Have You Seen My Ball?

We found him on the side of a deserted farm road, behind a clump of weeds. To this day, I don’t know who left him or how he got there.

It was my oldest daughter who spotted him. “Did you see that?” she asked.

I pulled to the side of the road. 

Barely visible in the brown grass, he lay.

Round.

Purple.

Still.

My daughter got out of the car and ran towards him. She pulled him out of the ditch and hoisted him over her head as she raced back to the car. She sat him in the back seat as we drove away.

“How do you think he got there?” she asked.

“I have no idea.” 

That week, when my friends came over to my house for our weekly boot camp, they were equally mystified.

Lisa wrapped her arms around his enormous middle. “He’s a big boy.”

Julie shook her head. “Who leaves a perfectly good exercise ball on the side of the road?”

That was the mystery.

Was he flung from a moving vehicle?

Escaping a sadistic gym owner?

Or did an open garage and a strong breeze lead him to his destiny?

I shrugged. “Well, he’s ours now.”

And that’s how Big Purple Ball came into our lives. Sure, we had plenty of other exercise equipment, but he was special. Over time, when the weights became worn, the bands broke, and the exercise balls deflated, Big Purple Ball remained reliable and round.

Big Purple Ball was part of our workouts for six months. Then one Thursday, while setting out equipment, Big Purple Ball wasn’t in his usual spot. Hmmm.

I searched the garage, inside the house, the back yard.

Nothing.

Big Purple Ball had many talents, but hiding wasn’t one of them.

He’s got to be here somewhere. 

The following week, he was still missing.

My friends and I discussed Big Purple Ball’s sudden disappearance while jumping rope on the driveway.

“He probably rolled away,” Julie said.

Lisa added, “And unfortunately, you live on a hill.”

If Big Purple Ball escaped down the driveway, it was all downhill after that. He may have literally rolled out of our lives forever.

All I could think was…

Why Purple Ball, why?

We gave you a good home.

And yes, moms aren’t supposed to have favorites, but clearly you were the favorite.

I spent several afternoons gazing in garages, combing bushes, peeking through fences.

Nothing.

But somehow I felt he was close. I contemplated putting up a sign.

Why not?

That Lost Kitten sign has been posted to our mailbox for weeks.

Who’s to say your stupid kitten is more important than my Big Purple Ball?

I’m sorry, your kitten isn’t stupid. I’m lashing out.

A month later, while walking my dog, it happened.

Several houses down, in an open garage, between a set of golf clubs and a tub of beach toys, he sat.

BIG PURPLE BALL!

Maybe it’s not him. There are others that resemble him. I’ve seen his siblings at Walmart, Dick’s, Target.

I made my way up their driveway, getting a closer look.

It was HIM.

I didn’t feel right just taking him, so I continued walking. I practiced what I would say when I returned.

Ten minutes later, I headed back up my street. I stopped in front of the kidnapper’s house, prepared to take back what was rightfully mine.

The garage door was now closed.

That’s okay, I’ll be back.

And I was, several times. The garage door was often open, but Big Purple Ball was nowhere in sight. 

I guess I could have just asked, but there’s something about a middle-aged woman knocking on a stranger’s door and saying, “I want my ball back,” that screamed Dateline Special.

Months went by, the garage door remained open, kids played in the front yard, but Big Purple Ball was MIA.

It wasn’t until early December that I got my first lead.

I was teaching PE at the local elementary school, when a kid said to me, “I think you live on my street.”

I studied the freckled, sandy-haired boy. “What’s your name?”

“Joey,” he answered. 

And then I knew.

Joey lived in the house.

Joey had my ball.

“Um Joey,” I said. “This is going to sound weird, but a few months ago, did you happen to find a big purple ball?”

His eyes got big. “Yeah, we got it out of our neighbor’s trash.”

And just like that, mystery solved. 

Big Purple Ball rolled down the street (accidental or premeditated, we’ll never know) and ended up in a neighbor’s yard. Neighbor had no need for Big Purple Ball, and threw him away. Joey’s family took him out of trash and gave Big Purple Ball a new home.

“It’s actually my ball,” I told Joey.

“Okay,” Joey said, shrugging.

Okay?

Okay, you can have your ball back.

Or…

Okay, it’s my ball now.

The bell rang and Joey was gone.

I didn’t do anything for a few weeks. But one day, while stretching with the kids at PE, I whispered, “Psst, Joey, you still have my ball, right?”

“Yep,” he said. 

This Joey wasn’t much of a talker.

“I guess I’ll come by sometime and get it,” I said.

“Okay,” Joey said, then ran off to do his laps.

Three weeks later, I did.

It was over Christmas break, and my youngest daughter was home from college. 

“Why do I have to go too?” she grumbled, as we headed down the street.

“With you there, it’ll be less weird,” I said. 

“Trust me, it’s still going to be weird,” she said. “And you know there are stores that sell the same ball. I can buy you one.”

I shook my head.

I wanted THIS ball.

My daughter rang the bell. I took a deep breath. The mom opened the door. After a nudge from my daughter, I cleared my throat and said what I rehearsed.

She smiled. “I’m sorry. Joey never mentioned that it was your ball.”

Typical Joey.

“And unfortunately…”

Uh oh.

“We left the side gate open about a week ago, and I guess the ball just rolled away.” 

My ball rolled away? 

My BALL? 

MY BIG PURPLE BALL!

“I guess that ball really likes to travel,” she added.

She had no idea.

I spent more time scouring the neighborhood, but I never did reunite with Big Purple Ball. Sometimes, on a deserted road, they’ll be something purple and round in the distance, but when I get closer, I realize it’s just an illusion.

My therapist is trying to find out what sort of deep-seated loss the ball represents.

But I keep telling her, “It was just a really good ball.”