In the summer of my tenth year, kids went missing. Kids went missing all the time but it seemed it was in the news a lot. There were movies made. Milk cartons had missing children on them. Even the small milk cartons at school had missing children on them.
My mother had a habit of dropping me off at classes and then driving off. One day she dropped me off at gymnastics and then sped off. When class ended she wasn’t there. All the other mothers were there. I always had to wait on my mother. I sat on the steps of the YMCA and waited. Girls waved good bye. Mothers inquired about my ride.
“My mom will be here shortly,” I said. I really didn’t know when my mother would show up.
The YMCA was next to a park and I went there and sat on the swing. I kicked my shoe in the sand and waited. A car on the street slowed down and then entered the parking lot that separated the YMCA and the park. The car parked and the man in it stared at me. He was wearing an Air Force uniform. I can’t remember his face. I felt fear. Would I go missing? He opened his car door as my mom pulled up. I rushed past his car and got in my mom’s car.
“Why are you always late?” I asked.
“Oh, shut up,” my mother said. “Just shut your mouth.”
I wondered if that man was going to kidnap me. I looked at my mother and thought I wanted to be kidnapped. Anything to take me away from her. That’s why I remembered that moment. It was not that I was afraid of being taken but that I wanted to be taken.