Over the horizon, behind the hills, a vibrant orange begins to bloom until the glowing sphere finally rests. Time is ticking. I quickly rounded a corner to the academic street to pick up my son.

         Look at him there on the bench across campus, in the middle of his late-afternoon read. In this darkening hour of the day, the words in his book could be blending in with the evening. I’m glad I arrived on time. I’m afraid he might force himself to read without a light. His mother is supposed to pick him up. This is one of those evenings where she gets caught up at work…again. Always late to pick up her son.

 
        Loud and clear! Pick your kids up at 5pm, and she has yet to discover her son’s absence. How hard is it to keep track of time? My son could have been scared right now, so I decided to pick him up myself instead.

 
        All the students have gone home already. He is learning how painful it can be to be forgotten. Which is why I am here to the rescue. I will never forget about him. Not once. I brake in front of the bench he is sitting on, and call out to him. “Michael!” his head tilts up, looking at me. “Your mom’s stuck at work again, so I’m picking you up.”

        He does not even hesitate to get inside my van. He was already tired from waiting, and put his book back in his bag. From the way he enters, and throws his bag inside, there is that sense of annoyance for his mother’s delay. He just wants to go home.