the last TANGERINES before silence

Early Is On-Time; On-Time is Late; Late Is Unacceptable

Chapter 5

“Mom!” Buoy bellowed to his mother.  “Maahhhm......Mahma.....mama”, where are my rain boots?”

“Son, you don’t need rain-boots.  It’s going to be beautiful today.  Whether Channel said so and so did your dad” she called out to him, on her way to his room.  “Kids, twenty minutes.  We need to leave on time.” She was loud enough for the kids to hear her, through doors and over two hair dryers.  Her kids were well behaved but needed some help staying on track in the morning.  Mrs. Mason saw herself as a facilitator, a chauffeur and personal assistant to her children.  She was a progressive parent that enjoyed mentoring.  She wanted her children to see her as a life consultant.  The kids were allowed to make most of their own decisions and therefore they learned much more, and were more mature, more thoughtful and generally more well-behaved than kids with typical helicopter moms.

“My rain-boots are not for rain.  They have the frog eyes and I’m going to puddle jump, in the mud from yesterday!  The swings have a muddy spot, perfect for slopping around.  I’m going to pack my vans for class.  I want to wear my boots.” 

“Ok, Ok, Buoy, wear your boots or go barefoot, whatever. Just come on we gotta get going.  Don’t forget your checklist for the scavenger hunt and your math worksheets.” 

“Thank-you for reminding me about that math.  Might’ve left them. I’ll meet you in the van.” Buoy’s voice trailed off.  He was shoving the worksheets into his backpack.  They were wrinkly but his teacher shared his parent’s opinion about neatness and how it only mattered to people who consistently got wrong answers.  Concentrate on getting the correct answers and the neatness doesn’t matter. Buoy appreciated his attendence at the very liberal Queen City Day School.

Buoy’s regular teacher was sick so her student-teacher and a substitute were getting them lined up to go.  They each had a list, a sack, and money for a slice of pizza at Murphy’s.  A slice and a soda for a fiver.

Buoy was putting a white rock into his bag.  When he pulled his arm out of the sack his money snagged on his sleeve.  He dropped it and the wind caught it.  He yelled for them, “Wait, wait.” He tumbled after his money and into the legs of a strange man.  He was abducted by a man, a predator, who saw the opportunity and ran with it in his arms, literally in broad daylight. He got away with it, too. Despite the fact that the boy was screaming for his life.

Buoy was pushing his scavenger sheet list into his satchel and as he pulled his arm out his five dollar bill snagged on his rolled up shirt cuff.  The wind caught the wadded up note and Buoy chased it.  He nearly had it, when it blew into the street.  He knew not to chase it so he stood there curious about what would happen.  Perhaps he could ask a grown-up to get it for him.  It was his lunch money, he did need it.  Just then a gust of wind and exhaust from a truck blew the bill back in his direction.  Actually it went over his head and few feet down Addy St. toward a restaurant where important people were eating. 

He was abducted by a man pretending to be his angry father.  Buoy’s laughing face was all over the news for the next several days.  After I recovered from my fainting spell I hired a car to deliver me to police department.  I gave the driver a hundred dollar bill and instructed him to wait for me.  After telling the police what I saw I knew I’d be in no condition to walk or hail another car.  Telling them everything I could remember did nothing to help or assuage my guilt.  Buoy’s father was passing in the station when I arrived.  He stopped aimlessly passing to momentarily inspect me. He could have killed me and I could hardly blame him.  I watched, with jaded irritation as a stranger jerked his boy up and walked off with him in broad daylight in the middle of the city.  I let that happen.