Not Funny at All

Strong hands took hold of Jacob’s internal organs and kneaded them like dough as the world vanished and time stood still. The hoped for response had not even formed on his wife’s lips let alone been spoken to fill the empty glass of uncertainty. Janelle and he stared at each other briefly, then began to call their son’s name as their eyes frantically explored the surroundings. The internal assault on Jacob intensified; accompanied with cotton mouthed fear.

‘James? James?’

Was his voice too loud? Too soft? Would James recognize it? Would it tear through the ambient noise of the busy department store? Would it reach its desperate fingers into his boy’s ears? Was he all right? Somebody turn that damned music off! The shouting match between calm, hopeful reason and terrifying doubt raged in his mind as he moved. Each step anxious. Each breath choking with frightened exertion. Each moment passing in slow motion and high speed simultaneously: his senses awash with panic.

‘James? Where are you?’

Some sensitive shoppers had latched on to the drama and enthusiastically joined the search for the boy they did not know as Janelle attacked Jacob, ‘I thought you were watching him. I’m the one looking at clothes. You’re supposed to watch James. He’s only three. What were you doing?’

His wife’s tears glistened on her cheeks under the fluorescent lights, leaving Jacob speechless.

‘Do something, ‘ she ordered with an unnatural rasp in her voice. ‘Tell someone. Find him. What are you standing there for?’

Her anger was understandable, and powerful enough to emotionally castrate him. She expected him to share the problem in order to solve it but that wasn’t Jacob’s style. He was a fixer.

‘What the hell do you expect me to do?’ he asked, hoping he sounded righteously offended. ‘I’m looking. People are looking. We’ll find him.’

‘Go and get them to make an announcement, ‘ Janelle insisted.

All that was rational inside Jacob agreed with his wife but the personal attack had wounded him, and the blood was making the floor too slippery for him to move forward. She was right but he was too proud; pathetic pride preventing him from mustering every possible means of assistance. Nothing else should have mattered then. Nothing. Yet Jacob baulked at submitting himself and his parenting skills to the scrutiny of others. He knew what they would think. He’d had the very same thoughts whenever he heard those announcements.

When finally he smashed through his selfish torpor, Jacob rushed to the service counter where he thought he delivered a reasonable and comprehensible account of what had happened. He was still blinking mutely at the customer service officer when she politely asked him to take a deep breath and speak slowly. Having delivered his message, Jacob slunk away to resume the search.

‘Good afternoon shoppers. We have a little boy lost. Last seen in the ladies clothing section of Target wearing blue jeans and a red shirt with blue cuffs and a picture of dinosaur on the front. He’s three years old and his name is James.’

Janelle grabbed his arm and screamed at him. ‘Where is he, Jacob? Where’s my son?’

Jacob reddened as he wondered what people were thinking. Bloody irresponsible parents, can’t look after their children. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. Probably ducked outside for a smoke and left the kid to amuse himself for a bit. Undeserved, unfair remarks, cutting and judgmental and yet, he had lost his son.

‘Stop thinking about yourself and keep looking,’ commanded Janelle as she brushed by him on yet another fruitless exploration of the racks and stalls filling the space between the narrow aisles. Pregnant with winter fashion, they could easily have concealed a small child but they had already looked everywhere, hadn’t they? Jacob decided to be more thorough so he lowered himself to the carpeted floor and searched. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He wasn’t a bad father. He was no worse or better than most of the other first time fathers bumbling their way through the on-the-job, no manual supplied training. He loved James. He’d kill himself if anything happened to him. Rising from the floor, Jacob watched mental montages of happy memories floating. James sleeping upright in the corner with a half eaten biscuit still in his chubby hand. James with chocolate sauce all over his face and hands after a successful incursion into the pantry. James laughing as he spun around with a bucket on his head. God where are you, son?

‘James? Where are you? James?’

Why wasn’t there some sort of magic in the pronouncement of his name which could summon him to instantly appear? Why couldn’t Jacob’s passionate, distressed love force James to materialize?

With no answers and still no sign of James, Jacob continued to crawl around on the floor. He looked at his watch but couldn’t remember when this nightmare had begun. He wiped sweat from his forehead. He tried to keep breathing. Tried not to lose hope.

This happened to other people. Other people lost their children in shopping centres, like the ones who left them locked in cars on sunny days and sent them to school with no lunch nor any money to buy some. Derelict fathers who wouldn’t give up a night at the pub to be at home with their families, who spent the last of the family’s money on a horse race and packet of cigarettes. Bad fathers like that lost their children through carelessness. Not him.

‘James?’ called Jacob, aware now of his hoarse and frantic tone. ‘Where are you, son? If you’re hiding, you can come out now.’

Jacob pushed himself up off the floor and spun around to land in a forlorn seating position. He stared at the carpet, defeated, studying the individual grey fibres: searching for solace. When he looked up, James was there in front of him. Smiling.

‘Why on the floor daddy?’

Relief exploded over Jacob’s head and showered him with a kaleidoscope of emotion. As he tried to speak, James moved towards him but was interrupted by Janelle who rushed from nowhere and hugged him so tightly, Jacob feared she would crush him. She squeezed, and Jacob joined the embrace while James squirmed and laughed.

In a minute Jacob would chastise James and warn him to never do that again. He would tell him how frightened and worried he and Janelle were, and force him to understand what he had done. In a minute he would say the words, but for now he could not let go of his son: did not want to let go. And as James continued to laugh and enjoy the big hug from his parents, Jacob said the words to himself in a tear soaked whisper, ‘It’s not funny James. Not funny at all.’