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Last week, a search for a new land-line telephone turned into a search for my son, who disappeared in a store.

It all started when I needed a new battery for my land-line phone. We’ve dropped the cordless handset a few too many times, so I thought I’d take a look at new phones, in case “just a battery” didn’t take care of our problem.

We drove first to Best Buy on University Drive, where we looked at phones and batteries.

I am not happy that most land-line phones these days are designed to rest on a table top. They have cut-outs for hanging the phones, but it would look odd to have this little phone shelf hanging on my kitchen wall.

The sales associate confirmed I was not the only shopper unhappy with selections that don’t include flat, hang-on-the-wall models.

I looked at the cordless batteries and found what I needed, but I decided to check Target, too.

My son wanted to browse through video games, which just happened to be next to the land-line phones.

I told him I’d be in the DVD section for a few minutes before heading to the appliance department.

When I was ready to go, I headed to the front of the store and sent Christopher a text message that read, “Come.”

I wanted to keep the message short and sweet and knew my son would not be offended by such a doglike command.

I waited for several minutes with my daughter, Hannah, until she offered to walk through the store to find Christopher.

I stayed by the doors waiting for the kids to return and was puzzled when Hannah returned alone. She said she couldn’t find him anywhere.

We waited a few more minutes. I began to feel as if the loud music and television surround sound throughout the store was beginning to bore a hole through my ears.

I decided to go to the car with my daughter to wait. I sent Christopher another text message that read, “Bye,” hoping that he would hear his phone over the beat.

Because we were still in the 90-degree days of late September, the car began to heat up quickly.

Christopher still had not made an appearance, and I was ready to go to Target to finish my errands. I decided to leave him there and drive over to Target in University Commons.

I was not worried about Christopher’s ability to connect with us eventually. He knew my plans included a trip to Target.

If nothing else, I knew he’d call once he saw his messages.

After parking, I decided to send Christopher one last text message that read, “Target,” so he would know where we had gone and could meet us there when he was through looking around at Best Buy.

As Hannah and I got out of the car, we saw Christopher walking across the sidewalk toward us.

Pouting a bit for emphasis, Christopher said, “You left me at Best Buy!” He was shocked we had left him there and said he had felt a bit frantic when he realized we had driven away.

I just smiled and told him I figured he’d realize it sooner or later or would see the text messages that I had sent him. Then he told me he had left his phone at home.

Laughing, he then said that he had thought about continuing to play the game he had started when he noticed we had left him, assuming we would come back to get him when we were done.
There is nothing like that unsettling feeling we experience when we cannot find the people we are supposed to be with or our surroundings do not look familiar.

It’s sort of how I feel looking for a new, flat, hang-on-the-wall phone.

At least Christopher’s found what he was looking for — us.

Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about my quest to find the perfect land-line telephone.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.