boy in crisis

My phone rings.  I see it’s Alexander.  He’s coming home tonight. He must be at the airport now.  Or at least on his way to the airport.  How sweet that he’s calling.  Maybe to tell me that he can’t wait to come home, though I doubt it.  He’s really loving LA.

I pick up.

No hello.  Just a frantic voice.

 “I need you to go to the bank right now and put money in my account.  I have to pay $25 to check my bag and I don't think they take American Express and I don’t have any money left in my checking account so I can’t use my debit card and I'm standing in the back of a very long line and the plane takes off in a half hour.”

Me (calmly):  “Ok,” I can transfer money from my computer right now.  I’ll call you right back.”

I go to my online bank account, but see that I am not linked to my son’s checking account.  I call him back.

Me:  “Hi.  Sorry.  I’m not linked to your account.  I’ll go over to the bank now.”

Alexander:  “Okay.  You better be able to do this or else I’m really fuc*ed.”

I rush over to the bank.  Damn. They are closed.  No tellers.  Only ATM’s.  And our accounts are not linked.  I call Alexander back.  He’s calm now.

Alexander:  "Never mind.  They took my American Express.  Thanks anyway."

These incidents I haven’t missed.  But my son I have.  I can’t wait to see him.  Six weeks is a long time, but feels even longer when you are separated by 3,000 miles.