NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Competition 2010

**2ND ROUND ENTRY**

Genre: Open Object: Pinball Machine Location: Junkyard Word limit: 1,000

SECOND LIFE

Synopsis: A grief stricken mother searches for her missing son.

If I had thought that sitting in the backseat of the police car would insulate me from useless words of comfort and empathetic glances, once again I was wrong.

“How much longer?” I asked.

The officer met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Just another five minutes or so.” His barely audible voice was as soft as the breeze that floated through the open windows. The long, silky lashes that flanked his pecan-colored eyes were better suited for a young child than a grown man. He seemed too young for the awfulness of his immediate task.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot your name.”

My ever-helpful husband sitting in the front seat turned to me and said, “It’s Caster, honey. Officer Caster.”

“Your memory is wonderfully selective.”

Sean’s brows flinched as though I had just flicked cold water onto his precious face. His dark skin turned pale; his face hardened. Watching him brought to mind the closing of an elevator door. He turned back around.

“Mrs. Garner?” Caster said my name like one of my shy fifth-grade students who’s afraid to ask me a question. “There are several volunteers already at the junkyard canvassing the area. There’s really no need for you to be there.” As though remembering my husband was sitting next to him he turned his eyes from the rear view mirror to Sean. “Either of you, really.”

I swallowed hard and looked at the dense trees passing outside the window. He could be anywhere by now. My son could be buried beneath six feet of dirt or sitting on a swing with a stranger pushing him high into the air. He could be breathless from a belt tied like a noose around his five-year old neck or he could be breathless from the exhilaration of running through a park with a kind stranger who feeds him strawberry ice cream for breakfast.

“I want to be there just in case they find --”

What? Ollie? His body? His remains? I couldn’t say the words any more than I could admit to myself that my son was dead after being missing for seven days. Without warning, my body tensed and a swell of emotion washed over me. A fresh round of tears pooled inside my eyes, clouding my vision. A singular drop slid down my bare face, then another. Within seconds, I was gasping for air as the full onslaught of tears poured out of me. Sean turned to me and placed his hand on the metal grate that separated us but it was no use. Although Ollie is – was? – his son too, I felt caged in this grief alone.

The police cruiser pulled off the highway and took a series of turns before stopping in the junkyard. Volunteers were just beginning to spread out into the massive yard of rusted cars, bicycles and household objects like washing machines and freezers. So many young people were out helping. It was a terrible way to spend a cool Saturday afternoon but I was selfishly grateful that they sacrificed their time for my little boy.

I cleaned my face with the sleeve of my jacket while Caster opened the door for me.

“Toni, Sean.” Williams, the lead detective on the case, approached. “We just finished briefing our volunteers. I don’t know if the tip we received is credible but hopefully we can find something fairly soon that will help us figure out what happened to Oliver.”

“We would’ve been here sooner if you had just called us,” Sean said. “We didn’t need Caster to come pick us up.”

I said, “If you had been at the day care center sooner we wouldn’t have to be here at all.”

“How many times are you going to remind me that this is my fault? You think you’re the only one hurting here?”

“Yes.”

His face cracked with emotion but still hadn’t crumbled. He shook his head and walked away. I wanted to apologize for hurting him but I couldn’t be sure that my apology would be completely sincere. This was, after all, his fault.

“What can I do to help?” I asked.

Detective Williams gave me simple instructions and told me to take my time as I searched carefully through the used metal. To my surprise the yard wasn’t just a massive landscape of debris but, instead, had been divided into multiple sections, allowing us to walk down dirt paths. How strange it was to walk through and touch the remnants of others’ lives. These heaps of scrap, once cherished possessions, were now tarnished, crumpled goods soon to be recycled for another chance at being made whole again.

A half hour into the search someone yelled for help. I stopped and watched volunteers drift to the area. My feet felt leaden, like cement blocks surrounded them instead of shoes. When I eventually made it to the area, I weaved my way through the crowd of twenty or so volunteers.

“Stand back,” Caster ordered.

From my distance I saw four men struggling to lift a cracked pinball machine. After much effort, they heaved it to the side.

I stood numb as I witnessed the unveiling of my baby boy. His beautiful brown body lay on the dirt. I went to him and removed my jacket to cover his nakedness. The detective made a call on his cell phone while Caster ordered the volunteers away.

I stayed there, touching my boy’s serene, unblemished face. I baptized his broken body with my unrelenting tears. Then I felt my husband’s hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find him awash in grief. Lightly, I kissed his familiar, comforting hand. We stood, clinging to each other in the middle of a vast land of used goods hopeful in the idea that Ollie – in his second life – would be made whole again.