Central Virginia, 1981, I rode shotgun-once-removed. JD sat in the front passenger seat due to his status as the driver’s roommate, I tucked in behind him for our three-hour trip. Scott drove us home for winter break. Scott, or Checks as we called him based on his propensity to bounce them, only stuck around that one year. He fell into a serious relationship his first week of college. It ended abruptly in early Spring when his girlfriend left him for the guy in the next dorm room. Scott broke down in a spectacular fashion. He drank into blackouts, smashed furniture and his closet doors, and wandered our dormitory floor in his bathrobe screaming for Mary to show her “whoring face.”
But this was only Christmastime, and Scott was still relatively sane. I sat lonely in the backseat, unable to hear the conversation above the blaring stereo. I stared out the side window assessing the rundown businesses and the drivers in the cars we passed. As we neared Charlottsville, I saw a Cadillac preparing to make a right turn two lanes over. A couple in their seventies, gray, stooped and wrinkled, sat in the front seat. A young man sat behind them, his arms propped up on the bench seat before him. He held a gun.
This was more than a decade before I would own my first cell phone. I doubted my eyes even though I knew I saw an abduction. Unsure what was true, unsure what I would say if I even found a police officer, I said nothing. Not to JD and Scott, not to the cashier at the McDonalds we stopped at a short time later. Not even to my parents when I got home. This might be the first time I’ve ever brought it up.
~ ~ ~
On Sunday, Susan and I made the nine-hour trek home after visiting Sophie in Burlington, Vermont. The weather was beautiful, traffic was light, and we made it home on one tank of gas. A smooth trip. I shouldn’t complain, but, man, nine hours! It’s a rough drive even in the best conditions.
When we hit New York, every thirty miles or so, we saw an electronic sign reading Amber Alert – Call 511 for Info. After more than two hours of this, I turned to Susan and asked “Do you think these signs do any good?” I envisioned bored travelers being told by a recording to keep an eye out for a silver sedan or a black SUV or some other generic car description that someone might see every ninety seconds if they’re paying attention.
It seemed unlikely that someone would dial 511 and then see the car in question, assuming anyone even got a look at the car when the abduction occurred. Later that evening, I googled Amber Alerts. In the twenty-seven years since the program’s inception, 1,127 children have been rescued as a result of the Amber Alert system, an average of forty-two kids a year. Forty-two of the two hundred thousand children abducted annually. I started to wonder if it’s even worth it. But as a parent, I know when it’s your kid who’s rescued, of course it’s worth it.
It wasn’t until Monday morning I learned that a nine-year-old girl was snatched off her bike in a New York state park. This hit home. My kids rode their bikes alone around our block when they were nine. When I was a kid, my bicycle meant freedom. As soon as I could ride, I had free reign over my neighborhood. So long as I didn’t cross Greentree Road, I could go anywhere I wanted. As I stepped out the front door, I could just catch my mother’s trailing voice. “Have fun, be home by dinner.” Did children even get abducted in the sixties?
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the chaos of the morning bus stop in front of my house. This morning, the bus stop was in full action as I left for work. Eight or more kids played on bikes and scooters. Moms and dads rocked younger siblings in strollers and circled close to talk. The guy who drives his son to the bus stop every morning always opens his hatchback and sits on the tailgate. He’s an older dad, almost my age. He gave me a knowing wave when he saw me leaving my house.
After I drove off, I realized I forgot my coffee. I headed back home on a different road imagining the silent gibes I’d endure as I popped back into my house to grab my cup. That’s when I saw her. A tiny girl, five years old? Certainly not more than that. Five is when kids start taking the bus in my neighborhood. She looked more like an oversized doll than a child. Her long blonde hair and frilly dress reminiscent of the doll collection my mother-in-law creepily organized in her attic. The girl leaned against a stop sign on a street corner, no one in sight in any direction. She was so small, you could pluck her off her feet with one hand without breaking stride.
I almost stopped to grill her: Where do you live? Are your parents home? Are you the only kid who comes to this bus stop? Like the parents in front of my house, I always accompanied my kids to the bus stop. First because I felt they needed an adult present, and later because I liked to hang out with them. This girl, I thought, shouldn’t place herself predictably and alone on a quiet street corner daily.
Now my question is what do I do about it? Do I embroil myself in the next national debate over whether a school age kid should walk to the bus stop alone? The easiest thing for me to do is nothing. Nothing like I did forty-two years ago in Charlottesville, Virginia. Nothing because she’s not my kid and her parents have already determined what’s right for their child—just like I did when I let my kids ride their bikes around the block. Or do I seek out her parents and let them know my concern? I’m hesitant to even approach this girl standing by herself to find out where she lives. The best outcome I see is an argument and an admonishment to stay in my lane. If I let my mind run wild, the other scenarios I imagine involve violence.
What would you do?
The Other Stuff 
Maybe she lives down the lane and her parents can watch her from their house. I could do with my son. So just my thought! Anyway amber alert maybe for the local PD to be on alert more than the other car drivers.
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I hadn’t thought that someone might be watching her (someone good, I mean). For all I know, she’s standing in her own front yard.
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We could see our son from our house. So we let him be independent and never went to the bus stop other than the first and last day of school. I hope that is the case with that young girl.
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I would watch her from my car until the bus came. Somehow along the way, I began feeling a responsibility for every child who comes into my space. Most of the time, it’s simply a smile to a toddler passing in a stroller. Or saying hello to kids in the elevator. I want them to know the world is friendly. And safe.
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ganga1996 suggested that a parent might be watching her from inside a nearby house. Now I’m sure I’m not going to walk up and talk with her. My wife knows where pretty much everyone in the neighborhood lives. I’m going to put her on the case.
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Ug, I would feel like you. I would just want to say something. Tough one though.
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Yes, hard to decide what to do. Knowing myself, I’ll settle on ‘nothing’. Some other comments have proved heartening though.
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I’d be worried for her safety, too, Jeff. If you know the parents personally, I think it would appropriate to raise your concerns.
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I have no idea where she lives. We’ve had a huge turnover in our neighborhood recently. The first owners are all moving away or moving on. I honestly can’t keep up with the new faces.
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I’d be less inclined to offer my opinion, then, but that’s just me.
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you were still in your car, right? so, definitely don’t pull-up next to her in the car and roll down the window (that just screams stranger danger!). on foot is better if you feel you need to assess the situation, but take susan with you if possible. i’d likely choose to watch from a distance to see if more kids or other parents showed up at the bus stop. if no one came after five minutes, i’d likely ask her if she missed her bus and did she have a way to contact her mom. i’d offer to call the school for her if she didn’t have a way to get in touch with her mom. i’d wait with her (again, at a distance) until someone came to get her.
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Right, all of this. I haven’t talked with Susan about it yet. She leaves a little earlier for work so she’d need to make a special effort to observe the situation. I’ll bring it up tomorrow morning.
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When I was a very young child in the 70s, I walked to school on my own. It was close to a mile walk. Cars would stop and offer me a ride and I always said no. I easily could’ve been a statistic.
Bad people doing bad things have always been around. Hopefully Susan knows this girl and parents or can meet them and get a feel for the situation.
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I suppose you’re right. The baddies have always been there. Now we have the internet to make sure everyone knows.
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Definitely put Susan on it, else you may come across like a creeper. Hopefully they can see her from their window. Hope Scott learned some coping skills, too. lol.
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I actually went and visited scott a couple of years later. He seemed good, but I only saw him for a few hours. And he wasn’t drunk OR kiting checks.
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Your thoughts remind me of my own uncertainties about how involved to become when one of our students shows signs of having a mental health issue. The university directs faculty members to keep an eye out for students with possible issues and to submit an alert so that someone can reach out and offer help if needed. Students often write about their personal issues in their assignments for my classes. Do I submit an alert? Do I honor their privacy? Could I save a life? Or am I being too invasive. It’s a dilemma.
Your thoughts also remind me to think about what I claim is important to me, and what may really be important. Am I as likely not get involved as many are, even in cases where lives may be in danger? Can I really do any good if I do get involved?
This is a deep and heavy subject, Jeff.
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I think a natural intimacy forms between a writer and a reader. My English composition professor was the only “adult” I felt comfortable talking with when I was having some problems in college. Yes, maybe a little heavy. I was actually planning a lighthearted piece about Amber Alerts until I saw that girl on the corner. I forgot to swing by to see if she was there along again today. Hopefully I’ll remember tomorrow.
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Today I’d probably not think twice about such a thing in Melbourne. But it probably won’t be long before the sight of a lone child at a bus stop gives me pause for thought.
Wild imagination delivers an angry parent telling me to mind my own business and maybe that’s why my inner chicken liked the comment about taking Susan with you to give them a stranger-danger talk.
Tell you what though, I reckon I would drive that way to work for a few days as part of some preliminary neighbourhood research. Moral obligation by proximity to a child who might be in grave danger: Hmmm.
~
Good work Mr Cann,
I’m pretty sure you’ve tilted the axis of my quaint world with this piece…
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Ugh. Not trying to tilt any axes. America just seems bristling with evil these days. Everyone hates half the country (the other half) so it’s hard not to assume there are monsters everywhere.
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