The Lost B

Panic is a funny thing--well maybe not funny like Will Ferrell funny, but more like strange or peculiar in a discolored meat in the back of the fridge sort of funny. We have all experienced it in some form, a majority of the time it is based upon what our perception dictates to be a frantic situation. Many times, we panic for no good reason, but other times it is justified, rational and serious.
I remember my first day of my first college. That would be Georgia Tech back in June of 1987. I had been out of high school for about two weeks and it was my first time on my own. You know the drill--young, stupid, out to prove to the world that the admission guys hadn't completely been in the throws of a severe opium binge when they sent the "Congratulations, you have been admitted as a member of our 1991 Class" letter. High School was just a warmup, and you could turn on the old smarts whenever you felt like it and show them all that you were going to be a successful architect one day. What the hell did your parents know anyway? For the first time in your life, you were ready to take a serious approach to school and you were going to knock it out of the park. Everything was all set, class sign-up--check; backpack--check; course books--check; pens, pencils, notebooks, assorted supplies--check.
First Class--Freshman Composition ENG 1101 8AM Monday Morning--check. I was ready to take this thing on head first.
I woke up that Monday morning and looked casually at the alarm clock. Quarter past, plenty of time to get a shower, brush the old teeth, maybe even grab a cup of that coffee stuff that we college kids drank on the way to class. Walk down the hall to the bathroom, get into the shower and dry off. Head over to the sink, brushing the teeth and hair (lots of freaking hair still--damn you people) and just a quick glance at the old watch to see that it was twenty till. Wait a second, that can't be right, am I in a different time zone? Twenty till 10? How the hell can that be? 9 freaking forty! I am already an hour and forty minutes late to my very first class of my college career. Holy crap! (This is around the moment that the situation becomes abundantly clear and the rational need for panic kicks in) I run down the hallway to my room with all of my toiletries left behind in the communal bathroom, slam the door open, throw on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt I can find, grab some shoes and run out the door with my backpack in tow. I am running down the stairs now like a confused and trapped armadillo caught in the headlights of the oncoming Jetta. I know that I am about to get run over, but there is truly nothing I can do--which freaking way is the Lit department? I know that I walked this yesterday. Running across the quad toward the library and into some random building--this must be the one. Room 1042, 1042, 1042. Who the hell numbered this building, dammit? There it is--what time is it (complete knot in my stomach feeling like I just swallowed a gallon of Liquid Plumr). Get ready to open the door and look at the folder and note attached to the door. "Course Syllabus--Please Take One" What did this mean, scanning through the confusing jargon and jibberjabber, it started to become clear that class had actually been cancelled--Cancelled? Can they do that--just cancel a class. I went to Elementary School, several intermediate grades that might be construed as middle school or junior high in some areas, and high school, and I can't recall a single class just being cancelled--ever. There must be something more to it. Didn't they need to have a substitute, or didn't they need to keep us there until the bell rang? This was a very confusing realization, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to understand that I had dodged a bullet. Instead of starting off my college career by missing my very first day of class, I started off my college career by learning that you very well weren't going to miss anything by not attending class. I don't think that the true depth of this lesson sank in until college number 2. I don't believe that I ever attended a class in Gainesville on a day that there wasn't an exam (all right, maybe I showed up for a couple of reviews but that's it), but perhaps that took it a bit to the extreme.
I have found myself off topic again. Panic was the lesson that day. And in reality, even in all my cynicism, I don't think the lesson of that day was ever lost. I am never late. I hate being late to the point that I feel an absolute sense of panic set in even today if I feel like I am not going to be somewhere I am supposed to be at a particular time. I overslept one time for work, when I lived an hour away from my job and the entire ride over I felt completely ill (only to find the owner of the company waiting outside the restaurant when I arrived that day--nothing like that moment to reiterate our personal assurances of a true reason to panic). It doesn't matter if the person I am meeting is prone to be an hour late (Dan--that's you, by the way), I will be there on time.
Yesterday, Kim got a lesson in Panic when she lost B. Now those of you not familiar with B (or Bee, maybe Be--not really sure, but we'll spell it B for simplicity sake), may not have any concept of what I am speaking. B is Lauren's Blanket (blankie, blankey, binket--whatever) and she needs it every night when she goes to bed, every time she falls down and hurts herself, every time she gets upset about something, every time her brother is mean to her, every time she sits down on the couch, every time we go for a ride in the car, and pretty much most of the rest of the day as well. She has gotten a little less dependent upon B over the last several months, but life without B was not something that any of us (especially Kim and I) were ready to deal with.
Kim and Lauren were out running errands yesterday, first down to Target to get some new towels for our bathroom and then to Home Depot to replace our front blinds that Abby and Wilson had destroyed many months earlier. As they were leaving Home Depot, Kim realized that she did not have B. She calmly put the blinds into the van and looked through the van to see if it perhaps had gotten trapped under a seat or a floormat. Nothing. She looked around the cart to see if it had fallen to the bottom and then in the immediate vicinity. Nothing. The two of them raced back into the store, carefully backtracking their every step. Nothing. She came upon a salesperson and described the situation as calmly as she could, but she had seen nothing. She went to the next person, and then the next and then the next. Nothing. Down every aisle that they had walked, the two of them searched with a sales associate in tow. Glancing side to side up and down the shelves that Lauren could possibly reach--still nothing. The knot in her belly started to evolve, more and more nauseous, more and more fear crept in. Lauren did her best to remain calm, not realizing the gravity of the situation, but Kim could not control the absolute terror of life without B--the thought of Lauren trying to go to sleep that night without her B to snuggle with, the thought of that security blanket no longer available to remedy her saddest moments. Their search of Home Depot turned up nothing. Kim left her name and number with the manager there (kind of a creepy guy who keeps calling and asking Kim if they can go look for B together, maybe on Friday night, how's 7:00 work for you?, but at least he is concerned).
They got back into the van and Kim called information for the number for Target. She spoke to the manager telling her that somebody would probably throw the ratty thing away, because it looked like a tattered off-white piece of useless material. She said that she would keep an eye out for it and they raced back the 20 minutes to North Phoenix to Target. The Home Depot routine started again and they retraced their steps and walked every aisle and spoke to every associate. Kim looked through several trash bins, pulling out debris, trying to unearth the lost rag. The manager made an announcement over the loudspeaker and suddenly there was a mad search by 50 employees, desperately frantically searching for that ratty cotton cloth. Nothing. After 30 minutes, Kim again leaves her number with the manager, defeated, horrified, panicked.
She tries to comfort Lauren, takes her home for lunch, calls me at work, so that I can join in on the panicfest--realizing of course that I can do nothing, but would probably be blamed for not being there during the great B hunt 2006. The hours passed and the morning turned to late afternoon. Still nothing as Kim scrambled to think of something that she could do to make Lauren understand about loss, and realize that B was never coming home. I told her that she could use my old blankey that Gramma G had saved for 30-plus years only to give back to me a couple of years ago. I knew it wasn't the same, but she was going to need something. Kim said she would think about it, but held out hope that somehow it would all work out.
The pit in her stomach felt like it could never be filled again. The panic was in full bloom and as the hours continued to pass and we grew uncomfortably close to bedtime, the phone rang. The manager from Target was actually on the phone and told Kim that one of the associates had found a tattered white cloth and had thrown it away. It was now 4:00 and they had to wait until Hunter got off the bus. She swooped him up in the van and the three of them traversed rush hour traffic to return to Target for the third time in a day for the grand reunion. But what if it wasn't B, what if it was truly just a rag that they had found, and B was still lost somewhere out there all alone, scared and homeless? These thoughts permeated her mind as she braved the bumper to bumper drive and pulled into the Target parking lot.
The three of them entered the store full of hope and still with a slight twinge of the panic that had accompanied them for the better part of the day. Kim found the manager who had called her and inside a Target bag behind the counter was the lost scrap of fluff that we know fondly as B. Lauren was relieved and kept saying that she was so happy that B was back. "I would have been so sad if I couldn't sleep with my B anymore."
She never truly grasped the nature of losing B forever. In her mind, she might have had to fall asleep that night without B, but surely he would return soon. Until Lauren held B in her hands and nuzzled it to her chin and smelled the damn thing and approved that it was indeed her B, the panic never subsided. I just thank God that she didn't need to use mine--how the hell am I supposed to fall asleep?