mollycoulter.com

"Mother" June 2006

When Madeline left her school’s spelling bee as the victor I didn’t think she’d ever hang up with Patrick.

“Yeah and they said my photo would run in Sunday’s paper and my teacher said she had never been so impressed by one of her students and Lizzy Torman’s mom had to take her home early because she started crying and all the other students were staring at… oh, oh, ok. Well, I’ll see you soon. Ok, thanks, Dad.”

My little princess had a brain too big for a 10-year-old brunette’s britches. When she corrected a man’s pronunciation of “omniscient” on the subway once, he told her she was quite precocious.

“If you are implying that I’m arrogant, I’m not. But if you mean to say I’m unusually perceptive, all it takes is hard work,” Madeline said.

She was never shy of her studies and devised her regimen independently of my advice or control. She explained her predilection for briefcases over book bags to me at Lord & Taylor one afternoon while school shopping.

“Mother, how is anyone going to give credence to a report pulled from a pink and purple sack?” she said with disgust. I didn’t like the Power Puff Girls either, but they seemed to be all the rage at bus stops across the city.

We lived in a narrow, brick house in Brooklyn; a “gift” from Patrick after the divorce. When Madeline was five he scooted off to Philadelphia for a bigger paycheck and younger wife.

“My father is an intellectual property lawyer and has represented many high-profile clients,” she said to her class on Career Day. She wasn’t impressed with my position. For years I had worked in fashion photography, but after her father and I split my work ethic deteriorated, along with my radar for good men and distaste for vodka. Madeline drew me bubble baths and reiterated advice from Oprah like we were living in a dorm room and she was skipping class to console me.

I never liked that. It didn’t take long for me to step out of my funk, post my resume and turn the television off so she wouldn’t go on thinking all adult relationships fail.

I began my job with a bustling ad agency on 31^st and Madison when Madeline began fourth grade. Over spaghetti and skim milk we shared stories from our first week. I asked if she liked her classmates, teacher and courses.

“Well, I’m pleased you asked me that, Mother.” She retrieved a tidy stack of papers from her dresser and returned to the table. With the aide of her school’s accommodating librarian she had compiled the government-issued report cards for her school and a private school in Philadelphia specializing in “nurturing the individual talents and study skills of New England’s brightest and finest pupils.”

“Maddy, you can’t move to Philly. I can’t afford to pay your rent and mine.”

“Maybe Dad can help…or maybe I can just live with him,” Madeline said. I watched the light in her eyes brighten.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, but that just isn’t plausible.” My arm lay atop the buttery loaf of French bread as I reached for Madeline’s tiny hand.

“Why, because your marriage wasn’t plausible?” The light flared red as she yanked her hand away and folded her arm with the other.

I couldn’t expect her to understand that her vision of her father was far from reality. I did my best not to shun him around her, which consequently meant she never knew of his infidelity and irresponsibility.

Fury raged inside her heart and it broke mine to witness it. I understood her necessity to find challenge in her schooling, but we could find a better school in the city. And I wasn’t sold on the idea of sending her off at such a young age. I’d known for years that she’d attend an advanced high school and her college diploma would bear an Ivy League logo, but she didn’t have to start in elementary school. She needed to be a kid first.

One day I picked her up from her music lesson and surprised her with a trip to the animal shelter. For the first time in weeks she let me hold her hand when we crossed a busy street and on the walk home she raced up and down the sidewalk with her new pet, Eldon, a four-year-old Golden Retriever.

Eldon was good for both of us. He demanded Madeline take time away from her studies to feed, bath and play with him. He forced me out of the house for walks, which I was grateful for when my work came home with me on exhausted evenings. I wouldn’t let Madeline take him out alone, which she never understood, but quietly complied with.

Eldon’s presence was so uplifting it was as if he somehow erased Madeline’s disappointment in me. Suddenly she enjoyed watching cartoon flicks in the theaters instead of documentaries. She talked about Eldon at school instead of Patrick. She even told me a few knock-knock jokes in the market on a grey afternoon.

“Mother, can we go to the park today and play Frisbee with Eldon?” Madeline said after whipping through an assignment on the Great Lakes one weekend. She didn’t even ask me to proofread her work.

Madeline begged to hold the leash when we approached Central Park, but I refused. As much as I trusted her intellectual strength, I didn’t have faith in her physical. I grabbed the leather strap hooked to Eldon’s collar and averted her attention by asking her to name the plant species within our view.

“The purple cone flowers lining the bike path are delphiniums and the giant tree hanging over the statue is a Weeping Willow,” Madeline reported. “I’m fairly certain the bright flowers ahead are primroses, but I’ll need to get closer…”

As we both squinted and peered past the basketball game and a pair of picnicking lovers, Eldon’s leash tugged hard to the left and my grip loosened.

Madeline and I bolted as Eldon chased a rabbit into a bush. He darted out the other side and we were forced to run around it. The rabbit disappeared, but Eldon kept galloping through the park, outpacing our dash with every step. We lost sight for twenty seconds or less, but upon our reunion, I was happy we didn’t witness what took place.

Both Madeline and I cried as I scooped Eldon’s head into my arms and a crowd of people encircled us. The animal ambulance responded within a few minutes, but the crunch of the taxi cab’s grill ruined poor Eldon’s life.

The next Friday I came home to an empty house. I walked next door where Madeline occasionally played cribbage, but Mrs. Parker said she’d been knitting on her stoop since noon and hadn’t seen Madeline come home from school.

I spoke with four mothers and two fathers, all unaware of Madeline’s whereabouts. Her teacher said she went to class with a plaid suitcase, but never asked what it contained.

Patrick. She had done this once before after I broke a flower vase by the coat rack as I stumbled back late from a bad date. I overpaid the babysitter with what should have been grocery money and could barely open my eyes when Madeline tucked me in.

She waited until morning and left a shattered piggy bank in her bedroom while I showered. I found her waiting at the bus station with a ticket to Philadelphia.

I know that’s where she is. I called my ex-husabnd, but his voicemail picked up. I scrambled to find his address and sprinted to the bus station. I scoured the building and asked anyone with a pulse if they’d seen my little darling. She was nowhere. The ticket sellers snorted at my inquiries as I realized Madeline could have caught six different bus rides since she left school.

Was she kidnapped? Is she alive? Do I call the police? Will they take her away? Horrors raced through my thoughts and tears started pouring as my cell phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.