Lost and Found

A couple of weeks ago, Steve drove to Whole Foods, to pick up a few things.  Cherries, milk, cottage cheese. We left the apartment together. I had a yoga class and figured we’d both return home at the same time, around 11. When I got back upstairs, he wasn't there. I checked my ‘find my friends’ app and sure enough, he was still at Whole Foods. Except at noon, Steve still had not returned. My three phone calls had all gone to messages. 12:30, no Steve but the app still had him at Whole Foods. Or was he somewhere else?  Had he lost the phone? Where was the car? At 12:45, I called again, my last ditch effort before bringing in the troops. And miracle, he answered, flustered and annoyed because he’d just spent over an hour looking for the car.

“Should I cancel my mahjong game?” I faked a calm and centered tone.

“No, I’m fine. I'll be right home.” A bit gruff but not confused. He'd left the phone in the car and the car in the garage on a lower floor than he remembered.

But I wasn’t particularly fine, having spent the last hour imagining all kinds of disasters.  Which reminded me of a story I wrote around 20 years ago about an afternoon in 1978 when I was the mother of five young children.

Bits of Yellow and Pink

“Where’s Sarah?” I say as I screw the cap back on the glue bottle.  It’s four in the afternoon of a warm fall day.  Leaves cover the driveway, swirl under foot, tickle the kitchen window.  Halloween is in three weeks and I’ve spent this afternoon cutting, gluing, stapling and sewing costumes to fit imaginations and dreams. 

An old black and purple taffeta Purim cape is draped over the kitchen stool.  Leaning against the doorframe is a tiny broom trimmed in pink ribbon.  Bits of thread, cellophane, motley black fake fur, glitter, glue and sequins litter the floor and table.  I rub the gritty bits between my thumb and forefinger as I plan a menu of grilled cheese and soup so we can eat quickly and get back to work.

“I think she went for a bike ride,” Josh answers, seated on the floor sprinkling glitter into his rolled jean cuffs. 

“Well go get her so we can eat,” I say.  Josh gets up reluctantly spraying tiny particles on the tile floor.  I reach for the bread, cheese slices, butter, pan, pot and a can of chicken noodle soup.  Sweeping the debris from the counter onto the floor near Josh’s glitter pile, I wonder if the vacuum bag is full or ready to tackle this mess.

“I can’t find her.”  Josh flips on the TV and lands with his stomach flat to the floor.  Matt is curled into a ball reading, absorbed in words he has read before and will read again.  I turn off the fires on the stove and head for the front door, calling Sarah’s name as I move through the house, outside to the sidewalk, the corner, the back yard, the shed and finally the garage. As I comprehend the yellow bike is gone along with its driver, embers flare in my stomach.

“Matt, stay here.  Wait for Ben.  Becky’s napping.  Josh, come with me.  I can’t find Sarah.”

The fire licks my throat, making it difficult to breathe.  Josh does not argue or resist as he follows me to the garage.  We drive up the street to the playground searching for a yellow bike and pigtails tied in pink.  I think about the Stranger Danger Program at school and wonder if the morning kindergarten class was included.  The light gray sky deepens, flicking the switch for the streetlights.  Josh and I circle the block and drive past our house to the dead-end at the opposite corner.  I say to myself I will drive once down this street and then call the police.  The pounding in my head is explosive.  Tears lodge behind my eyes.  My body feels like a dam about to burst.  And then just ahead, I see yellow and pink emerging from the Anderson’s garage in the middle of the block and know my world has not been devastated but the dam breaks anyway. 

           

Sarah waves as she rides back to the house.  I turn the car around and drive slowly back to the house, up the driveway and park in the garage.  We arrive together.

“What's a matter, Mom?” Sarah asks as she hops off her bike and pushes the kickstand into place.

“What were you doing at the Anderson’s?  No one knew where you’d gone.  I was worried about you,” I say in my all business angry voice.  Josh flings himself up the garage steps into the house and disappears.

“Sorry.  Nancy’s visiting her grandma and was playing hopscotch.  She said I should put the bike in her garage so it can be safe.  She gave me a cookie.”  Now we are both crying. 

“Next time call me.  That’s all.  I need to know you are safe.”  We sniffle, wrap arms around each other and take deep breaths.  “Your costume is ready for a try on.  You’re going to be a great witch.”  Sarah races ahead and is examining her broom by the time I reach the kitchen. 

Sarah, 1979