Where's My Baby?
By: Meghan
Authors little note: Hi. This is from the point of view of Jake's mother.
I looked at the clock. It chimed one. Where was he? What if-
No Nikki, I told myself, Jake's fine.
My husband reached over and patted me hand. He knew I was worried. The phone rang. Brrrrring! My heart leaped. Jake!
"Hello?" my husband answered.
He looked surprised.
"Hello… Naomi. Rachel? No, she's not- Jake's not either. Oh, okay bye."
He walked back over to me.
"That was Naomi, Rachel isn't home. She was wondering if she was over here."
"Well, maybe they're together," I said. Maybe. The tow of them would be better than one. Jake was tough boy, But, we lived near a tough neighborhood. He might be there. Someone might had pulled up and-
I squeezed my eyes shut. Jake was fine. I prayed to the lord my son would be home soon.
"What if he's be kidnapped or killed or-" I began frantically. I usually have a cool head.
"Honey, don't worry, I'm sure Jake's okay."
"But, maybe… if Rachel and Jake are together, they might be okay."
"That's right," he said, trying desperately to comfort me. It sounded more like he was assuring himself.
"Wow. Midget still not home?" I looked up to see Tom, my oldest son.
"What are you doing up Tom?" asked my husband.
"I came down to see if Jake was back yet."
"Get some sleep Tom. Tomorrow may be Saturday, but with all that work you've been doing with the Sharing, you need your sleep. We'll wait up for Jake."
Tom nodded. And walked back upstairs.
Then a thought hit me. My worries postponed, but didn't vanish. I got angry. Maybe he just didn't want to call. My anger cooled. No, I wouldn't be angry. Jake wouldn't do that,
"What if he's been out partying?" asked my husband.
"Jake?"
"Well, what if he's out drinking?"
"We trust Jake."
"I know we do, but what if he's out with his friends and he didn't even call us?"
"Sweetheart. I trust Jake. Let's not jump to conclusions. Be rational, honey."
"I know." He sighed.
One thirty. He still wasn't home.
"I'm really worried. Should we call the police?"
"I think that's a good idea."
My husband picked up the phone…
The police sent out a search. Tom came down. He waited with us.
"I'll stay with you both."
Two weeks ago, the town passed a law. It was a curfew. Anyone under 18 on the streets after midnight without an adult would spend the night in the juvenile detention center.
It was an hour past the curfew. I sure hoped that wasn't where Jake was. It would be hard to imagine that.
"They have a curfew, what if Jake gets arrested or something?" asked Tom.
"No, he's not," I said, defiantly.
"Maybe not."
I looked at the clock. Tears stung my eyes. Where was my baby? Where was my baby?
A knock came on the door around one fifty. Then door bell rang. Another knock. My heart soared. Maybe…
My husband and I walked over to the door.
I turned the knob.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. _?" It was a police officer. Officer Duanaway. She was a tall black woman. She had a very assured way of talking. I knew when she said it was so, she meant it.
Oh, no. I could just imagine them telling me he was dead. I could just hear it.
"Mrs. _? We've found Jake."
"Jake?" my husband said.
"Yes. Behind the alley on North street and Fifth Avenue. He was alone, by himself. Normally on a case like this, we'd let him spend a night in juvenile, but-" She looked at both of us. "I thought this was something you can handle yourselves."
I looked behind her at the flashing light in the cop car. There was Jake. He was wearing his blue bicycle shorts, and a tight muscle shirt. I wondered where he had been. My relief was replaced by indignant anger.
Where had he been. He walked up the walkway. He looked miserable.
He walked in. My husband and I were sitting at the table.
My husband jumped up.
"Jake where have you been!?" he roared "Where have you been?"
Jake pursed his lips. "At, uh, Rachel's."
"Jake, your aunt, Naomi just called to say that Rachel wasn't home."
"I'll go upstairs." Tom left.
"Jake, where have you been?" His voice was severer.
"I was at …Marco's?"
"Jake, you're in so much trouble, young man."
"Your mother was worried to death!"
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
"I needed to get over to Marco's."
"Try again," I said. "You'll be here. In this house. Because you're grounded for a month."
"No TV. No computer."
"I'm sorry," he said, meekly.
"Sorry isn't going to do. You come in here at two in the morning and your sorry?"
"Dad, look, I was with…"
"I don't care, Jake. We trusted you. And look at what you've done. I'm so surprised."
"Look," he said, raising his voice a little, "I'm sorry, okay? I wish I could tell you that more. But I can't."
"Go to your room Jake. NOW!" my husband said.
He began to walk up to his room.
"Jake?" He stopped and winced. "Yeah?"
"I love you, Jake," I said. "I love you a lot. And one question: why are you dressed like that?"
His face looked blank.
Later I lie in bed awake.
What was wrong with Jake? Did he hate us?
I was so worried. My little boy had changed. I-I didn't even know him anymore.
"Honey? Are you awake?"
"Yeah," I replied, "I'm awake."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm worried about Jake. I wonder doesn't he love us anymore?"
"Of course he does."
"It doesn't seem that way anymore."
My husband went to sleep. I lie in bed. Tears streamed down my face.
Where was my baby? Where was my baby?