gone baby gone

Yesterday I am running around during the day with my mom.  The bridal shower is at night.  Lots of primping to do.  And Alexander decides to return to school.  "I booked the six a.m. Cornell bus for tomorrow,” he says. It leaves from Weill Cornell Medical College, only ten blocks away.

I had anticipated Alexander’s leaving sometime this week, but suddenly sometime this week is now.   “Wake me before you go,” I make him promise last night.  “Okay, but I’m telling you right now, no pictures." 

It feels like I've just fallen asleep when the door to my bedroom is thrown open.  “Okay, time to get up.  You’ve been sleeping too long.”   Alexander is mimicking the words he often hears from me, but in my case, it’s usually well after noon when I say them.

It is 5:30 a.m.  Alexander’s bus leaves in 30 minutes.  My son is standing in his underwear.  He is making toast.  He is relaxed and unhurried.  You’d think the bus was picking him up outside our apartment door.

We drag his large duffel bag, small suitcase, and heavily loaded backpack downstairs.  It is still dark outside.  I give my son a big hug and say, “I’ll really miss you.”  “I know you will,” he responds.”  I smile, hoping this is a good year for him.  He’s a junior; I still find that hard to believe.

The cab comes.  He’s gone.

I go back to sleep.  At 7:15 Alexander calls to tell me that the bus has been delayed.  He ends up leaving at 7:45.  Damn!  He could have made hard-boiled eggs to go with that toast and still have made it to the bus on time.