Where is She?

It was the first very relaxed Saturday in a long time. I wasn't hosting or teaching any knitting classes. Greg didn't have to work. There were no birthday parties. A rare quiet day at home for Rhianna and her parents. Until it was too quiet and then it wasn't quiet at all.

I was upstairs watching a video when Greg came up and told me that he couldn't find Rhianna. For a moment, I didn't make much of it. Until i realized he was panicked. He had been outside with her much of the afternoon. I had seen her at 4:30 when she came in to hold a visiting friend's baby. Then again later when she told me that she was going to scooter with the 4 kids who were outside playing next door. Barbara's grandchildren. I could see them from the window. I don't know what time that was. It was about 6 when Greg made his announcement. He told me he had fallen asleep on the sofa while reading and when he awoke he didn't know where she was.

I went next door to see if she had gone into Barbara's house. Barbara reported that she had for a moment, but had then left. I then walked around the corner to our neighbor's house to see if Rhianna had gone there. No. As I walked back toward our house, Greg was at the back of the yard looking over the retaining wall to see if she had fallen. Then he pulled out his cell phone and called the police.

He had panicked. I wasn't there, yet, but police cars arriving on the scene can pull you there pretty quickly. As they start to ask us questions they are giving us looks. "What is she wearing?" "She's wearing a pink bathing suit with a sweater. The bottom looks like a skirt." "She's wearing a bathing suit?" "It looks like a skirt. She loves the thing." "It's not that warm out." "It's over 60 and she never gets cold and she was relishing in the sunshine." "She's outside in a swimsuit?" "It looks like a skirt. And she's wearing a sweater over it."

"Have you searched the house?" "Yes, we've both searched the house." "Search it again. Look in cupboards, under sofas, in closets." "Okay, we'll look again."

"Where might she go?" "She has a friend around the corner. But they're not home. We looked in the house. She's not there." "Go look again. Look in the attic. Look in the basement. Look in the closets." "But they're not home and all the lights are out." "Go look."

"Where else might she go? To a store?" "No. She's 9. She doesn't have any money and has yet to show interest in having money or going to a store."

"Has she gone off on her own before?" "A couple of times when she was 4 or 5, but not in the past few years." "Where would she go?" "We don't know, since she doesn't do that." "Search the house again."

Okay. I'm through the first wave of panic and tuning in. They're just keeping us busy. And they're sussing us out. "Does she have any disabilities, such as neurological or emotional?" " Is she a happy child? Any reason she would run away?"

Then it becomes more direct. At least 10 cars are on the scene now. I must say, they are responsive and I'm glad for that. When Greg first told me he was calling I was worried we'd get the "if she hasn't been missing for such and such days we can't helpy you" line. Quite the opposite. They were here in force, sweeping the neighborhood. I've never seen so many police vehicles in one place. When one of the officers arrives on the scene he makes a beeline for me and quite forcefully asks, "What kind of strife is there in the household? I need you to be honest with me?" And I'm thinking, "Why wouldn't I be honest with you? Why do you feel the need to impress that upon me?" "Well, she's a pretty happy child but we're not the usual household. Her father and I are not a couple." "You mean you sleep in different bedroom?" "Yes." "Excuse me while I take this call..." He never comes back to talk to me again.

It's a legion of them and I get this weird vibe off them. They are here to help us, but also here to assess us. Actually, they're not here to help us. They're here to help our daughter. We don't even know what's happened yet, but we're already on some kind of potential suspect list. Sort of. They're civil, but there's a wall.

And I feel helpless. Where is she? It's dark. It's getting colder. If she's outside now, she's got to be getting cold. As one of the officers asks me yet again to search the house, Greg says to him, "I'm already thinking the worst." I snap, "Don't do that!" I'm stifling any thoughts of menace. I can't go there. I need to be able to think. I start talking to more neighbors. I'm ready to go door to door. I walk around the corner and knock on a door where we know there is a girl Rhianna has wanted to befriend. No, she's not there. And as I'm talking to the man who answers awful thoughts are going through my head. "Well, how would I know if he's lying to me?" I can't stomach that kind of twisted suspicion. I walk back to our house as Greg is handing them a photo. It's over a year old and I go sit at my computer to search for a newer photo.

I can't focus. I'm not sure what I'm looking at. I don't know what to do or what to think or how to manage any of this. It's a huge amount of energy. I don't where Greg is. As I'm wallowing in this lost state, fighting back the tears that have been sitting just behind the surface ever since the first police car arrived, I think hear, "Is it her?"

I walk outside and all eyes are focused toward the end of the road. I ask, "Did you find her?" Someone responds, "She's over there."

She standing at the corner. My little ragamuffin in pink. One of the police officers is talking to her. She looks stunned. I have no idea what's happened. I make my way to her and she says, "I'm sorry mom." I don't actually know what to say. I'm so relieved to see her and I don't understand, yet, where she's been and I'm standing with about 20 police officers around us. What was she doing? Where was she? All I want to do is get her home.  I can't sort this out with her on the sidewalk surrounded by flashing police cars.

It was a very intense hour and a half. Wondering where she was, staving off horrible thoughts. Wondering how many hours can you honestly stave that off. When is there only a bad probability? But for now, you're solely focusing on finding her and getting her home. Getting her home safe was the end result in my mind. Then it would be over. We would figure out what happened and process it.

But it wasn't over. I walked back outside because all the police officers were still there. I'm informed that Rhianna has to be examined by an EMT. Then the officer who seemed to be in charge in the beginning began saying, "I don't mean to criticize your parenting..." When someone opens with that my ears shut off and my perceptory senses kick in. He thinks we're bad parents. We're suspect.

I go back in. Suddenly, two plainclothes inspectors are in our house. Followed by a group of 3 or 4 uniforms. I have Rhianna in my lap. I'm still trying to understand the chain of events and calm her and myself. She has to go into her room with the EMTs (two men, which I thought was odd. I would think they would send a woman when a girl child is to be examined...)

One of the inspectors is sussing out our dog. "How old is she? About 10?" "Why, yes, exactly 10." "I can tell because she's so relaxed. Doesn't mind all these people coming in." "Yes, she's a very laid back dog." She starts talking to the dog as though she's animal friendly and savvy and then says, "Don't be thinking about dinner." I realize that she means, "Don't bite me." I chuckle and say, "This dog has never come close to biting anyone." "Well, they do have teeth."

These people are trained at appearing confident and as confidantes when they're really assessing threat potential. They're so inculcated with that energy that can't actually connect at a real level. It's strange. The questions all evening have been partly about gleaning info that could help sort out the possible whereabouts of our child, but equally about investigating us.

I hear the edge of a conversation Greg is having with one of the officers. "You said you were taking a nap." "I said I fell asleep." "We're required by law to report it."

After they leave, Greg tells me that they have filed an "Abuse or Neglect Report" on us. We are to be investigated by Social Services.

I'm glad they take these things seriously. Wish anyone had taken anything seriously when I was a child. Still, it means that we can't just process this as a family and move on. We're to be put under a magnifying glass. And now we'll be in the system. I don't trust bureaucratic systems. Social services don't exactly have a reputation for being flawless. So, now, beyond the stress of having experienced this overwhelming bit of drama this evening, we've the added stress of "what will Social Services think of us?"

So, where was she? She had gone over to a house where she knew there were kids. She was watching TV with them. She had seen the kids from that house earlier in the day and they had invited her over. She hadn't gone over then because she was playing with Barbara's grandchildren. But when the grandchildren were going in for dinner, she walked over and knocked on her new friends' door. She was just going to make new friends. (Ok,well, we'll have to look into the TV thing, because she doesn't watch TV at home. Some videos, but no live TV. Wonder what they were watching over there?)Poor little thing went over to make new friends and came out to a world of armageddon.

I've said "hello" to the people in that house before. I've mentioned trying to get to know them. They are from another country, with thick accents, and that can  make it challening to find a way to communicate and connect comfortably. But it's not a barrier for me. I've lived in other countries. I've been the foreigner. Still, we don't know their names. We've never spent any time with them. I didn't know Rhianna even knew them. Rhianna's a little taken aback. She was very subdued after the all the people left. A lot of apologies. Hopefully, she learned a valuable lesson.

Me? I'm exhausted. And numb. And self-recriminating. And worried. And checking on her in her room every 20 minutes.