alone

I walked out the door yesterday and waltzed straight into Narnia. Complete with last year's fawn nibbling ivy in the snow just off my front porch. It wasn't until later that I thought perhaps I had seen Tieran. I saw him everywhere, actually. First in the stubborn little fawn that has been eating alone in my yard for the past three days-well into dark snowy nights- and soon after in a baby duck.

I pulled over at the little bench by the lake in our neighborhood to sip something warm and see if the lake was freezing. I was first laughing, and then fretting over a little duckling either too sick or stubborn or silly to join his family. (I say "his," though I suppose it could have been a girl. Since it was a Tieran-duck, though, we'll say "he." )Anyway, here is this tiny adorable little guy, in the middle of this rather big lake, just flailing around. I have seen many a duck fight and play and be silly there, so I was laughing at first. Then I noticed Mama duck. She was not laughing. She was sternly calling him from the bank. His siblings were quietly tucked away behind her, and throwing out an ocassional squawk. Pretty soon, both mama and baby were hysterical, I'm not kidding. She's waddling back and forth on the bank, and he's just splashing in circles. I'm thinking, is this too early for baby ducks? is it freezing? (my biology's not that great!)

Then I'm really concerned. I'm trying to see if he's hurt, if he's stuck on something, or if maybe she's in some kind of trouble. This goes on for a few moments, and she goes in. The obedient siblings hold their ground as mama goes off for the stray duckling. I can't tell what goes on when she gets there, due to the splashing. Eventually, she heads back to the bank, and he is quieter now. Still he stays in the middle of the lake. I have never seen an attachment-disordered duck, and maybe he was just messin around, but I'll tell you what, that mama was working hard. It was probably only a minute or two, and her persistence paid off. Little-wild-one worked his way back to the shore where they all settled into the grass quietly.

Sometime in between the morning fawn and the evening duckling, I met an interesting young girl out front our local library. She was sitting on the curb in the falling snow slathered in black, with no coat. I was bundled and prepared for igloo-life, and jokingly asked her where her hat/gloves/scarf/mittens and coat were. She just laughed and shrugged. I went to the door and dropped off my books, as the library was closed for the day due to weather. As I walked back, I asked her if she had a ride coming. She looked down at her feet. I couldn't help but stop, and ask again. She says, "sort of," and I take a seat next to her. She goes on to tell me that she had her mom drop her off at the library with the intention of walking to the bus stop and secretly meeting with an unaproved-of boyfriend. Alas, she realized there were no buses, boyfriends or libraries to speak of today. So she was waiting the 2.5 hours for her mom to pick her up, in front of a closed library in a dark snowy parking lot with a sort of embarrased stoicism, and no coat. I said I remembered the days of thinking mom-doesn't-know much, and told her some day she would reconsider. I asked her jokingly if that was why she didn't have a coat on either, and her eyes flashed with surprise. "you can tell that by looking?" she cried!

I was a stubborn child. Ask my mother. I'm sure there were times I left my coat home to prove a point. Or wandered off in the dark when it was too cold or too late. I guarentee you there were times I went someplace different than I said I was going, or met someone I wasn't supposed to. I maybe even splashed around like a lunatic while my mom squawked from the shore, but I cannot for the life of me figure out how this little 4 year old boy is in a strange place.... a month now... and not needing me.

Not only not needing me, but raging at the thought of me. He has hung up, or forced us to hang up on him nearly every night since Dec 12 when we left him there. He does not ask for us. He does not cry for us. He has no security blanket, no special animal. He does not read the runaway bunny or mama do you love me books I painstakingly copied into his scrapbook for him. He does not look through the pictures of our family and reminisce or wish for those better times. He does not need the lullabyes I sang and recorded to a c.d. for him. He did not cry for his first or second mommies, so I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. He learned not to cry. He learned to kick and hit and spit and threaten instead. Which is about all he does now.

Though I should be glad for the break, it is mostly just wrecking me. When he yells that he hates me, I can't reach through the phone and scoop him up. I can't say, "oh hun, I'm sorry to hear you say that, cause I sure do love you!" I can't swim out and stop the flailing. I can splash out into the middle of that icy lake, but he won't follow me to safety. I can come to the other side of the fence and scold him for staying too late and too close to danger in the neighbor's snowy ivy-covered lawn, but he will just stay there for spite. I've less mother-power than the doe and the duck, I can't mother him. He won't let me. And I've no idea what else to do.