Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Slice of Life
My heart pounds when I see my Son #1's number is in the caller id.
"I need you to help me," he says.
My mind immediately goes to a dark place. We have been here before. I suspect that he is high and wants money.
"What do you need?"
"I can't find my car"
"You can't find your car?" I repeat stupidly, trying to shake the sleep from my foggy head. "Where are you?"
"I'm downtown. Eighteenth and Market. I just got off work and I can't find my car. Will you help me?"
I mentally map out my options.
I could just leave him there. I could call him a cab. I could call the police and see if his car has been towed. Any of those would be appropriate, especially given our current situation.
But there's the Baltimore thing. Where a black man was severely injured while in police custody. and later died.
And then there's the gang stuff going on in Denver right now. There's a shooting almost every night.
I cannot bear to leave my son standing on a corner.
I cannot bear to imagine what might happen.
I am afraid.
And so I go.
Throw on my jeans at four in the morning and drive twenty minutes to downtown.
Find my son sitting down, leaning against a building.
Pull over and let him into the car.
Drive around for thirty minutes and finally find his car.
Discover that he really wasn't working, but was, instead out with friends.
Who left him somewhere.
And so he called me.
His worst enemy.
He called me.