Adam, who cried when she mowed the lawn and ran over crickets and baby frogs. "There are so many of them, baby," she would say. "I cannot help it."

Adam, who would zig-zag wildly in front of the lawn mower, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks, screaming, pleading with the crickets and frogs. "Run! Run 'way!" It seemed to Adam, even at that age, that his mother was not trying to avoid the small creatures at all. 

Adam, who by the age of ten had already been staying home alone for several years. His mother would usually be gone when he woke up. She was never there when he got home. He was a latchkey child before he understood what that meant. He learned to make his own morning, noon, and often evening meals. 

Adam, who was more afraid of being alone inside of his house than of being alone outside. He roamed the neighborhood, quietly appearing and subtly slipping away. He was the both the child of everyone and no one.

Adam, who went not to his mother with homework questions, but to Mrs. Frank four houses over. She would pile cookies on a small blue plate and pour him a glass of milk and, because she was a lonely woman, pull him onto her lap and stroke his hair.

Adam, who went not to his mother for questions about girls, but to Mr. Chan's son. Adam would share in the chores around Mr. Chan's house and Mr. Chan would press quarters into Adam's palms. Sometimes when his son misbehaved he would tell his son that he wished he were more like Adam and often he meant it.

Adam, who swam in the Jung's pool during summers when his mother would stay away for weeks. It was Mrs. Jung who taught Adam to swim and Mr. Jung who explained to Adam exactly how to throw a football.

Adam, who's only memory of his mother, only good memory, was not a good one at all, but at least his mother had called him baby.

Adam, who disappeared one chilly fall afternoon, somewhere between the Jung house and his own.