Lost Mommy

Eileen Hennessy

Workshop: Pamela Painter, Flash Fiction

Lost Mommy

He was between terror and tears when he stopped me, and even though I’m not a mother and I was already late for work I didn’t have the heart to walk away from a crying child, so I stopped and listened to his story of how his name was Jeffrey and his mommy was lost and could I help him find her, to which I said that I didn’t know how to find lost mommies but I knew some folks who did, and I pointed toward the police station down the block and said we should go there, so we walked to the police station, Jeffrey crying and snuffling every step of the way, not stopping even when I told his story to the sergeant on duty at the desk, a big homey-looking woman who took him into her arms and promised to help him find his mommy, but in spite of her promise Jeffrey put up a howl when I went to leave, and he stopped howling only when I said the sergeant had my phone number and would call me if he needed me, but I figured he’d need more than just me before this was over because, I said to the sergeant while Jeffry was in the bathroom, I think his mommy’s lost because she wants to be lost.