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Christopher
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:54 pmLeaving the T at Davis at about 10AM this morning, I walked past the bus benches and saw a little boy sitting by himself, weeping silently. His eyes were huge and frightened. I turned back and leaned down, as reassuringly/non-threateningly as I knew how, given how little experience I have interacting/communicating with children. "Hello. Is there something wrong...?"
He let loose a sob and whispered "I want my mommy. Can't find my mommy." His beautiful ebony hands were clutching each other in despair. How many other adults had just passed right by him and not stopped? I leaned in, putting my hand softly on his thin little back.
"My name is Mary. I'm going to stay with you until we find your mommy. I won't leave you until we find her, I promise." I meant it. I would not have left him. I would have postponed the job interview I had later that day, so strong was my instinct to keep this child safe.
He nodded. He had some kind of printed Tyvek ID band on his wrist, not like hospital bands I've seen -- I don't know what it was, but first things first, I searched for and found his first name; Christopher.
I knew we had to get to the transit police, who were all downstairs. Christopher agreed to go. On our brief ride down the first escalator, I had just enough time to tell him about how I got lost in a department store long ago and couldn't find my mommy.
"When you were a little kid?"
"Yes. But a store lady found me, and she helped me find my mommy, just like we're going to find yours." We had just reached the bottom when we heard an enraged banshee shriek from upstairs.
"CREES-TOE-FER!"
I wish this wasn't how the story ended.
Christopher sprinted the length of the Up escalator to the sound of his mother screaming at him in a language I don't know, something Caribbean or Creole, maybe. I followed him back up the escalator and grazed the top just in time to see his mother finish her rant and turn her back on him and start walking away, harshly whipping a baby stroller and baby with her. She was leaving him behind (perhaps again), but stopped when I approached.
"Is this your son?"
"Yes."
"Christopher, is this mommy?"
He nodded, never taking his eyes off her.
There was nothing more I could do. It isn't illegal to scream at your traumatized, frightened child who has just been lost. Such is this sometimes awful world.
~
I hope someone tonight is being kind to Christopher. I hope someone gives him a hug, a smile, a warm dinner. I hope someone tucks him into bed and says "I love you." I hope he has a bed to be tucked into.
He let loose a sob and whispered "I want my mommy. Can't find my mommy." His beautiful ebony hands were clutching each other in despair. How many other adults had just passed right by him and not stopped? I leaned in, putting my hand softly on his thin little back.
"My name is Mary. I'm going to stay with you until we find your mommy. I won't leave you until we find her, I promise." I meant it. I would not have left him. I would have postponed the job interview I had later that day, so strong was my instinct to keep this child safe.
He nodded. He had some kind of printed Tyvek ID band on his wrist, not like hospital bands I've seen -- I don't know what it was, but first things first, I searched for and found his first name; Christopher.
I knew we had to get to the transit police, who were all downstairs. Christopher agreed to go. On our brief ride down the first escalator, I had just enough time to tell him about how I got lost in a department store long ago and couldn't find my mommy.
"When you were a little kid?"
"Yes. But a store lady found me, and she helped me find my mommy, just like we're going to find yours." We had just reached the bottom when we heard an enraged banshee shriek from upstairs.
"CREES-TOE-FER!"
I wish this wasn't how the story ended.
Christopher sprinted the length of the Up escalator to the sound of his mother screaming at him in a language I don't know, something Caribbean or Creole, maybe. I followed him back up the escalator and grazed the top just in time to see his mother finish her rant and turn her back on him and start walking away, harshly whipping a baby stroller and baby with her. She was leaving him behind (perhaps again), but stopped when I approached.
"Is this your son?"
"Yes."
"Christopher, is this mommy?"
He nodded, never taking his eyes off her.
There was nothing more I could do. It isn't illegal to scream at your traumatized, frightened child who has just been lost. Such is this sometimes awful world.
~
I hope someone tonight is being kind to Christopher. I hope someone gives him a hug, a smile, a warm dinner. I hope someone tucks him into bed and says "I love you." I hope he has a bed to be tucked into.