All in a day's work: TIME FLIES TOO SLOWLY

My coffee is almost cold. For me that means undrinkable. From the window over the kitchen sink, I see my little Margy, the youngest of my four children, slowly walking to the curb to wait for the yellow school bus. Her sister and two brothers leave before Margy as she is only in kindergarten. I take one more quick glance and my daughter is gone. The cup rinsing can wait. There had been no sound of her bus stopping. Like an enraged mad man I rush outside, yelling as I do, ‘Margy, Margy, where are you, Honey?’  There is no answer, no Margy.

 

‘Paul, did Margy’s bus come early today?’ I ask. ‘No Ma’am. I think it’s coming now. I’m not going to school today. My Mom made a dentist’s appointment for me. I saw Margery but then she just disappeared. I figured you came out and drove her to school.’ Well, I didn’t and she is gone!’ There is nothing left for me to ask Paul. From my slack pocket I pull out my cell and hit 911.

 

It takes ten minutes for a police car to pull up. I don’t give the driver a chance to ask me anything and just blurt out, ‘My daughter is missing. I think she has been kidnaped.  Help me!’ ‘How old is she. When did she disappear? What was she wearing?’ The questions come out like bullets, my answers are concise and clear. ‘Margy is advanced for her five years. She selects her own clothes. I think she wore cotton shorts that have a white line on the side. And she loves her blue knit shirt that has yellow circles. That’s what she wore plus white toeless shoes. Officer, don’t move. I’ll be right out. I have a new picture of my daughter on the table near the door. It won’t take me 2 minutes to get it for you.’

 

‘Ms. Goldfine, I can’t tell you not to worry, but can tell you we will find your little girl. There is no way to control my tears as I explain how well I have taught her. Don’t get in anyone’s car. Don’t take candy or a little puppy from a stranger. Run away fast if a man stops his car near you.’ By then my voice is cracked, trembling. My knees buckle suddenly when I see Margy’s red drawing pencil lying in a gutter puddle. I start to pick it up but am stopped abruptly. ‘Don’t touch it, Ma’am.’ Officer Forney tears off a piece of his notebook and removes the pencil with it, then drops them both in a plastic bag. Visions of Law and Order terrify me. Has my baby been raped, murdered?

 

Police car two arrives. As they step out of their car, two bright, shiny badges glare in the sunlight. Officer Forney brings them up to date on the little he knows. Together they go house by house asking questions, taking names, notes. Several neighbors are still in their night wear, some dressed ready for work. They stand on my lawn in near silence. They have nothing of value to add.

 

I am smacked in the head by a missing thought and fly indoors, dial Ben. How could I have forgotten to let him know? I jump right in. ‘Ben, Ben, Margy is missing. The police are here. Come right home.’ I say nothing else and hang up.

 

I pant, feel woozy, rush outside and sit down on the brick stairs to watch the policemen when they come out from each house. Each time I detect a sad shrug, a nodding ‘no’, hands raised furtively. Officer Forney asks me to get in his car to cruise the area and then go to the  station house to make a formal statement. He’s kind enough to lend me his phone to call Ben back to tell him I have locked the door and he should meet me at Station 12 on Calvert St.

 

Will I live that long or die of fright right here in the police car? Gruesome pictures from detective shows pepper my brain. I can do nothing but depend on these men. It isn’t enough. My baby is gone.

Ben is beside me. We hold each other close. He thinks I don’t see his tears, but I do. A female lieutenant brings me a large manilla envelope that has fifty copies of Margy’s new picture. ‘Start putting these up on trees, poles, any way you can. The faster the better,’ she says and adds  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find her.’ I tell the desk we are going home and plead with them to keep in touch with us often.

 

Ben and I hardly speak on the way home. He is distracted enough with worry as he drives. It is almost two and Margy’s bus should be stopping in front of our house, but it goes right past. We are one block from our place and I scream, ‘Ben, look, there she is!’ My yell startles him so much he jams on the brakes and I bang my head on the windshield, barely feel it. He pulls in too far from the curb. It doesn’t matter. We are out of the car as if our seats were on fire. Running to Margy, our arms fly towards her. She looks upset. ‘Where were you, Mommy? The door is locked and I can’t get in.’

 

Hysterics enfold me. ‘First tell me where you were. Why weren’t you on your bus? Daddy, I and the police have been searching for you all day.’
I give her no chance to answer as I grab her close and hold on for dear life. Suddenly my mood changes and I am angry enough to want to smack her, but don’t. ‘How did you disappear so fast that neither Paul or I saw you go? You knew I was coming out in a minute to kiss you so long.’ Ben added, ‘Answer Mommy. Where were you? How did you get to school?’ We scared her enough so all she could do was say, ‘I’m sorry.’

 

When at last we were all fairly calm she told us. Her friend, Josie, the one with the long brown curls, hurt her ankle yesterday and her father was driving her to school. He stopped and took her too. That was so much nicer than going on the bus. ‘Mommy, I thanked him and gave him a little hug. Was that okay?’ Maybe my answer was wrong but I told her it was not okay. ‘You should have come in the house and told me you were going. Got it?

 

I showed her the big envelope of photos the police gave us to put on trees. Little Margy smiled and said, ‘Cool, Mom. Can I give them out to my best friends?’ ‘Take all you want, Darling. Dad and I are so happy we don’t have to hang them outside.’

 

‘Ben, I’m notifying Officer Forney that Margy is safe.’ Maybe my thanks were melodramatic to him but I could tell he much preferred this than the alternative. As I was about to hang up, I heard him whisper, ‘Thank god.’