Lost and Found

It’s Clerical Day. School is not in session, but teachers come in to catch up on paperwork. Without children to animate the place, the atmosphere is lifeless, but also free of the dramas that punctuate most any school day. Peace and quiet will reign, and I look forward to the uninterrupted solitude of report cards. 

Coffee in hand, on the way to my room, I see two boys coming down the hall. They're young, maybe first graders. Since we don't have students today, these little guys must be from P.S. 198, the school that shares the building with us. Looking anxious, they hurry toward me.

“Have you seen Jacob?” asks one. “Jacob?” I ask apologetically. “Yeah, you know, Jacob!" says the other." I've exhausted his patience. "He's in our class." "Hmm, sorry, I—what does he look like?  "Like this." Using his pointer and middle fingers, the first boy pulls his eyebrows up toward his hairline and waits, frozen, while I study the mask of surprise. "Is he a kid or a grownup?" My question deserves the reprimand. "He's a kid!" snaps the second boy as his friend blinks and twitches his facial muscles back to normal. "I don't think I've seen him." In unison, their faces fall.

The consultation a failure, we retreat to silence and our own thoughts. The boys look down at their shoes, brows furrowed. They seem older than their years. What are they thinking? Conjuring fearsome scenarios of what may have happened to their friend, maybe despairing of ever finding him? Or pondering the misfortune of having been stuck with such a useless grownup and contemplating an escape? I scan the hall, willing Jacob to materialize.

The silence feels long. “What should I tell Jacob if I find him?” “Tell him his mom’s over there,” says the first boy, no longer making eye contact as he points in the general direction of the P.S. 198 office on the other side of the building. I peer intently. “Ah, okay. If I see someone and he says his name is Jacob, I’ll tell him to go to the...” "Hey, look!" interrupts the second boy with a triumphant shout, "It's Jacob!" 

Strolling down the hall, unaware of the drama swirling around him, comes the man of the hour. “Jacob! Where were you?" The boys run over and grab his arms; he won't get away this time. Their greetings tumble over each other, "We were looking everywhere!” “Your mom’s in the office!” Too confused to respond, Jacob allows himself to be pulled along, looking from boy to boy until he is deposited in front of me. I observe his eyebrows. Remarkable.  “Hey, here you are—lost and found!” I chime in jovially. 

But I am no longer of interest to the boys, only a stranger. The three walk off down the hall poking and punching. I look after them, forgotten.