fright

I had a fright. An awful fright. It was worse than a fright really, more like a nightmare except with a happy ending. Much relief.

Under a sandy mop of curls is a little girl with a curious heart. She loves a good adventure, often at the expense of her mother. She is mine. I am that mother.

It is March. The time of year when we groan for the ground to shed it's wintery coat and coax the life to spring forth again. What a surprise then, a welcome surprise, to find ourselves in a burst of summer. Bare feet dance in the warm grass beside bulbs that grow an inch an hour. I laugh to think that the bulbs might wonder if they overslept, working quickly to make up for lost time, looking around to see if they are the last ones up. Breathing a sigh of relief to discover that they aren't.

We took a walk, the three of us, down to the park. A ride on the swing and she's off to climb and slide and socialize. And then we were off, to find adventures on a local nature path. On the way home we passed by some neighbors, kindly folk, and they invited us up and in their home. Much visiting later, I took Evie's hand and we headed home leaving Andy behind to listen err, chat some more.

Two blocks down and we were home. We dream of a big old farmhouse with trees and grass and quiet, but for now our home is a tiny little rambler on a busy corner. The lawn chair is mine, it's my post. I carefully watch those dark eyes and dancing feet, a curious heart begs them to find adventure beyond the protection of our little yard.

She chatted with the neighbor boys through the chainlink fence. They responded. Confident that they were engaging enough to keep her close, I stepped inside for a just a minute or two. When I returned, the yard was empty. I called for her but silence answered me. For a girl who cannot grasp the rules of play for hide and seek, she does well at the impromptu versions...like in a store or into some mischief in our house. She makes herself scarce when she chooses. I looked some more, calling her name first sweetly then pleadingly until an edge of panic settled in. I ran, looking more closely in places where danger may have kept her quiet. In the shed, under the cars, over to the neighbors. They had left the back yard and hadn't seen her. Panic washed over me. I shouted her name, dreaming all sorts of horrible things about where she could be and wondering if I would never see her again. When do you call the police, I wondered. So I screamed. Screamed her name at the top of my lungs.

From across the street came help, a neighbor. I described Evie's outfit. Dark brown tank-top, dark blue capris, pink tennis shoes. She ran down the street calling out for her. I ran the other way. From a distance I could see them. Andy, coming my way, and in his arms a small little girl in a dark brown shirt.

She had made record time in her two block run, crossing two streets in the journey. Andy had been kneeling on the ground receiving a tutorial on automotive struts when a curly haired girl appeared beside him with a cheery greeting, "Hi daddy!"  "Where is mommy?" he asked her, wondering at my absence. "At home," she cheerily replied. Leaving class early, he scooped her up and headed home.

Much relief.

I held her in my arms, buried my face in her sandy mop and breathed her in.