The Long Way Home

It was 3:15 PM. Students had been out of school since 1:40. It was Wednesday when students are released early and teachers attend training of one sort or another. The kids who hadn't rushed home were in their after school program rooms, busy with whatever their extended day had to offer. That left Leslie, sitting alone in the office.
Except she wasn't alone. I was there along with the office staff to see that she got where she needed to go. The adults searched and scrambled about, trying to find a way to reach Leslie's parents. Had they forgotten that was Wednesday? Even on a regular day, she would have been sitting and waiting for half an hour. Her attempts to remember her phone number were in vain, since the only one she could remember was her mom's cell number, the phone that had recently been lost. Or turned off. Or stolen. Or eaten by a vermicious knid.
Whatever the case, Leslie was still waiting more than an hour and a half after she had been dismissed, and we had no way to connect her to her family. Which is why I volunteered to walk her home. And, it was reasoned, if I encountered an adult when we got there, I could get that person to fill out an emergency card so if such a thing ever happened again, we would have up to date information. I asked Leslie if she would mind walking. "It's not that far," she assured me.
Off we went.
As we meandered through the neighborhood, I tried to keep up a moderate string of conversational gambits: Who do you usually walk home with? Is there really a dog behind that "Beware of the Dog" sign? Do you trick or treat on this street? All of which were met with the vague indifference of a fifth grade girl. Still, it was one of the longest interactions I had ever experienced with her as our hike stretched from just a few blocks to nearly half a mile.
When we finally arrived at the gate in front of the house she identified as hers, she rushed up the walk and told me to wait while she went in and got her mom. I did as I was told. This afforded me a chance to view a front yard filled with debris of a life that spilled out the front door and down the steps. When the front door opened, mom stood bleary-eyed in bare feet and sweatshirt. She thanked me for taking the time to walk Leslie home, gesturing with the blank emergency card Leslie had carried home to her. "No problem," I waved. "Please make sure and send that completed form back with Leslie tomorrow morning. It really helps us to have a current address and phone number."
She thanked me again and turned around to respond to the growling male voice that came from inside. I waved at Leslie. "See you tomorrow," I shouted as the door began to close. She smiled an embarrassed smile and went inside.
She was home.