So, this morning was an All timer-
I wake up to The Bride’s shrieking voice, “Matthew, K’s not here!”
I fly out of bed, my heart sinks into my bowels. In my underwear I run to the back door, which, for some reason, is halfway open. Immediately, terrifying thoughts of some pervert entering my house and taking my son start swimming through my head. I’m filled with dread and rage at the same time.
The Bride is standing in the open back door, crying, “Why is this door open? What is going on? ”
“Okay, there has got to be a logical explanation and solution. Stay calm, and let’s figure it out. I used to sleep walk as a child and sometimes I’d walk into the backyard or even the neighbors yard. So let’s start by looking around here. I’m sure he’s fine, ” I tell her, but I’m not sure i believe that.
I quickly looked at all of our sons favorite hiding spots. I look all over our yard. I run, in my underwear, into our neighbors yard, yelling his name. He was nowhere to be found.
“Call the cops!” I told the bride.
“You mean 911” she asked?
I sprinted out of the house, bare feet and wearing only my skin-tight, pink, boxer briefs. I ran up and down the block shouting his name. I ran into three neighbors walking their dogs.
“Have you seen anything suspicious in the neighborhood? Have you seen a little boy walking around? Our boy is missing.”
Nobody saw anything. Everyone looked very concerned. Now I have the whole neighborhood in a panic. I run back to the house grab my keys and jump in my car, still in my underwear. I’m driving all over the neighborhood shouting my boy’s name. With every passing second the dread grows worse. My reality starts to become that somebody entered the house and stole my beloved little boy.
Why didn’t the dog attack that stranger? Why didn’t the Bride or I wake up? Its my fault! I took to much melatonin. But Why didn’t he scream? None of this is making any sense.
As I’m driving around the neighborhood, filled with horror, trying to solve this puzzle, trying to find my boy, trying not to think of what horrible things might be happening to him, trying not think about life without him, trying not to picture him in some ditch, trying to think logically, my phone rings. It’s the Bride. She’s crying.
“What? How? What? That’s awesome. Thank goodness.”
The crushing weight of grief is immediately lifted. I enter the house, grab my boy, and hug the shit out of him. It’s one of the best feelings I have ever felt. The euphoria of knowing he was at home lasts for about 5 minutes. And then I ask where he was.
Turns out that he was balled up, lying on top of his brothers legs, under the covers, the entire time. How The Bride had not found him there before making the panicked declaration that he was gone, I do not know. Though I must admit, when she said he was gone I glanced in his room and it looked 100% like only one child was in that bed.
Now I have the embarrassing job of going to my neighbors house explaining that our child is not missing, he just has idiotic parents.
We were a police report away from being Balloon Boys parents.