I was going to write about baseball but then yesterday happened.

Sebastian and I went Skateboarding yesterday. It was my first time on the board in about ten months, you know, surgeries, fractures, and stuff. Body no longer cooperating kind of stuff.

Anyway, I spent some time in the deep pool getting my carving skills back. I ate it pretty good one time, head smashing on the ground, elbow bleeding. I felt alive, I felt pain, I felt concussed. It was awesome.

Sebastian and I were gonna have dinner across the street from the skatepark afterwards. Tacos Por Favor. We decided on that as we were heading to the car. I was about halfway across the parking lot when I hear Sebastian yell ”I’m going this way.”

I turned around and saw him disappear around the corner. I was a little miffed at him for not following me, six year olds tend to do that and it tends to annoy me at times. I sighed, turned around and followed him.

I assumed that he walked through the park office into the gym to watch the volleyballers, like he always does.

He wasn’t there. I figured he went to the restroom. I figured wrong. I entered the men’s room and called his name, no answer. A half naked volleyball player stared at me with his shorts around his ankles.

I returned to the gym, certain that I missed him standing off in the corner. He still wasn’t there.

I returned to the parking lot, surely he must be waiting by the car, I thought. Nothing. No dice. No Sebastian.

It’s been about a minute or two at this point. I mean how far could he be? And where? I was beginning to get irritated. Still schlepping a heavy bag containing helmets, pads, and water bottles, over my shoulder, a skateboard in one hand, and one of the two tennis balls Sebastian retrieved from the playground in the other, I returned to the car once again. I opened the trunk and unloaded. I felt a sudden anger pang and threw the tennis ball into my cabin, a fastball that bounced off the windshield. Panic was setting in. Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Son?

I’m beginning to think rape, murder, all the horrific things that are never supposed to happen to us. I ran back to the gym and began interviewing people, potential kidnappers and child molesters. Yes, they saw him. No, they did’t see him leave.

It’s as if Sebastian had been swallowed by the ground he was standing on. I ran into the ladies room, screaming his name, no answer. I run through into the men’s room again. Nothing. The volleyball player stared at me as he was tying his shoes.

I ran behind the building, found another bathroom, screaming Sebastian’s name with fear and fury.

I called my wife and hung up before she could answer her phone. I kept running in circles, astonished, bewildered, consternated. My heart skipped beat after beat. I began formulating an obituary and a Facebook post. I felt a wave of shame walloping me. I lost my son and I have no explanation for what happened.

I ran out to the parking lot again, panting, hyperventilating, panic attack in full swing. I saw the AA meeting letting out in the community room towards the parking lot exit. And behind the cluster of recently treated alcoholics, out on the sidewalk, I spot Sebastian skateboarding into my field of vision. He was bouncing the other tennis ball off the ground. No care in the world. Just a six year old on a skateboard, still wearing his kneepads, sweat mane contained by a baseball cap.

I screamed his name loud enough to bruise my vocal cords. I scared the alcoholics with the sound of my voice. I was scared of my voice. Sebastian looked at me just as the smile on his face disappeared. He was scared of my voice and began to sob. He started running to me as tears exploded from his eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I can only speak in screams. I’m so scared and happy and relieved and I can only speak in screams.

“I couldn’t find you.” He sobs.

We embrace. I squeeze his little body against mine once more. He’s scared, shaking, trembling.

“I went to Tacos Por Favor.”

That was the last thing we talked about before he changed directions. It never occurred to me that he could have left the skatepark area. Tacos Por Favor is across the street, the street being Olympic Boulevard in Santa Monica. I was having visions of douchebags in Maseratis rolling over his little body, followed by yoga-panted bitches in Priuses. I saw the skateboard laying wheels up on the pavement, a few feet from the carnage.

Sebastian kept crying, we kept embracing, and I kept feeling worse about screaming at him. I explained to him how scary it was for me to have lost him. I told him that I love him. That the thought of losing him is terrifying. He understood. I acknowledged his fear and we both calmed down after a few minutes. I felt closer to him than ever. The thought of having lost a child will have that effect.

I opened the trunk and placed his skateboard and in it. Sebastian placed his tennis ball next to the bag with the helmets, pads, and water bottles. The alcoholics were all gone.

We drove across the street to Tacos Por Favor. And we ate.

—Bad Papa West