Nono talks to everyone. She doesn't just talk to them, she be-friends them. She likes for people to like her, she enjoys cheering up old people and babies. She is drawn to people in wheel-chairs, because she wants to take care of them. She is equally friendly with motherly postal clerks and filthy homeless men. I have seen her wrench smiles out of passersby who I would not have believed had any smiles in them.
In moments, Nono is talking to the man. I say "Don't bother the man. He' s reading."
He beams at me and says he doesn't mind at all, that this is just a "warm-up" for his three grand kids. He seems to be trying to reassure me that he's a good guy, which actually has the opposite effect. He asks her name and then says, "I'm Mr. Joe." and offers his hand for her to shake. I listen in on their conversation and hear him talking about how lucky she is to have a brother. He goes on and on, in a preachy way, about how lucky she is to have a brother and how he will look out for her when he is bigger. Something about this annoys me. Like he thinks Nono's world revolves around her brother. He looks Italian and is reading a big book about the bible. I am profiling him big-time. I am suspicious of people who read religious things in public. It feels like it's just for show. (my mother would find this appalling, no doubt.) I know that some people who don't enjoy reading think that all books are just snobby, show-offy props. I definitely don't feel that way, but this guy seems to want me to see what he is reading.
Nono is now running in circles around the man's chair. He is watching me. I look annoyed. He reassures me that she's not bothering him. He doesn't seem to get it that he is what's annoying me. Or maybe he does, but doesn't care. They start playing hide and seek under the chair. Nono is giggle-shrieking and rooting around like a puppy under his chair and he is clearly delighted. My sister and I eye each other warily. I feel I have lost control of the situation. I hand her Baby Beck and scoop Nono up off the floor. I take her by the hand and tell her we need to use the potty. She collapses to the floor in a pile and when I pull her up she bursts into tears and sobs that I pulled her too hard and "pinched" her. I whisk her off to the bathroom and on the way I say that she needs to sit with Mommy when we get back, not Mr. Joe.
"Why Mommy? Is he not nice?"
"He seems nice, but we don't know him."
In the bathroom she continues to cry and say she can't lift her fore-arm and I start to worry that I've yanked a joint lose or something. We get a bag of ice for her arm from a Starbucks booth on the way back to our seats.
At this point I feel I should let you know that my daughter's face is covered with bruises. One from a bath tub incident with a toy boat that left a bruised scrape at her temple and a whole bunch of scratches on her nose and left cheek from a "Look, Ma, no hands!" moment on the swings yesterday that didn't go so well. So as I hold an ice pack to my still-sniffling daughter's arm, I am very aware that I look, at best neglectful of my child's safety and, at worst, like I'm inflicting the abuse myself.
Still, in the midst of my self-consciousness, I notice that "Mr. Joe" has moved all the way around to the other side of our row of chairs so he is next to Nono again. Nono has spent all weekend in a falling-down house that is not safe for children, surrounded by adults who haven't seen each in years and want to chat. But not with her. So she has basically spent 72 hours being told to "hold still and be quiet" and now she is about to get on an airplane where she will be told to "hold still and be quiet" for two more hours. She is starved for attention.
"Mr. Joe" talks to Nono and soon she has slid off of the chair next to mine and is drawing pictures for him and he is making paper airplanes for her. He tells her that he will take out the bookmark he has for his book and use her drawing as a bookmark so that whenever he sees it he "will think of her." I roll my eyes at my sister. I feel totally uggged out by this guy, but I can't explain why. It just seems like I keep setting boundaries and he keeps crossing them.
Then the flight attendant is calling for pre-boarding for people with small children and I am relieved to have an excuse to get the hell out of the waiting area. As I am scooping Noli up in my arms away from this questionable guy, the flight attendant makes some announcement about how they may be pulling some passengers aside for "routine questioning" and Mr. Joe smiles at me and says, "I always seem to get pulled over for that." And I feel my eyes go sort of dull and I am moving us all away as fast as we can go. I can only imagine what it is on his record that makes them "always pull him over".
On the plane we get settled and quickly forget Mr. Joe, because we are dealing with a fussy baby and trying to entertain Nono. When we get out I offer to walk my sister to her connecting flight and as we leave the gate I see Mr. Joe waving at Nono out of the corner of my eye. We keep going. When we get to my sister's gate I say, "That guy was creepy."
Mo - "That guy was a total Chester."
Me - "Chester?"
Mo-"Child Molester."
I let this sink in.
Mo - "He was sitting ahead of us on the plane and he said this was his final destination, so why was he waiting for us outside the gate?"
In the days since this incident, I have had all sorts of nightmares about Mr. Joe somehow finding Nono and kid-napping her -- generally at school, so I finally set an email to the school list-serve describing him and warning them about him. Which I hope didn't unnecessarily freak people out. I think I listened in on most of Nono's conversation with this stranger, but I have heard her tell people where she goes to school before and I just want be able to sleep again.
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