What Happened Yesterday…

“Mrs. Antonetti? This is…from Paul’s school.” He’d run away from the bus at dismissal, racing behind the school and seen on the camera taking a left onto Summit Drive at 2:15. Fourteen minutes before I’m called, I knew the roads. Summit exited to a four lane intersection for the longest busiest street in the city. Our church and prior school was across the street and the police station and train tracks. We sometimes stopped at the Wawa a block away, and there was a huge overpass bridge that overlooked the train tracks.

“I’ll be right over.”

She told me they called the police. I called my husband and started marshalling my things. The student looked at me, “I know you’re upset, but you need to stay calm. Being upset won’t help him.” she said. Privately I thought, “Kid, I just found out my Down Syndrome child is lost…give me a moment to freak.” but mustered a tight, “Thank you.”

My co-worker asked what she could do. “Pray.” I answered, and bolted for the door.

Driving over, I called home to let my oldest daughter know, and ask her to alert all of the family. I called my sister and left a message. I called my brother, no answer. I texted at the light to the sibling chat and left it at that. I called the head of my department. She said, “I’m coming.”  Another friend also came and the two women sat with me and held my hand.

Arriving at the school, I saw my son’s teachers, multiple students, and the principal and two cops plus a detective. The questions began. My phone began blowing up with texts. “Can we send a release?” they asked. The teacher had taken a photo of him that day so we knew what he was wearing. “Yes, everywhere, all places,” until he’s found.  I called the parish office and spoke to the assistant pastor. He went out and told the school and school community.

Meanwhile, my daughter at home was posting on Instagram, Ring, and sending out texts to extended family who were likewise posting on social media. Her sister’s friends had spotted him one place. I told her, blast it everywhere and authorized the post for the local online paper and asked about radio. Amber alerts are done on the state level, but the detective has to call it. So no Amber –meanwhile, my friends arrived. They took me for a walk around the school. More questions. Does he have a fascination with water?  “Drowning. They’re thinking about finding him dead, drowned a pond –at the park next door.” I thought.

“No, but he knows how to swim.”  That wasn’t what happened.  I pushed the thought away.   My friend told me, “There’s only one way this story can end.”  She said it several times.  I nodded, and hoped, wanted to know, that would be true.  My heart couldn’t bear otherwise.  I think Joseph and Mary must have said similar things to each other.

The teachers told me the Cross Country Coach had his team running and looking. Kids had stopped their practice to look. Meanwhile my daughter was coming home on the metro, one train ahead of her dad. She’d left play practice. He’d left work. My second son drove from Baltimore. My third son’s girlfriend drove him to Gaithersburg to meet me at the High School. It was his twenty-second birthday.

My daughter left College Park and an event she’d helped schedule and drove home. The two daughters at college without rides, plastered social media and contacted their friends still in Gaithersburg, to rally still more people. People were walking neighborhoods, criss crossing streets. A coworker spent four hours driving Olde Town, looking for him.

Meanwhile, my daughter got off the train and crumbled while waiting for pick up.

She broke down sitting at the bus stop, sobbing about her brother. Two gentlemen nearby, both very obviously high, one over forty and in a wheelchair and the other, a twenty-something sporting multiple piercings and a wolf cut, offered her a cigarette because “it would take the edge off.” She told them no thank you but felt grateful she’d been seen. They proceed to have a discussion about how, “If this is the last day of your life, then what you do today has ultimate consequences.” An elderly woman asked my daughter if she was safe and okay. She nodded yes, “Just having the worst day of my life ever.” she added. The woman told her, “You are loved. Just remember that.” and went on her way. Her dad arrived and they began driving all over the neighborhoods.

The Ring Community found footage, though one man announced he wouldn’t check his ring and was blasted by the larger community for his indifference. The cops went to the neighborhood. So did my husband and a daughter and a son (three different cars). His brother rang every doorbell, asking.

By now, the cops were still looking, but needed to answer other calls. It was four-thirty. He’d been gone for two hours plus. Sightings near a McDonald’s and on a ring camera two miles away left us worrying.

I insisted, “He’s trying to get home. He has some idea, so he’ll follow the bus route if he’s walking.” But I speculated, he’d gotten on the bus because of the distance he’d managed in such a short time. The bus would have been free and easy to get on to go to McDonald’s, and the walk from there to where he’d been spotted, not an impossible one. Paul is smart in some ways, but not wise. He’d be a creature of comfort, but in for a game, for fun, or novelty.

Restaurants like McDonald’s, Popeyes, the CVS, the Music Store, these would attract his attention. I rattled off every place I could think of, that he might go. It was a beautiful spring day, so the parks might be enticing, especially if there were dogs or other kids. The detective gave me all the information for the case. I signed off on the media post. I didn’t look. “Just get it out.” I said.

An hour later, when I really read it, they’d misspelled our last name and didn’t put that he had Down Syndrome or was non-verbal. I asked that they fix it. They did. The cops went to patrol and answer other calls. I knew the teachers were staying. It was five. My friends decided I shouldn’t drive.  So one drove me home in my car, and the other followed to bring her back to her car.  I stared at the streets as we took the back roads, straining at every soul I saw, barely containing myself from rolling down the window to scream to the world, “Help me find my son!”

My children weren’t restrained. My daughter walked from our neighborhood to the park two miles way to look for him. The kids there knew Paul. They stopped their game, got on their bikes and went searching. My oldest stopped at every place he could find. He spoke to two homeless encampments which already had the social media post and were spreading the word, “This kid is mostly non verbal.” and a street walker told him, she’d call the cops for his brother if she found him.

On Tik-Tok, a person who made videos of abandoned places, went to the abandoned mall near the McDonald’s and checked inside to see if he was there. The Safeway, Giant, WingStop, Ledo’s Pizza, CVS and 7-ll on the roads that led to our house were notified. By police, by teachers, by students, by strangers, by my children, the city of Gaithersburg was scouring for my son.

Once home, I answered texts, reposted the corrected information and called the 24-7 news. I worried. A tornado watch was issued for the county. The sky was growing dark. It began to rain, and lightning flashed. I broke. I sobbed. My daughter heard me scream. It was a deep howl that felt like it might go on forever. The clouds darkened, the wind and rain stiffened and more lightning.  My howl felt unbearable and I began bargaining with God, begging.  “Please.”  was about all I could think.  Then I remembered my student’s advice. Now it seemed sound. Though I admitted to myself, “When is the time to lose it and panic, if not when your heart feels like it might be lost forever?” I’d begged God. I’d promised Saint Anthony I’d never ask him for another set of keys, socks, shoes, patience, anything, if he’d just help us find my son.  The storm passed quickly, and with it, my terror.

My daughter in the basement had heard me howl and let her siblings know. She brought me a diet coke. (She knew I’d given up caffeine for Lent). “Not today.” she answered. “And make sure you eat something.” I wasn’t sure what I’d eat. I managed one Reese Peanutbutter cup.  We got a ping from the Rings mentioning 7-ll and Manhattan Pizza. By now, I needed to go out again, to be looking. I told her I’d go.

My childrens’ social media likewise blew up.  Paul’s picture was plastered everywhere.  A friend of my daughter who isn’t religious, lit a candle in a church in Paraquay for his safe return.  My roommate from college called me and sent to our college reunion group chat.  Another friend posted it in my hometown, and high school page.   My brothers and sister shared it, as did at least fifty of my friends and mother’s friends.

My daughter asked what we should do.  “Keep looking.” was all I could think.   I asked her to call some more people before I left.

I drove to the 7-ll and ran into his teacher. By now it was 7 o’clock. I also ran into a friend of mine, who had organized all she knew and they were hunting for him. She’d picked up snacks in case she found him. It was seven o’clock. Five hours. The sky was dark. It had rained. It had thundered. Now it was clear but we all knew, the hours were getting precious. Getting more dangerous. “Where should I go next?” my friend asked.

I suggested Saint John Newman’s church, just up the street. We went there sometimes for mass and in the dark, the light would attract, and his best friend went there, so he might go for that reason too, if tired while trying to get home.

“While you’re there, say a prayer.” I said. She nodded. The teacher also wanted marching orders, and I said to check with this Safeway, and the Wingstop. I was checking the footage from the 7-11. A mother and daughter walked into the store and I asked them to look. The mom seemed at first uninterested, but I explained. “He’s got Down Syndrome. He’s been gone for five hours.” Her face softened. She said she’d be on the watch.

A man reeking of weed overheard and held the door for the 7-11 open for me. “I saw that on social media.” he said. “I’ll let everyone I know, know.” I thanked him. The clerks let me look through the footage. I promised to buy whatever he ate if they fed him if they saw him. They told me, “It would be on the house.” Leaving the 7-11, I googled Manhattan Pizza but the cops called to say they were going there already.

I figured, I’d try the long winding street to his best friend’s house, following the bus route but the phone rang again. My friend hadn’t yet left to go to Saint John’s.

It was the police. He was found at 250 Rockville Metro Station. The paramedics were checking him over. I screamed out the window to my friend. “Spread the word, Spread the word! Spread the word!” “He is found found found found found found found!” I posted. Right now, I needed the world that had spread out everywhere to find him, to know just as quickly, “He is found!”

We all marshalled back at the house, though my husband and son, and second son and his girlfriend drove straight to the metro stop. It meant he’d been on the bus or the train or both. He was dry, he held a bag with an expensive meal –a fancy hot dog and a boxed piece of cake from a restaurant called “Boquaria.” from Dupont Circle seven metro steps away. He’d been given it by someone.  Or maybe he took the train, we don’t know.

I spoke to my son over the phone. “How was your day?” He said, “Long.”

Hanging up, I shouted out to the parking lot, to everyone. “He’s Found!!!” and the mother and daughter who were outside the 7-11 sharing some candy and soda, started dancing.

I can never say thank you enough –to God, or the whole community, who stopped what they were doing, to look for my son.  Now I know the joyful mystery ending of that Joyful Mystery.  I bet Joseph and Mary danced too.