Note to Self: Recharge Daily

On Friday, I thought I lost Kristen.

No, not in the medical-drama sort of way ("Doctor, we're losing him!"), but in the where-the-heck-is-she sort of way. And it was not pretty on my part.

Here's how it went down (I sound really "street", don't I?):

During the summer, my company lets its employees leave early on Fridays; unfortunately for Kristen, her company isn't as nice (overall they're nicer; in this instance, however, they're not). So I usually take the 2:34 train home, do whatever errands I have to do (eat ice cream, think of trades for my imaginary baseball league, ponder exercising only to decide that it's best to eat more ice cream), and then pick her up from the train station.

Most times, Kristen will call me from the office and tell me which train she's on (usually, it's the 5:21); sometimes, though, she's in a rush, so she'll call me from the downtown station or while the train is moving. It's no problem, because we're only a 5 minute drive away from the Rogers Park stop. (Are you taking notes? There will be a test.)

By 5:30, I hadn't heard anything from Kristen, but I decided to drive over to the train station anyway, and park with all the other picker-uppers. At 5:45, when the train rolled into the station, I didn't see Kristen. No big deal. I call her cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I call her work. After a few rings, it, too, goes to voicemail.

I figure that she missed the 5:21 and is now sitting on the train in the station downtown (where cell phone reception isnt' very good), waiting for the 5:43. So I, too, wait, and read my book. I try her cell a couple of more times, but it always goes to voicemail.

Hmm.

So, the 5:43 arrives at just before 6, and no Kristen. Now I'm starting to freak out a little bit. I mean, she's nearly 9 months pregnant! So I start driving around, going up and down the streets between the train station and our house (it's about 8 blocks -- maybe a little more; I've walked it a few times, and it takes me around 20 minutes). So I drive up and down, back and forth, looking for her.

Nothing.

It's a hot day out -- a humid, Chicago summer day. It had rained earlier, so it's even muggier than usual. Up and down, back and forth.

Now I'm getting a little frantic.

(I'm still calling her cell and her work, but now I'm adding our home number to my list. Still just voicemail.)

It seems like I've been driving around for about a half hour, and I'm starting to panic. (A side note: during my drive, I'm listening to NPR, and they have a story about the best BBQ place in Texas that has been creating something of a sensation in this small town. Listen to it. It'll make you drool. This however did not placate my fears.)

As I turn off Clark and onto Albion for what seems like the fiftieth time, my cell phone rings. It says "HOME" on it, but I still answer, not with "How are you?" or "Are you okay?", but with "Where are you?" (I'm not so good under pressure it seems). Of course, Kristen, being a normal person, answers, "I'm at home. Where are--", but I cut her off.

I then begin cursing. Yelling. (I'll censor myself because we know of some of your sensibilities.) "*#($&*@!!! Why didn't you call me? How did you get home? Don't $%@^^& do this! Are you okay? %$%!@^!" And then, suddenly, I'm a wreck. I'm in tears, bawling like I haven't in probably 30 years. I speed home.

What happened was this: I missed her when she came off the train. Her cell phone ran out of battery. There are no taxis in the area (it's too residential for there to be cabs at 5:30 in the afternoon). There are no payphones anymore (can you find one if you really need to?). So, Kristen walked. And I panicked.

And not only did I panic, but after I spoke with her and found out she was okay, I became a complete wreck. I mean, Kristen was fine (if not a little tired and overheated). Yet I was this bawling pile of flesh. As soon as I heard her voice, all the things that could've gone wrong (and didn't) came flying into my mind. Strangely, I wasn't really thinking about those things while I was driving around looking for her. I was thinking more of "gotta find her, gotta find her, gotta find her", like I was a bloodhound searching out an escaped convict. But it wasn't really anything specific or overly terrifying. But when I finally spoke with her, all I could think of was "what if she's hurt, what if there's something wrong, what if Barnabas is hurt". It was this rush of every horrible possibility.

I don't know what this says about me. Maybe I have to toughen up or something. Maybe I have to be a bit more rational. Maybe I have to panic more when I don't know what's happening and less when I know that everything's okay.

In any case, it was scary, but ended happily and with no one worse for the wear.

And, best of all, we had BBQ for dinner.