My Precarious, Precious Parents

A few Fridays ago, my parents were scheduled to pick me up at Point Pleasant train station at 1 p.m. The idea was to go to the “fine” baby store nearby so my mother could pick out a gift for an upcoming baby shower.

While I was in Secaucus train station to make a connection that would have me on the train for two hours, I saw on the board that there were delays. As it turned out, I wound up on an earlier train that would get in at about 12:30 p.m. I called my mother and informed her of the new time, and told her I was estimating. With anyone else, I’d say, “I’ll call or text with updates” but this is my old school parents.

“Oh, OK, I’ll charge my phone,” my mother says of the basic gadget we forced on her a few years ago.

“Yeah, but do you know how to answer it yet?” I say.

“Yes, I can answer it sometimes,” she says. “And also make a call.”

OK, I’m thinking. We’ll see how this goes.

I arrive 10 minutes early and the white Mercury Marquis is not there. This would not be an issue except my parents think they’re late if they’re not a half-hour early. So I wait. And wait. And wait. I try to call. No answer.

Now I’m convinced something bad has happened. I’m not typically inclined to ominous thinking, but here’s the deal. I have two parents…