The Rush

New York is home to the rush. Chaos is ever-present. Men and women hurry to work. The destitute line the roads, begging. The intense atmosphere is palpable. Vehicles demand the streets, unmoving. Horns blow. There is the occasional exchanging of words. The metros have a hectic schedule. Individuals are constantly waiting. They come on in masses. Several exit at every stop. Most mornings, there is no space. There is also no time. All minds are focused on the clock. They hear ticking in their heads. There is disorder. There is confusion. It’s overwhelming. It is so vast and uncontrollable. Once, I got lost in its midst. I looked to my right. Then, I saw to my left. One moment, my father was in front. The next instant, he was gone. He will return, I thought. He will find me. He had always come through for me. This was no exception. Slowly, the seconds passed by. The clock ticked. Those seconds turned into minutes. The minutes turned into hours. Soon enough, I lost faith. I lost the trust I once held. Why had he not come back? Why had my own father abandoned me? I then sat on the pavement. Thoughts consumed my mind. Around me, people were departing from buses. The collection of people soon became less. The crowd dispersed. There was only one woman left. She was elderly and kind. She asked where my parents were. I told her the truth. I had no idea. She offered to care for me. Of course, I was hesitant. With persuasion, I came to her home. She fed me. She clothed me. She was concerned about me. You must be thinking it was temporary. You think my father came for me. He pulled through for me at last. Well, you are wrong. It has been days since then. I have not heard from him. I haven’t even seen him. I now know one fact. He probably hasn’t even looked.