Lost and Found

With the eyes of an old soul, Randy’s gaze drifted from Godzilla’s retreating figure to Albert’s forlorn expression, and something stirred in his heart. There was something real bad about one person being so lucky and one person not. Sure, he was sick sometimes, luke-ememia, the doctors called it, but it was so wonderful to have his mom tuck him in at night and to have the love of Rex, his big-pawed, floppy-eared best friend. And here he was in great New York City, meeting Simba, eating popcorn and Chunky Monkey, and riding around in a car near as big as his bedroom, just ‘cause people called Make-A-Wish told him he could have anything in the world he wanted. But Albert was hungry and Godzilla’s home was near to squishing up. It didn’t seem fair, and Randy wanted to fix it.

“Albert, I got to find my mom. Can you help me?” The tail of the villain Scar no longer mattered. Randy had to get food for his new pal and a new home for the little green Godzilla, and he knew his mom could do both.

“Sure,” Albert agreed quietly, giving the apple one last gentle pat, “I’ll help you.”

He returned the bruised apple to its exalted rock and headed for the “door” in the giant box—a hole where the word “Sofabed” had once been. “Blow out the candle,” Albert ordered as he shoved Randy’s bag through the opening and crawled out.

Randy grabbed his program, blew out the flame, and was hot on Albert’s heels in seconds.

A dizzying maze of twists and turns later, Albert pulled up at the corner of a tall building, and waited for the slower Randy to join him. When he did, Albert shoved the bag of Lion King paraphernalia at the younger boy and stretched a finger down the sidewalk. “See there?”

Randy ducked his head around Albert’s arm to follow the point. “Yeah, I see.”

“’kay, you go there. That there’s a hotel. You go right inside and tell them your mom’s lost. They’ll call the cops and get your mom back.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

Randy shot off, sprinting more than half a city block before he realized Albert wasn’t with him. Whirling back, he saw his friend slowly wave, then the waving hand and the dirty toes slipped from view as the boy with the corkscrew hair turned and disappeared.

“Albert!”

Randy dropped his priceless mementos and fled to the space where his friend had stood. But the dark alley was empty. Albert had vanished.

“Albert!” he cried out again. “My mom will get you food! Albert, where’d you go? Alllllbeeerrrttt!”

* * * * *

Cradled in the bosom of darkness, Albert sank to his knees. Part of him wanted to get up and run back to Randy, but a bigger part just couldn’t shake his mama’s pleading words—“Don’t never get caught by the man, Albert. You’re a good boy, but the man don’t know that. Promise me now.”

The lonely boy fought valiantly to contain the miserable tears that pelted his cheeks, but even a mighty warrior could not have staunched the determined flow.

Randy screamed his name again and again, yet with each salvo the sound seemed to distort and transform until. . .until it wasn’t Randy’s voice at all, until time turned back and Albert’s mind once again wrapped around that familiar black memory. It was the last time he’d seen his mama. She’d been screaming his name, too. “Albert! My son! Albert! Albert!” Even now he could hear her cries as if they were coming from inside him.

He’d been terrified, so torn between running to his mama and staying where she’d ordered him to stay, too little to decide, too little to help. He’d been five years old. Then the huge man with the feathered hat had hit his mama in her mouth, and her head cracked on the ground. He’d called her a worthless street baggage and stuck his knife in her. Over and over and over Albert watched it go in. When the man had finished his dirty deed, he’d hunted for Albert, but Albert had done just as his mama had taught him to do. He’d played dead under the safe pile.

Garbage. The safe pile was garbage. His mama had shown him how to get under it saying no one would ever look there, not ever. A pile of garbage was always safe. “Remember that, Albert, remember that.” And she was right. No one looked there.

Over time, one safe pile or another had hidden him from a parade of searchers, but just like his mama had told him, he would always be safe in a safe pile. Eventually anyone who had the inkling to find him simply gave up and didn’t come anymore.

The last “Albert” he heard from Randy was weak. He would give up soon, too, just like all the others.

Moments later, Albert pushed to his feet, and with a swipe of his hands, he banished the last of the tears. He’d forget Randy soon enough. For now, he just needed to search a familiar row of dumpsters for something, anything, to eat.

“I kept my promise, Mama,” he whispered to the wind as he made his way along the dark alley. “I kept my promise.”

* * * * *

Randy had to face the fact that Albert wasn’t coming back. Disheartened and with a body that screamed for attention, he stumbled back to where his treasures lay, his thoughts whirling and tumbling and crashing in his head. When the tears came they all but blinded him with purpose, and he began to run.

The Lion King souvenirs faded from sight and mind as Randy pumped his battered legs as hard as he could. He had to find his mom. Then the two of them had to find Albert.

On a mission, Randy barreled toward the hotel, his tears flinging behind him like the cape of a superhero.

The doorman looked up just in time to see the cap fly from the head of a little bald boy before thin legs, churning for all they were worth, began to wiggle wildly, entwining themselves like a spoonful of spaghetti, spilling the boy into a heap on the curb.

The man raced to where the boy lay and gently turned him face up. The child was as white as a ghost.

Sirens.

Swarms of faces.

Probing fingers and sobbing.

Randy opened his eyes to the chaotic scene of paramedics, hotel workers, police officers, onlookers, and the crushing embrace of his weeping mom.

He felt sick and weak. For a moment he couldn’t imagine where he was.

“Mom. . .” Randy’s voice was small and tired.

“Yes, baby, I’m here. I’m here,” she assured him with a kaleidoscope voice of relief and panic and raw fear.

Randy lifted his hands from the gurney beneath him, clasped his mom’s face, and smiled. She always needed to see him smile when he felt bad, and he never let her down. He smiled often.

“Mom, we have to find Albert. We have to!”

“Honey, we need to go to the hospital to make sure you’re alright. Then you can tell me whatever you want.”

“No, Mom, if we leave we’ll never find Albert … never.” His voice trailed off in misery.

Beth clasped his hands and squeezed. “I don’t know who Albert is, but I promise you with all my heart that as soon as you’re checked out, we’ll find him. Okay?”

Randy closed his eyes. His mom never lied. Albert was as good as found.

At least that was the plan.