Whereabouts Unknown

First it was the playground, then it was the classroom, then the hallway and now finally here, the school administration’s office. All the other children in her second-grade class had been picked up by parents - the most eager ones came right at the bell, after-school treat in hand, eager to hear about their precious darlings’ mundane Wednesday learning cursive. The more lackadaisical ones (maybe Little William or Gemma was their third kid, the “bonus” / “mistake” child) floated in fifteen to twenty minutes after dismissal. After the half hour mark, the kids were shuttled back to the classroom, the dwindling herd of first through fifth graders who were still hanging around all clumped together. Around the 5:45pm mark, a second burst of parents, the working ones, burst in, scooping up their children alternately apologetically and warily, half-expecting to be chastised by the nonplussed teacher for daring to work and take care of a kid full-time. 

Taylor was never sure which group her mom would be - the first, second or third (and final) wave. She worked but it was full-time part-time - some weeks she’d be waiting tables at a restaurant and walking dogs on the side, other weeks she’d be taking cleaning and babysitting jobs at the upscale gated community not far from the more run-down set of single-family homes where they lived. Taylor loved when her mom was in the first group, but today had not turned out to be one of those days. 

She was sitting in the school administrator’s office, having been led there when the last of the kids had been picked up, 15 minutes after the 6:30pm cut-off time. It was 7pm now and the two remaining school administrators weren’t sure what to do with her. They’d tried calling her mom, but no answer. “Is there anyone else we can call for you?” they’d asked her. Taylor just shook her head. Her dad lived in another country now, her grandmother and grandfather passed away, no aunts or uncles. It was just her and her mom, which Taylor liked. All the movie outings, dinners at home, trips to the playground - always just the two of them. 

The school administrators were unsure what to do, but couldn’t in good conscience leave Taylor alone. They switched on the television, settled in to watch the local news headlines on the hour. “Breaking news: local woman reported missing. Last whereabouts unknown - please get in contact with the police if you have any information regarding the case.” The picture that flashed up on the TV screen to accompany the headline was the face Taylor saw smiling down at her in the morning, the face that sang her lullabies to sleep, that crinkled in laughter when she made a joke and in worry when she complained of sickness or aches. It was her mom’s face. Taylor looked down at her shoelaces and began to quietly cry.