little wistful.

Until I got inside and realized that for the first time in 8 years, I was aloooooooooooooooooooneeeeeeee. It was a good day.

At 2:30 I went out to meet the bus. Pre-Pubescent One bounded off, laughing and chattering with his friends. I waited, looking for the towhead of my youngest son. It did not appear. The bus doors shushed shut and the bus started to pull away from the curb.

That was when I felt the first sinister stirrings of panic.

I banged on the doors and hollered "WAIT!!"

The bus stopped. I turned to Pre-Pubescent one and grasped him by the shoulders.

"WHERE is your BROTHER?" I asked.

He shrugged, looking bewildered.

"How could you let them leave without your BROTHER?!?"

He began to cry. All these yeas later, I still harbor a great deal of guilt over that. He was only 8 years old. It wasn't his responsibility or his fault. But in my rising panic, I projected the blame onto him.

The bus doors shushed open again and the bus driver looked at me with eyebrows raised inquiringly.

"WHERE is my youngest son? He's supposed to be on this bus. He's only five years old."

"Name?" he inquired, with what I found to be a distressing lack of concern.

"Diminutive One. Diminutive One Antagonist."

He turned laboriously in his seat and hollered,

"Diminutive One!! Diminutive One Antagonist! THIS is your stop. Your MOTHER is waiting!!"

The noise subsided a bit, and all the children looked around, but nobody responded to his call.

He shrugged and said "Sometimes the little ones fall asleep. You wanna go look?"

I climbed onto the bus and was instantly assailed by memories as odors assaulted me. Exhaust. Mildewed vinyl. Feet. Sweat. The rancid remains of a thousand sack lunches.

I scanned the aisles frantically. No tiny sleeping form curled upon a filthy seat. No golden head slumped against a dirty window. No Diminutive One.

And then the panic rose up full bore and punched me in the gut with fists of nauseating intensity. My baby was missing. That word echoed inside my head and I listened to it bouncing around with disbelief. Missing. How could that be?

I ran back to the front of the bus to confront the driver.

"You are supposed to have my son on this bus. He's only FIVE years old and he's missing!"

"Ma'am, this happens on the first day sometimes. Things are kinda crazy. He's probably on another bus. I'll radio in."

He was not unsympathetic, but it was a routine thing for him, misplaced kids. He did not share my sense of urgency.

"He's only five years old." I repeated.

I heard the accusation in my voice. I didn't care.

"Uhh, dispatch, this is xyz-678. We got a misplaced rider, name of Diminutive One Antagonist. He's five years old, blonde hair...what's he wearing?....wearing navy blue shorts, a maroon t-shirt with a soccer ball on it, carrying a Thomas the Tank Engine backpack."

"Lemme take these other kids home while they look for 'im. I'll stop on the way back out."

What? He expected me to just wait? How could I just stand there and WAIT while my son was missing?? It was inconceivable. But I had no choice. Of course, other people were wating for their children to arrive home safely. Already the bus was late. Already, they were worried.

I stood there at the bus stop and paced like a caged animal. And though I told myself not to jump to conclusions, it was simply no use. I couldn't keep the milk cartons out of my mind. And then I began to compose his physical description in my mind, trying not to succumb to hysteria.

In a moment of clarity, I realized I could be doing something while I was waiting, and I sent Pre-Pubescent One in the house for my cell phone. With shaking fingers I dialed the school.

"Everytown Elementary May I help you?"

"My son is missing. He's a student there and he didn't get off the bus today. He's only five years old."

"Who is his teacher Ma'am?"

"Miss Impossiblyyoung."

"And what is his name?"

"Diminutive One Antagonist."

"Let me buzz the classroom. Hold please."

I waited and waited and waited. It seemed like a thousand eternities. I scanned the horizon for the bus, impatient, afraid, sick with dread and worry.

"Ma'am? Miss Impossiblyyoung isn't in her classroom right now. She's probably out at car line."

"Well can you send somebody to find her? My FIVE year old child is MISSING and if he's not at the school, then I need to call the POLICE."

"Certainly. Let me take your name and number and call you back."

"No, I'll hold."

"Ma'am..."

"I'll HOLD."

Just then the bus pulled up.

"Alright, the bus is back, I'll call back in just a few minutes...Yes?" Did you find him?"

The bus driver looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than sitting in that seat, facing a distraught mother.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but no child matching his description is on any of the busses. Did you call the school?"

My heart sank. You hear that phrase a lot, don't you? Sinking heart. My heart sank. But just then, I understood exactly what that feels like. It literally felt as if my heart had liquefied in my chest and slithered into my bowels where it sat, churning with the explosive power of a mother's darkest fear.

"Yes, I did, thank you."

"I hope you find him."

And then he was gone. I stood there, in the street, looking at the child I had left, with his tear streaked face and his jaunty first day outfit.

"What're we gonna do, Mom?" he sobbed.

"We'll find him, honey. It's just a mix-up."

"It's all my f-f-faaaaulllllllt!!!" he wailed.

"No, baby. No it's not. I just said that because I was scared. It's NOT your fault, okay?"

I called the school back.

"Hello, you have reached Everytown Elementary school. Our office is now closed. If you know the party you are trying to reach, you may dial that extension now. If you need to speak to an Administrator, please call back between the hours of 7:30 am, and 3:30 pm."

What the FUCK?? I tried dialing 0, nothing. I tried a random extension number, hoping someone would pick up...Extension not valid. SHIT!

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!!!" I yelled, startling Pre-Pubescent One, who started to cry again. I grabbed him and hugged him hard, murmuring apologies and assurances. I wished I had someone to do that for me.

Now what? Do I call the police? No, they'll just ask if we've searched the school for him. What do I do? What do I do? Sit and wait? Screw that. We jumped in the van and headed up to the school.

When we arrived the front door was locked, but the office is located adjacent to the main entrance, so I simply banged on it until someone came. The woman who came to the door had a disapproving look on her face. She opened the door a crack and haughtily informed me that they do not admit any non-personnel after 3:30.

"I just called up here. My son is missing? My FIVE YEAR OLD son? I tried to call back but the switchboard is closed. I need to come in RIGHT NOW to look for him. Otherwise, I have no recourse but to call the police."

Her attitude changed immediately, whether because of my threat or out of genuine concern, I didn't know, didn't care.

"Oh yes! Of course! Come in. We haven't been able to locate Miss Impossiblyyoung, yet. She had carline duty, so she's supposed to have a walkie talkie, but she's not responding to our calls. We were just about to page her over the PA system, but I'll try her classroom one more time."

She went to the console and picked up the mike.

"Miss Impossiblyyoung?"

There was a very pregnant pause. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was holding my breath.

Finally, a reply.

"Yes?"

"Do you by any chance have Diminutive One Antagonist with you?"

"Oh, yes! I do! I was just about to call his mother to let her know I made a mistake and didn't put him on the bus."

I felt my knees go weak, and my vision blurred. I would have fainted, I think, if it hadn't been for Pre-Pubescent One standing there, holding my hand. I couldn't let him see me fall apart. I began to breathe again, and slowly the roiling blackness faded away.

"Thank you. I'll go get him."

When we got to the classroom, he was seated at a low table, coloring contentedly. I resisted the urge to swoop down upon him and crush him to my breast. He had no idea he had been missing. There was no point in scaring him.

"Hi Mommy! You forgot to come get me!"

Suddenly, the fear was replaced by a white hot anger. I did NOT forget. WOULD not forget. I had filled out all the transportation forms meticulously. I had listed everything just as it was supposed to be, checking and double checking bus and route numbers. He was even wearing a bus shaped sticker that said, "Today I am a BUS rider."

Miss Impossiblyyoung looked up from her desk and instantly turned a deep scarlet. She rose and hurried over to me. Her words came out in a rush.

"Oh Mrs. Antagonist, I am SO sorry...I don't know how it happened but somehow he got in the car rider line and I couldn't leave all those kids, and I couldn't get my walkie talkie to work and by the time I got all the car riders loaded the busses were all gone and I know you must have been so worried...I was looking for his contact information when the office buzzed me. I really am so, so, so, sorry!!!"

I was so angry with her. I wanted to shake her, shout at her, demand to know if she had any idea how TERRIFIED I had been. But her face was so stricken...she obviously was very sorry, and she looked as if she might have been about to cry herself.

So instead I said,

"I think I'm going to throw up."

I put my head between my knees and took some slow deep breaths. Slowly, very slowly, my heart stopped racing, the blood stopped roaring in my ears, my stomach stopped heaving, and the shaking in my limbs subsided.

He was safe. He was safe. Safe.

"Well..." she said timidly, "I know it's not much consolation, but we've actually had some time to get to know one another, and I think that's a good thing."

I took another couple of deep breaths, considering. And I decided that berating her would serve no good purpose. It had been a harrowing afternoon for both of us.

"I suppose there is a bright side then, isn't there? If there can be a bright side to nearly losing your mind with fear, that is. No harm done."

She got the point. And she was obviously relieved that I wasn't going to demand her head on a platter.

I collected my child and his cheerfully grinning backpack and we left. I couldn't stop looking at him in the rearview mirror as we drove home. He chatted with his brother, who told him with gleeful horror, that he had been the center of quite a lot of fuss.

Pre-Pubescent One leaned over and whispered "Mom said 'bullshit' really loud. She yelled at the bus driver. She yelled at me too."

Diminutive One was terribly nonplussed by the whole thing. And the next day, he got on the bus as if there was never any question about the matter.

And I let him.

To this day I don't know how I found the courage to let the bus pull away from the curb with my children inside. And I don't think I took an easy breath the entire day.

As I waited for him to get off the bus, I almost couldn't bear it. Then suddenly his sun kissed little head appeared and all was well.

He said simply "I'm fine, Mommy."

And he was. And that was that.

But five years later, those forty five minutes still have the power to compel me.

A navy blue newsboy cap,
a gray fleece jacket,
dark blue baggy jeans,...