Blossoms: The purple flowers of Empress trees (Royal Paulownia), both at the Zoo, and along Route 1 here.

Lost and Found

Philadelphia Zoo, 12:15 p.m. "Mama, look, the fountain is on now," Stephen announces, pointing out the side door of the Rare Animal House. "Can we go see it?"

"Wait a minute, Stephen. Let's look at the animals in here first, then we'll go out and see the fountain," I reply.

We walk further down the faintly malodorous corridor, threading our way through the crowds of people. We stop in front of a cage of ruffed lemurs. "See how the mama is holding the baby, Matthew? That baby is awfully small, isn't it? See, Stephen? Stephen?"

I glance down, but only Matthew is by my side. Drat that Stephen. He's always wandering off. I look across the corridor at the scattered clusters of zoo visitors in front of the cages, trying to spot a small red-shirted boy with a white Tigger cap. Tab and Daniel are approaching us, along with some of Daniel's classmates and their parents.

"Is Stephen with you?" I ask Tab, starting to panic a little now.

Tab shakes his head no. He tells Daniel to stay with me while he searches the other end of the Rare Animal House.

The word spreads quickly among the other adults along on this class field trip. "He was talking about the fountain," I say to one of the teachers. "Could you go check out there?"

With Daniel and Matthew in tow, I charge up to the other end of the building, but I don't see Stephen anywhere. I am clutching both of them tightly by the hand, so tightly it must be almost painful for them, but they don't complain.

Tab and the teacher both return empty-handed. I start to experience what I think must be tunnel vision. I cannot concentrate on the activity around me, the concerned voices, or the people searching. All I can see is a Stephen-shaped hole.

We've always said that Stephen, our most friendly, outgoing child, would go off with any stranger who smiled at him and held out a hand. The thought flashes through my head that this is what has happened and that Stephen is already gone, gone from the zoo, gone forever. I try to squelch the thought, but I cannot.

I pull Matthew and Daniel out of the building into the brilliant sunshine. Tab has already disappeared down one of the paths ahead of us. Then one of the parents announces: "He found him!"

Tab returns carrying Stephen and hands him to me. Stephen's face is streaked with tears, and he hugs me tightly. I close my eyes and hug him back.

"He was running down the path," Tab tells me, while relieved parents and teachers mill around us. "He realized he was lost, and he was obviously afraid. It's a good thing I spotted his shirt when I did. A few seconds later, and I would have missed him."

Apparently Stephen had gone out the side door of the Rare Animal House to look at the fountain. Then he realized he didn't know how to get back in. He wandered around, panicking when he couldn't find us. Finally he started running down the path away from the building, his tearful face mutely imploring oblivious passersby to help. "The people wouldn't look at me," he reported. "I cried."

For the rest of the day, I kept asking Stephen what had happened and how he felt. "Were you frightened?" I asked. "Were you scared? I was scared when we couldn't find you," I confessed.

It was as though I had some inexplicable compulsion to re-live this terrifying experience. I asked Tab again and again to tell me how he found Stephen. I asked Matthew repeatedly if he was scared when we couldn't find his twin. I had to force myself to stop talking about it. It was like a scab I felt compelled to pick.

Taking a shower before going to bed tonight, I suddenly broke down. Tears mingling with shower water on my face, I slumped down onto the tub mat, hugged my knees, and pictured a world without Stephen, my sunny-tempered boy. I sat there for a few minutes and cried with delayed terror and relief and thanksgiving.

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