waiting in the pickup line

I glanced down at my watch as I waited in the line of cars filled with other parents picking up their kids from school. Happy screams and squeals of laughter came from lots of kids with backpacks as they raced to each vehicle. Where was Sam? I told my 8-year-old that we had to leave right away today because Mommy had to get to a doctor’s appointment. It was 10 minutes past 3 p.m. I sighed and tapped the steering wheel, glancing throughout the parking lot and back to the school’s entrance to see if I saw him. No sign. I picked up my phone deciding to text him.

“Hi, honey, I’m waiting here for you outside in the car. Are you coming? Remember, we have to leave early. I have to go to the doctor.”

I hoped he would check his phone. I’d told him he needs to pay attention to it in case I text him, but I know how loud and busy the school hallways are after class is let out. And with all his friends and classmates around, I know it’s easy for him to forget. Another minute ticks by. I get slightly annoyed. We had talked about this several times this week. I even reminded him as I tucked him in for bed last night. But I forget what it's like to be 8-years-old. Remembering to leave school early because your Mom said so is probably not top of mind when all your friends want to do is hang out.

I considered parking the car to go look for him.

And out of the corner of my eyes I saw a group of men dressed in camouflage outside the school entrance. They all had masks over their faces. My heart flutters in my chest.

I barely catch my breath as I feel my body start to panic as my heartbeat quickens. I have to get Sam out of there. They are wearing police protective vests, but they don’t look like normal police to me.

I look in my rearview mirror and then in front of me to only realize I’m boxed in by two other cars waiting for their kids. I can’t move. There’s no getting out.

And then I saw the unthinkable. One of the masked men was bent over and had his hand on the shoulder of a small child with a green stocking cap. His hand seemed to be keeping the child in place, but I could see his brown eyes erupting in tears, his little body shaking.

Without thinking I got out of my car and stepped onto the curb. Where were the boy’s parents?

That’s when I heard his screaming tear through the noisy laughter and squeals.

“I want my Dad. I want my Dad.”

Before I had a chance to approach the men, they picked up the boy whose little hands tried to fight back, flailing in the air, but the camouflaged man’s grip was too tight around his waist. He hoisted the boy up and put him into an unmarked grey SUV.

I watched in horror. I tried to run toward the SUV, but got caught in the mass of children and other parents. All I could see was a small dark shadow in the back of the vehicle where the child sat.

Other parents, teachers and children were looking at each other with shocked faces, their voices rising, shouting almost.

I felt a tug at my pant leg. It was Sam – his blue eyes full of sparkle but with an inquisitiveness I didn’t recognize.

“Hi Mom. I saw you here. Why did they take Tommy? Those masked men? My friends were asking about it. I just saw it as I came out of school.”

I bent down to look Sam in the eyes wishing he didn’t see that, wishing I could hide him from it. I reached forward and pulled him to my chest into a deep hug, tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t have any answers.

I thought of the young boy in the vehicle, frightened.

I felt a huge pang of guilt that Sam was safe.

But that other boy wasn’t.

And I just stood there watching it happen.