88 MARCH 2020
“I was there,” another
mother says. “I saw her go.”
We’re in L’s kitchen waiting
for our kids. Any minute now,
goody bags and farewells, then
L’s kid will be one year older and
alone with a new crop of toys.
“Who won?”
“Won what?”
“The game.”
“I have no idea.” J has two
kids, two part-time jobs. She’s
looking for something better
but hasn’t found it yet. Others
here work full time, or nights.
The fathers are also working,
jobs that we hear are less per-
meable than our jobs. Really
our jobs are not permeable,
but we lie to our employers,
pretending we are not moth-
ers, or that mothering is sim-
ple. Then, like an intricate,
silent network from the natu-
ral world—say, a creek flowing
to a stream, to a river, to the
ocean, to the clouds, to return
as rain—we rely on other
mothers. Systems, delicately
complex and ever-changing,
carry and care for our young.
“I don’t remember the score. I
was distracted by the woman.”
“What’d she do?”
“You weren’t there?”
“No.”
“But you heard about it?”
“Bits.”
“She crossed the field as if
she didn’t even see the game,
like she was chasing a stray
ball. Sudden and straight
across. The way an animal
would go. Some of the kids
stopped playing. Maybe they
thought she was a referee, or
that there was an injury. But
she ignored the kids, walked
right through them and into
the woods.”
“What’d the kids do?”
“Started playing again. And
the people watching went back
to watching the game. And
you know the dad?”
“The screamer?”
“ ‘Pass! Pass! Man on!’ Ugh.
The worst. He went back to
screaming. He knows sideline
coaching’s prohibited. The
fucker even signed a form say-
ing he wouldn’t do it anymore.”
The mothers look. Did the
kids hear J curse? A secret swear
among mothers feels so good—
a dirty-word pressure valve and
a wormhole to other lives.
“Did you say anything to
him?”
“Do not talk to that man.
He’s nuts. I got into it with
him once. Big mistake. I
was like, ‘Wait, do you actu-
ally care which team wins?
They’re 8 years old.’ And he’s
all like, ‘I love this team! I love
my country!’ Holy crap. He’s
fucking nuts. He was stomp-
ing his foot. ‘It’s Us versus
Them!’ Screaming it. ‘Us ver-
sus Them!’ I honestly had no
idea who he was even talking
about. Who’s ‘Us’?”
“His poor kids.”
“Who’s ‘Them’?”
“Does he have kids?”
“I didn’t talk to him,” J says.
“I was watching the woman.
Or I was watching the place
where she’d disappeared.”
“No one stopped her?”
“She’s an adult.”
“I’d almost say no one saw
her. I mean, I saw her and
others saw her, but it was like
most of us didn’t wonder what
she meant. At least at first. You
saw her.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t give it
much thought. I had the little
ones with me.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You mean you don’t know
her or you didn’t see who it was?”
“I didn’t see. I might know
her.”
“She could be anyone?”
“Sure.”
“One of us?”“Sure.”
“Was it you?”
“No. Was it you?”
Our chatter pauses long
enough for us to look at each
face, to see if one of us here
might walk into the woods.
Dead mom, cheating spouse,
raped at 14, Down’s kid, nearly
broke, alcoholic husband,
bankrupt business, Alzheim-
er’s dad, raped at 22, colon
cancer, barely hanging on to
sobriety. Each of us looks like
a person who might walk into
the woods and not come back.
“Ask K if she knows. She
knows everyone.”
“Who was it, K?”
K is eating cheesy popcorn.
“Was what?”
“At the game, in the woods.
You hear about this?”
“Oh yeah. Somebody told
me.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. Who?”
K is no help. We turn back
to J.
“When was this?”
“Last week.”
“What happened after she
was gone?”
“The game was ending. I
told you that. Then the game
did end and, you know, folding
up chairs, collecting water bot-
tles. One of the children had
to remind us. Kid says, ‘That
woman never came back.’ And
someone asked, ‘How do you
know she never came back?’
And the kid said, ‘I watched
for her. She never came.’ It was
that midfielder. Daydreamer,
you know. The kids were the
only people thinking clearly.
They said, ‘We need to go find
her. Maybe she’s hurt. Maybe
she’s lost.’ And all the adults,
thinking about dinner, a bot-
tle of wine, were like, ‘Right,
kids. Oh my God, the kids are
totally right.’ So we went into
the woods. Or some of us did.”“Who didn’t?”
“Not saying. But you
know who.”
“She’s such an ass. Not you,
hon. You had the little ones.”
“I’m not going to drag
them into the forest at night.”
“No one expects you to.”
“It was kind of awkward
at first in the woods. Some of
us were strangers. And, you
know, only moments before
our teams had been enemies.”
“Opponents. Not enemies.”
“Right. Opponents. But
that changed. We had ques-
tions, like: Should we split up?
Is that poison ivy? Who is she,
anyway? And, you know, other
questions. Some of us used the
lights on our phones to see.
Some had more woods expe-
rience and wanted the others
to appreciate their superior
scouting skills. They were, like,
trying to track her. You know,
the guys who grew up hunt-
ing. They were, like, looking
for scat. I swear to God.”
“I do not think she went
into the woods to poop.”
“We decided to split up,
even though it was dark. But
right before we split up, a mom
from the other team asked very
quietly, not wanting the others
to hear, ‘Which way did she go?’
She only asked me, as if I knew
or as if she wanted to go too.”
“Did you find her?”
“Some lookers plunged in.
Some stayed near the edge, by
the fields. Maybe they were
scared they’d also get lost.
Or annoyed that in order to
look like a good person, they’d
have to help out and be late for
dinner. Some people probably
slipped back out to the field, to
their cars. Some were calling
out, ‘Hello? Are you here?’ ”
“Was she?”
“I had the little ones.”
“We know. We know. For
Christ’s sake.”