Be Still My Heart

Seriously.
Be still.
It happened hours ago, but my heart is still pounding at the thought of the “What if?”s.

I was outside chatting with Ian and his buddy Johnny and then stepped inside to finish making dinner. It wasn’t five minutes later that I sent Mackenzie out to tell Ian to come in.

“Mom, Ian’s not out there,” she tells me about a minute later.

Certain that she didn’t look very well, Eric tells her to go back and look again. I give Eric a “Seriously? This is how you’re going to panic?” face and rush past Mackenzie to look for my boy.

Eric can’t help his lack of immediate concern. He hasn’t spent as much time as I have educating myself on the ills of the world with such prestigious teachers as Law and Order: SVU and Court TV. I know what evils go on in quiet neighborhoods like ours and I am intensely stricken with deep unease that Ian hasn’t come in yet.

I realize when I hit the sidewalk that I am barefoot. I decide that I have no time for shoes and start to half jog, half walk as I yell Ian’s name. His full name. All three names. The fact that he hasn’t come at this point has me quite worried and I yell back at Eric that he needs to get in the car and drive around the block.

I knock on Johnny’s door and his dad, also not as educated as I am, casually suggests that, “Boys are like that”, and offers to shield his eyes against the sun and peer out his only slightly ajar door to look for them.

I manage to heave a grim sigh as I head back to my place for shoes and the phone. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize with terror that something terrible has happened to my child.

I know that it is really bad because I have long known that my first nationally televised appearance is going to take place looking much like I looked just then: roots three months past due, stupid t-shirt with a hole in it, work out sweats that I don’t actually wear to work out, no make-up, bad skin, and front teeth that badly need to be revisited by my retainer.

Of course, when I picture my big debut, I am usually commenting on some huge tornado “that done near took the roof off my trailer!” or some other equally classy event.

With shoes on and phone in hand I return outside and to the front sidewalk where Johnny’s dad has now gone to actually join the hunt. The fact that he has gotten concerned elevates my concern.

I pick up the phone and dial Eric’s cell, fully intending to dial 9-1-1 if he doesn’t answer or if he’s had no luck.

“I got him,” he says as he answers on the fourth ring, wisely avoiding saying anything stupid like “Hello?”. He tells me that he has found Ian and a pack of older kids some two blocks away.

I have no emotional energy to play cool with Johnny’s dad, so I avoid neighborly pleasantries and head back inside to wait for my son to return. He had better feel really bad. If he walks in the door with a smile, it will be years before I can look at him again. Years.

Eric marches the little deviant straight to his room where a spanking is administered, as well as the loss of computer and bike privileges. Also, “you cannot go outside to play for one week. You have to stay in the house.”

Wait just one minute. He has to stay in the house? With me? For one whole week?

Just who’s in trouble here?

Ian sulks back to the table and solemnly eats his meal. He does a swell job of selling me on the idea that he feels all kinds of bad for breaking the rules. I almost start to feel bad for him.

Almost. The twirp.