Mildred & The Federal Holiday Abductor

“And now for our local news: It breaks my heart, and also pisses the shit out of me to say that Naptown has been issued yet another AMBER Alert. This time authorities are searching for a teenage girl abducted last night,” announced a male voice with upset seeping through his so–called professionalism. “The Anne Arundel County Police say there is a witness who reported seeing the girl jogging along Spa Road, near Westgate Circle at about 9.40 pm EST last night. Our correspondent, Carter Suit, is on the scene with a man who witnessed the abduction. Carter…”

“Thanks Will, good evening. Like you said, I’m here with the man who saw it all. Sir, can you tell us exactly what you saw?”

“Like I told the police, I was walking to my car not really looking at anything in particular. Ahead of me I saw a brown van pull alongside a girl that was jogging. I noticed that the side door of the van was already open. I didn’t think much of it–it could’ve been friends of hers. I don’t know. I saw a man jump out of that side door and grab the girl like a bale of hay. It was then I thought that this was not a friend. I started shouting and running toward the van, but he was speeding away by the time I got there–with the girl. I couldn’t see the plate number very well–last two numbers might be 62. That’s all I got. Not sure if the man I saw was the driver or not. The girl didn’t even have the chance to scream or run away. It happened so fast.”

“Can you give us a description of the girl?”

“From where I was, she had dark hair, might have been Latin or maybe black. Was wearing dark pants and I could see a red backpack.

“Why didn’t you get a picture of the abductor or try to rescue the girl?”

“Like I said, it all happened so fast–and I had left my phone charging in my car. When I saw what went down, I ran to my car to call the police.”

“Can you tell us what the abductor looked like?”

“He had dark skin– could have been black, dark skin. Not sure. He as a big dude…muscular. Wearing shorts and boots– that was weird. Looked like he had dreadlocks…but not sure. Was too far…too fast. Maybe some street cams got it on tape,” he said, glancing around to see it there were any.

“Back to you,” Carter Suit said to the announcer.

“Thanks Carter. At this point local police do not have the name of the abducted Annapolitan. They ask that anyone with information to please call the Amber Alert Hotline. Local police spokesman also affirmed that there will be no rest until The Federal Holiday Abductor has been captured. Folks, listen! Girls listen! Moms and dads please LISTEN! It’s insane! Frickin insane! What the hell was this girl doing on the frickin street by herself, at night? Jogging? What the hell! I mean, shit– on Labor Day! A Federal Holiday! It’s frickin unreal! Friken twisted! And where the hell are all these girls? Where, for crying out loud! Eee…onto international news…”

***

The sunny September dawn quickly collapsed into a sullen day, overcast and with heavy raindrops forming instant puddles and offering no inducement to going outdoors. Nonetheless, Mildred’s schedule was filled to the brim. There was never a shortage of things to do, and her self-esteem demanded it remain that way…especially after the life altering accident. With the Federal Holiday Abductor stabbing at her mind, she dropped her teenage kids, Tommy and Megan, off at their high school for their first day back after summer vacation. The clock edged its way to eight as the car pulled up to the old, brick façade.

Megan was fifteen months younger than Tommy. She’d be turning seventeen in November. She was a junior who was satisfied with the idea of starting back to school, while Tommy, a senior, was not in the least. There was a girl on his mind...one in particular: Gloria.

“Bye kids,” Mildred called out as they hopped out of the car into the downpour. “Got your phones? I’ll call you in a little while, make sure everything’s okay,” she said as flashes of the abducted girls stabbed at her brain. Oh the horror of having her own daughter disappear, she thought with the images of a dreadful dark place that haunted her slumber. Every single night cries from someone came into her head. Night after night, fear invaded Mildred and would last throughout the day. With nausea making its way to her throat she forced the horrible thoughts and images aside and watched her kids leave her protective sight.

“I’ll call around lunch time, Meg!” Mildred shouted out of the window, her face immediately getting wet.

Megan, in a pair of hip-hugger jeans and turquoise tank top, shot the sky a beseechful growl, shouted a quick good-bye, showing her phone. “Chill Mom. It’ll be okay. Please don’t call!” She covered her head with her notebook and dashed with catlike grace toward the Annapolis High School in a useless attempt to avoid getting soaked. Tommy moseyed along behind her, getting drenched.

“Tommy, you’ll catch pneumonia. Hurry!” Mildred shouted.

Still walking in first gear, Tommy spun around on his heels, put a little smile on his glistening, wet face, gave a subtle wave and yelled, “Chill Mom.” His voice was handsomely low and was trailing off as he shuffled along in the rain. “It’s cool,” he said with a little jerk of his head and amusement in his eyes. “Later.”

“Tom,” Mildred shouted over the drumming, yet warm rain. “You’ll keep your eye on Megan, won’t you?”

“Mom, Chill,” he calmly said, glancing back at her. Then, knowing how disturbed the entire city of Annapolis was about the abductions of teenage girls, he stopped and turned toward his mother’s car once again. “I’ve got my sister’s back, Mom. You know I do. Okay?”

“Okay Tom,” Mildred replied in a sigh. “Hey, got your cell phone? Text me…no better just call me if–”

“Mom, it’s cool, chill–” he said showing her the phone. He dashed off when he heard someone call his name.

Mildred frowned at Warren, her husband when he got out of the backseat where he had been sitting with Megan to join her up front. “I am so sick of hearing ‘Chill Mom’. I really am. How am I supposed to ‘chill’ with everything that’s going on? How?”

Though Mildred was feeling enormous fear, she forced a grin onto her face. Her head bounced nervously up and down. “It’s all right,” she said to him as she pulled into traffic attempting to make herself ‘chill’. “Megan is all right and Tommy’s there to watch over her…in that huge, old school with literally thousands of students. Warren place his hand over hers and loved how it felt. “Only just last night another girl was abducted. I try to put myself in the parent’s place and…how they are today…the nightmare of not knowing. And…it just…,” she let out a long breath. “Oh my God, I just can’t imagine.”

Her thoughts went from one thing to another until at one point she found herself grinning. Though both her children were moving smoothly through their adolescence, they “over indulged” now and again, like a few weeks earlier when Tom came stumbling drunk from at a friend’s birthday party who lived on the other side of the lake.

“YOLO,” Tommy kept slurring as though giving his Mom an excuse.

The morning after, he was so pitiful and sick with a hangover that not even Mildred had it in her heart to punish him but she did want a couple of explanations. What’s turnt? “No idea, Mom,” he lied and she knew it.

“And YOLO. You said that several times, quite persistently.

Tommy looked at her squinting as though trying to remember.

“What’s it mean?”

“Nothing Mom…we use it for texting. You know like LOL, Laugh Out Loud.”

“And YOLO?”

“Means: You only live once,” his mouth almost smiled.

“You call that living?” Mildred said, shaking her head and leaving the room. Ever since that pickled night, and especially when he was getting ready to go to parties, she’d practice her college psychology on him. In an attempt to help him behave, she’d descriptively remind him of the two-day runs to the toilet, the puke, the odor, not to mention the throbbing headaches. He could vaguely remember stumbling home that night, but oh, how he wished they could eradicate the tormenting memory of the spewing nausea, the spinning room and blistering headache! He’d turn green at the mere thought.

Tommy had just turned eighteen in August. Girls considered a hunk at school. He was on the tall side, of medium build, with semi-short brown hair, almond-shaped, blue eyes, a dashing smile and tanned skin. He wore his clothes as loosely as possible; baggy jeans, a t-shirt several sizes large and black Nikes covering his feet. If he had heard it once, he had heard it a million times: Oh, Tommy is the spitting image of his father. And he was, with one exception: his father’s eyes were grey.

Megan, on the other hand, didn’t look like anyone, for now. Her stormy, black eyes were large pools of coffee, fringed by luxurious, long, black eyelashes. The enchanting tone of her olive skin and silky, black hair to her waist added exotically to her natural beauty. Who this girl looked like was a mystery to everyone…until…eighty-six-year-old, Grandma Elvira, Mildred’s husband’s grandmother, showed up one afternoon when Megan was a little girl. Under one arm she was carrying an old, black and white family album that looked more ancient and decrepit than her.

“You see,” Grandma Elvira had said, pointing to a tiny photograph with her swollen, arthritic finger. “It’s as though my mother has come back to life. She was from Southern Spain, you know. Jerez de la Frontera, that’s where Mamá was from. To this very day it’s famous for its fine horses and sweet, sweet wine…sherry…or Jerez, as they say in Spanish.” Grandma Elvira’s eyes sparkled with pride as memories of her mother found their way off a dust collector shelf of her old mind. Warren and Mildred didn’t stop her.

“Before coming to America,” she went on, “Mamá was a Flamenco dancer.”

“I didn’t know that, Grandma.”

“Oh yes, Warren, and famous, too!

“Tell us about it,” Mildred urged with interest.

“There, in her hometown of Jerez, she was performing at the annual festival when a British sherry merchant, my Daddy, saw her dancing and fell in love with her on the spot. Growing up, I used to love to hear their ‘love at first sight’ story. After the wedding, Daddy took her to England where she gave birth to my oldest brother, Kendall Jr. They lived there for a few years, until the market became saturated. Daddy, being the smart business man he was, saw how much American’s loved sherry. They’d pay high dollars for Jerez in England. Seeing an opportunity, he moved the family to Baltimore, opened an import company, importing sherry, of course. Made his fortune on Andalusia’s sweet wine. For years, people couldn’t say Sherry without thinking of Saunders,” she said still remembering the good ole days.

When Grandma Elvira came back from her trip to the past, Warren and Mildred lowered their heads to the album and squinted at the tiny photograph.

“Megan’s an Alonso, just look at the resemblance.” They lowered their heads all the more and still couldn’t see the miniscule picture.

“Oh, give me the book,” she said yanking it abruptly away from them. “Here,” she crackled, her fingers flipping harshly at the few pages with no regards to the fact that they were disintegrating before their very eyes. “See?”

“Now, that’s more like it, Grandma Elvira,” Warren declared looking at a wonderful eight by twelve of a fifteen-year-old, dancer of flamenco, posing with sensual personality and wearing typical Flamenco dress; a drop waist velvet leotard top with floral embossed stretch mesh sleeves, an attached matte skirt that was long and flowy. Even though the portrait was in black and white, the young girl’s vibrant black eyes brilliantly reflected the fire of her gypsy ancestors.

After seeing the photos, no one could argue; Megan was identical to her great-grandmother, Vela Garcia Alonso, a gypsy girl of Andalusian culture from the small, yet important village of Jerez de la Frontera.

***

Next, on Mildred’s agenda was her bright and early Pilate’s class in West Annapolis, making Tuesdays and Fridays her favorite days of the week. Discovering this popular exercise regime at the rehab facility was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The elephant, the swan, pull naval to spine and …breathe! How had she lived without it before the accident? As she weaved her way through traffic, without her consent her mind weaved its way back into time and she quickly forced herself not to look at it…the accident.

Who would have known that only a little over a year ago, a shadow had fallen on the Saunders’ world when Mildred had suffered a severe concussion, a shattered spinal cord, her left leg was broken in two places and her right leg broken in three? She vaguely remembered fading in and out of consciousness while being laid up in ICU during five weeks. Initially, the doctors in the emergency room at Annapolis Hospital were ninety percent positive that she would never walk again. Tommy and Megan were completely distraught about their mother’s condition. It had happened on the Fourth of July, and before their very eyes.

***

“Happy Fourth of July, folks! For those inside with the luxury of an air-conditioner, you might be interested in knowing that we’ve got another scorcher. It’s liquid air outside. Ninety-four degrees,” the radio announcer had affirmed, “and rising.”

Not a whisper of air moved the trees at 6 East Lake Drive. Cat Hole Creek’s glimmering waters were invitingly calm. Warren, who had been flipping hamburgers and hotdogs at the grill, was dripping in sweat.

“Man, it’s hot,” he had complained pulling off his sweaty t-shirt. “Come on, Hun, I’m done with the burgers. Let’s go try out your new ski and show the kids how it’s really done.” With his t-shirt, he wiped the beads of perspiration from his flushed face and neck.

“Alright, baby,” Mildred had answered with enthusiasm while taking a tiny sip of tangy ice-tea. “Coming kids?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Mom, I’d rather watch from here. Gloria’s on her way over,” Megan had begged off. Her slender legs were perfect in her ‘catch of the season’, coral-orange, Hawaiian print, camisole bikini that also emphasized the svelte of her long waist and shapely hips. On her narrow feet was a pair of fisher-blue sandals. She kept her long, black hair pulled off her shoulders in a loose braid that hung halfway down her back. “Maybe, Tom, Gloria and I will go skiing later,” she said looking at Tommy for affirmation, and Tommy nodded, yes.”

“Okay. And how ’bout you, big boy, wanna go skiing with us now?” Mildred had asked, peeking her pale-blue eyes over her dark sunglasses. “You can go later with the girls, too,” she offered.

“Nah, those burgers are calling my name, Mom. I’ll watch you pros from here,” Tom had answered as he pulled his low hanging swim trunks up from falling completely off his lean hips. From his mother he had inherited the almond-shape, blue eyes that made him incredibly handsome. Over the summer his brown hair had grown considerably and highlights were shining golden in today’s bright sun.

“Alright then. But hey, do me a favor, Tom.”

“Sure, Mom. What?”

“Run, get the camcorder. I’d like to document this,” Mildred had said while squeezing a large amount of double protection sun block on her pinking skin.

“Camcorder, no Mom. That thing is ancient. I’ll film on my phone.” Mildred didn’t stay to listen to the usual argument about the camcorder. Instead she headed toward the pier.

“Tom,” said Warren, “just get the camcorder…respect us ole folks that like our ancient technology. Ok?

“Seriously Dad? Does it even work? Is it even charged? The camera on my phone is so much better. I’ve got a 12-megapixel camera, optical and 10x digital zoom…and wide color capture. It’s way better than that ole recorder thing.”

“Tom, I get it. I do. Please, just go get your Mom’s old camcorder now? It’s on her side of the bed. I’m pretty sure she left it charging overnight.

“Dad, seriously…it’s so big and bulky…and…no one uses those old camcorders today. No one!”

“Your mom does.”

“Yeah…I don’t get that. She’s got a great camera on her phone. And she knows how to use it….so why…”

“Beats me, Tom…I hear ya. She just likes to film special occasions on the camcorder. Please just…”

“Oookaaaay, goooinggg!” Thinking it was a grave mistake, Tommy dashed to get the camcorder from his parents’ bedroom. The screen door slammed loudly when he ran in and when he ran back out. Warren turned glaring at him with a face that said: How many times have we told you not to slam the screen door?

“Sorry,” Tom shouted with a crooked grin toward his dad.

He watched his parents climb into their twenty-one foot ski runabout, My Girl, which was tied at the end of the pier just waiting for someone to take her out for a holiday spin. Mildred had used the very same boat in competitions before her childbearing years. Now, thirty-five-old, My Girl, looked as good as she did when Mildred’s father, Herbert Dove, had first bought her at the boat dealers shop off Rowe Boulevard. Also tied at the pier the Doves had a twelve-foot aluminum boat with a thirty horsepower, outboard motor, a crab boat and a big, old, red rowboat. All of the boats where the same boats that Mildred grew up with. Herbert and Ester Dove really knew how to take care of their things. Even the old camcorder; they had bought it when it first came out in the 80’s to film Mildred’s competitions.

“Good-luck, Mom!” Megan shouted over the noise of the engine. Mildred was not sure what her daughter had said but waved with a smile and put her competition life vest over her one-piece bathing suit.

Mildred had just turned forty-two on Monday. Her hair was deep auburn, streaked full of tiny highlights that were almost the color of brick. On her oval face were liquid, almond shape, blue eyes, a warm smile, peaches and cream skin that had a tendency to burn in the sun and sensual hips that tapered into slim legs. She had figure women her age would die for. In her younger days she had been the best slalom skier there was. She had entered every competition in the area, and always, always won First Place. In the early nineties, her father, Herbert, after a load of municipal paperwork, had been the one to finance the jump ramp that was still in the middle of the lake, smack in front of the Dove house.

With hamburgers and ice-cold water, Tommy and Megan, along with their paternal grandmother, Darla (who was famous for her flamboyant hats and fancy footwear), some friends and close relatives, sat on 100 year-old green patio furniture and new plastic lounge chairs that were under the shade of a grand oak that unselfishly cast its shadow upon them. The family’s friendly Golden Retriever, Hank, sat slapping his dripping tongue in front of Darla because he knew that she’d give in and treat him with a yummy tidbit of her burger.

In anxious expectation, everyone waited for Mildred to begin her show that would be nothing less than spectacular…as usual.

For her birthday, Warren had given her a new slalom ski: The all new, Syndicate PRO waterski. And it was florescent pink with swirls of black, Mildred’s favorite colors!

Tommy was adjusting the camcorder to film against the sun. He glanced up to see if his mom was ready.

“Hey, everybody, Dad’s throwing her the towline,” he called out with enthusiasm. Everyone squinted against the bright, afternoon sun.

“She’s up!” shouted Megan, filming on her phone. “Go, Mom!”

“Cool,” said Gloria who was just arriving. “I love watching your Mom ski. Is she gonna jump?”

“Oh yea,” answered Tommy, giving Gloria a sideways look because he secretly liked her. “She doesn’t know how to ski without jumping.” Tommy loved the way Gloria looked in cut-off jean shorts and that red tank top, but of course he wasn’t going to tell her that…at least not today.

“Why don’t you use your phone, Tom? Gloria asked, smirking at the old camcorder. Tommy opened his mouth to say something but it was going to be sarcastic so he snapped it shut and shook his head. Then he smiled and nonchalantly took a tiny step closer to Gloria. She liked that, and moved a tiny bit closer, too.

Gloria Paca was a gifted classical pianist who lived a few streets away on the bay side of the community. Standing at five foot four, she was two inches shorter than Meg. She was slightly plump in the butt. Many women had procedures to make their behinds look perkier and peachier; in her case it was natural. Gloria had inherited her mother’s tendency to gain weight but refused to accept her genetic fate. During most of her teenage years she had gone from one diet to another, searching for the one that was right for her. And in Gloria’s case, it wasn’t just about weight gain or loss; it was about feeling better, feeling good. She was lactose intolerant which made her feel tired, dizzy and even vomit at times. Just recently the doctor added glucose intolerance which was the reason that she would get blurred vision, was thirsty and sleepy all the times. On top of the two intolerances, Gloria was also allergic to a number of things, food and otherwise. Her new dietician just recently studied her case and changed her Keto Diet to full out Vegan. Gloria was praying that it was the solution for her to feel and be healthy.

On Gloria’s tanned face were deep-set, brown eyes, and the perfect nose for her heart-shaped face. Today her cheeks seemed to be more flushed than usual. On her full lips, she wore her usual shy smile whenever Tommy was near. Her natural, blonde hair had just been styled into lavishly long layers. But it was too hot for long, flowing hair so today her hair was scrunched up in a high ponytail. Thinking that she looked great with her hair that way, Tommy lowered the camera and grabbed a hamburger on an open bun. “Burger?” he offered, handing it to her. “Got ketchup and stuff, too,” he gestured at the nearby picnic table.

“Thanks Tom, but no thanks. I’m allergic to starch and…well, I’m vegan.” Gloria announced.

“Vegan. Alright then. How’s that working out for you?” Tom said, laying the burger back down.

“Can I have it, Tom?” interrupted one of Tom’s little cousins.

“Sure buddy. It’s all yours.”

Gloria took another step closer to Tom. She liked how it felt. “Good so far, I guess. I’m hoping it’ll help me feel better, since you know–I’m allergic to so many things.”

“I hear ya. I’ll make sure we have vegan burgers next time. Check out the salads,” he said, lifting his chin toward the table again, and lifted the camera to his face to check out his Mom and saw that she was lining up to take the ramp. “Gotta get this on film. Mom’ll kill me if I don’t. I’ll join you as soon as my mom finishes her show.”

“I love watching her. She’s amazing,” Gloria said, stepping away from Tom to grab a fruit from the table. Munching on her apple, she moved closer to Megan. Tom felt slightly let down and wished that she had come back to his side. It’s just that lately, since the school year had ended, he was seeing her with different eyes, way different eyes…feelings.

“Go Mildred!” shouted Warren’s older brother, Burt. “Look at your mom go!” It’s like stepping into the past.” Maybe it was stepping back in time watching Mildred ski, but by the looks of Burt, he’d moved further into the future than he’d like to admit. He’d gone from a semi-attractive, tallish and slim man with a full head of dark brown hair, to a semi-homely man with a huge beer belly, more than a shadow of a double chin and half a head of salt-and-peppered hair. But he still had that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ that could charm the shoes off of most women.

Most of the spectators were filming Mildred. Around the lake onlookers were so involved in her amazing show that no one heard the new Amber Alert announced over the radio. Had they been paying attention they would have heard that a witness saw seventeen-year-old, Jules Witherspoon, an Annapolis local, be yanked violently from the side of her car while she was pumping gas at 6:48 am at the gas station on West Street. Her parents declared that she had left the house early that morning because she had been informed that her horse, boarded on a nearby farm, had colic. Unfortunately, the only witness was the guy working the register inside the gas station who affirms he didn’t see much…just the van drive away. He called the police when he realized that the driver of the car, still at the pump, was gone. Police were sure that this time they get the abduction on the security cameras. Jules Witherspoon was the third teenager girl to be abducted in the area and its surroundings since February.

***

Everyone watched as Mildred slalom skied around the lake; the way she laid down, stylishly grazing her shoulder on the water’s surface and lifting a curtain of spray. Passing in front of her own house, she jumped into some of the most difficult tricks including wake flips, then multiple turns performed with the tow rope attached to her foot.

“Wow, your mom’s awesome,” avouched Gloria to Megan, holding her hand to her eyes to block the sun for a better view.

“Totally.”

“I can’t imagine my mom skiing with two skis much less slalom.”

“Hey, from what my mom and dad say your mom was quite a skier herself, Gloria.” Gloria’s brows rose with question. She could not imagine her heavyset, fifty-year-old mother doing any kind of sport.

“Well, that’s news for me,” Gloria said, watching Mildred prepare to take the ramp again.

“I’ll bet she’s gonna try to break her own record,” announced Tom.

The ski ramp was five and a half feet high, and she would have to take it at about fifty-eight miles an hour to jump over one hundred and sixty feet.

“Hopefully Dad takes it a little easy while Mom breaks in the new ski,” blurted Megan, chewing her nails with concern. “She should go around, practice a few more times.”

“I don’t think so,” said Tommy with his eye on the tiny video screen. “She just gave the signal to ‘crack the whip’.” In simultaneous motion, everyone at the cookout jumped from their seats to watch Mildred take the ramp.

“Oh, my God,” cried Gloria. “She’s lit! Just look at her!”

“That’s my girl,” cheered Mildred’s mother-in-law, Darla as she took a picture with her new phone. Today extravagant Darla was wearing a white, cotton-weave hat with an extra wide brim. American flags on four-inch plastic poles were poking out all over the crown. A red, white and blue ribbon was wrapped snuggly around the intersection of the crown and the brim, and its excess lace was long and flowed down her back. Her white, leather sandals had red, white and blue, velvet bows. Darla was sixty-eight years old and looked like she could be Mildred’s older sister. Her large, tanned breasts were overflowing out of her one piece, leopard skin, bathing suit and her wonderful tan had been assiduously cultivated with the finest of oils, enhanced with vanguard toners, preserved with expensive lotions the stars in Hollywood use.

People from houses all around the lake were standing on their piers to watch and film their neighbor International Champion and Olympic Gold Medal winner, Mildred Dove Saunders, glide through the air with expertise and the grace of a ballerina.