***
Trzy lata wcześniej Mason zniknął w czasie letniego festiwalu.
To było słowo, którego używali wszyscy.
Zniknął.
Jakby dziecko mogło stać się powietrzem.
The park had been crowded that afternoon. Food trucks lined the grass. A band played near the fountain. Children ran between game booths carrying painted faces and paper crowns.
Mason had vanished during the summer festival.
Mason held my hand until we reached the ring toss.
Then someone bumped my shoulder.
I looked down.
He was gone.
For less than a minute, I believed he had ducked behind me.
Then five minutes passed.
Then ten.
He was gone.
***
By sunset, the entire town was searching.
By midnight, helicopters circled the park.
For three weeks, volunteers walked ditches, fields, creek beds, and abandoned roads.
They found one sneaker that did not belong to him.
One red jacket that belonged to someone else.
Nothing that belonged to Mason.
Helicopters circled the park.
***
The pool became the hardest place in the house.
Mason had learned to swim there.
He had shouted “Watch me” before every jump, even when I was already watching.
After he disappeared, Carmelo drained it once.
I asked him to fill it again because the empty concrete looked worse.
Now it was full of color.
And something waited beneath it.
Carmelo drained it once.
***
Carmelo lowered the net.
The Orbeez slid away in clusters, then rolled back into place.
He tried again.
Each scoop came up heavy and shining.
We emptied them into plastic storage bins, flowerpots, buckets, anything we could find.
It took almost 20 minutes to clear one small patch.
The Orbeez slid away in clusters.
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