It was a steamy, hot and humid day, with not even the whisper of a breeze. The air was so oppressive it felt like a heavy, wet blanket pressing down and smothering me. Papa suggested a ride to Rockaway Beach. I was not very enthusiastic, not wanting to budge from my seat in front of a wheezing, old, overworked fan. However, the thought of a possible cool breeze and cool water enticed me. I quickly threw together a picnic lunch, dressed my three-year-old., Irene, in a red and white polka dot romper and a white sun bonnet, and squeezed myself into an uncomfortable swim suit, grabbing Irene’s small pail and shovel. Papa was already in the car and we were on our way.
The first ten minutes of our drive were pleasant. The slight breeze created by the moving car felt good. Then—disaster! Every family in Queens must have had the same idea and the only road to Rockaway was a bumper-to-bumper traffic jam. The heat and noxious fumes from the exhaust of all the cars were making me ill and a headache was ready to burst into full bloom.
When we finally arrived, the beach was so packed with thousands of bodies that hardly a grain of sand was visible and we had difficulty in finding even a small square of open space to spread our blanket. Irene immediately wanted water to make sand pies. Since she was afraid of the waves, I trotted back and forth endless times with her tiny pail. I reached the point where I was wishing I had brought my heavy scrub bucket to satisfy her needs. It was so HOT—not a breath of air or cloud to obscure the sun even briefly to relieve us. Papa dozed in his chair with his cap covering his bald head and face. The heat did not bother him. He was a baker and all his life worked in front of hot ovens. Irene was playing, happily making pies and chattering to herself. I tried to read and must have dozed off.
Suddenly I woke with a start. What was it? Did something happen that I was not aware of?? Looking around I let out a cry!! Where is Irene?? Jumping up, I could not see her anywhere. Where is she?? People around me, realizing what happened, started to spread out and look for a little three-year—old wearing a red and white polka dot romper and a white sun bonnet. A teen-aged boy ran to the lifeguard station to report a missing child. I was frantic. Where is she?? I knew she was aftr5aid of the waves and was not too concerned about her going to the water’s edge. Did a pervert take my little one? Was he harming her?? The very thought horrified me. The teen-age boy returned and told me all the life guard stations were on the alert for a missing three-year-old girl. He told me I should go to the central station on the boardwalk and wait there while the search went on. I ran to the station and when I arrived, still no word.
The agony of not knowing what happened was unbearable. Where is she?? Was she hurt, frightened, crying for Mommy??? The guards were wonderful, trying to calm me and telling me how expert they were in finding lost children. The phone rang and with bated breath I listened to the conversation. Thank God!! She was found and at the next station on the boardwalk. They were bringing her to me. Not hearing this last part, I flew out the door and started to run and run and run down that hot boardwalk as fast as I could go.
I burst into the station and there she was, sitting on a life guard’s lap, chocolate ice cream all over her face, laughing and licking a dripping cone. I picked her up, hugging her and kissing that beautiful chocolate face. She laughed and said, “Mommy, you like chocolate ice cream, too!” I replied, “Oh yes, darling, I LOVE chocolate ice cream!”
Anne Humbach
2007
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