lost & found: chapter one

8/6/2019 Lost & Found: Chapter One

1/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

.:: Chapter 1 ::.

I look over to the left from my seat at the desk and squint my

eyes. The clock blinks the time like a musicians metronome.

5:18 A.M.

I slide the chair I have been sitting in the last few hours back

and stand up stiffly, stretching my arms, stretching my legs; like a

wolf waking for the morning hunt.

My weary gaze shifts to the long and slightly narrow windows

that line the east side of my room. Often, through these windows, I

take in the last few moments of peace and restful darkness that

accompanies early mornings. The kind of otherworldly lifelessness

that tricks you into feeling like you're the last person on Earth.

Everything is absolutely still; everything, infinitely quiet.I pause at this eerie observation of loneliness, of life in a

vacuum, and rest my eyes. They are sore and dry.

Despite a herculean Evergreen and some small bushes that

almost block my view, I can see clearly enough to see the houses

across the street. I can remember the people who used to live in them.

Good people. Kind people. I barely know any of them living there

now.

The song playing on through my stereo is slowly fading out.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up in expectation of a song

that surely must follow. But nothing occurs. The silence rings in my

ears and then suddenly stops.

The quiet seeps back into my room, ghostly chilling. Despite

pulling my comforter around me tighter, I feel the cold penetrate eventhe warmest parts of my body.

I tilt my head and look up and over the houses, trying to

imagine the sunrise that would be coming.


2/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

The sunrise is the most loyal part of nature. It never ceases to

be timely or to be inspiring.

My vision of the sun rising is always idealistic and dreamy. Asif I'm always living it for the first time. As if its awe is always new.

The gold-orange-pink sun, creeping upon the dark horizon,

born from the earth, spreading rose-pink and violet streamers across

the sky. Tearing away the Moons grip on the night, tearing away at the

darkness. Beautiful, pure, and amazing.

The natural light would flood my room like a spotlight. It

would cause me to squint until my eyes adjusted to the change. The

warmth of the sun would stroke my face pleasantly and nip the nights

chill out of my bones.

Turning around slowly, I break free of my wandering

thoughts. Slow is the only speed I have right now. My muscles creak

and ache with every step I take, as if they're singing cheers for the

coming joy of finally resting.Its been a long day. Or has it been days?

My body knows this but my mind has not caught up with it

until now.

I can only manage a limp dive. A body flop, if you will, into

bed. It feels like I'm being soaked into it; molecule by molecule,

sleepy atom by sleepy atom.

I feel the warmth conducting in my pillows immediately. They

plant ideas of how nice it is to be to be tucked away and distanced

from the outside world. Wrapped up in blankets, like an unborn child,

deep inside the womb. Yet here I am, in my make-shift womb,

wrapped up in blankets and coming down from probably the worst

trip Ive ever had so far in my self-indulging and reckless foray into

drugs.A long and breathy sigh escapes. A long release from a deep

lung full of air.

The feeling of numbing relief that rest brings is setting in


3/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

pleasantly. I move sluggishly like an incoherent drunk into my normal

sleeping position. The perfect coordination of arms and legs that just

completely relaxes you, that you almost always fall asleep in, butnever recall waking up in.

Mine is on my stomach with my left leg slightly extended and

bent at the knee. My arms cross under my head, I barely use even the

corner of my pillow. A lot of times its on the floor when I wake up.

It's this kind of thinking that pushes those bothersome 'keep-

you-up-at-night' thoughts into oblivion. I can feel sleep himself

tapping on my eye lids. They close and open repeatedly, just a little

slower after each time.

The expectation of sleep is always unbearable. And then one

second later, you're awake. Not tonight.

In a painfully slow rage, comfort seizes my spine like a warm

hand sliding up from the small of my back towards my neck. It

invades my body; my conscious still reluctant to except so cordiallythis rapture.

I can feel the chemicals purging themselves, all the little globs

of L.S.D. running full speed to my spine, pushing and knocking each

other over. Evacuate! Get out while you can!

I've resigned to just lay here, dead to the world. I lay here,

waiting for it to end. My eyes flitting, open-close-open-close. Slower

to open. Slower to close.

When my eyes close for longer than they should, shadows take

form under my eye lids. Wolves running down my dresser, chasing

the rabbit thats not there. Sounds that normally would be explainable

became unexplainable and frighten me. Colors swirl and twirl.

Lifelessness finds life in my drug use, and I find, engulfed in all that

haze, a sense of clarity through feeling infinitely lost. Some patchoulioil smelling hippie told me this is called ego death. I had to look it

up. I think he's right.

The hours pass. I dream of what my life used to be like. Not


4/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

that its changing deserves such attention, but I've noticed who I used

to be, and who I am now. This sort of acknowledgment of change, it

leaves me feeling awkward about myself. Maybe Im not really me?Maybe Im just a front for someone else in this mind. Maybe I'm

already asleep and dreaming?

The images, the memories they come like always, in a

creeping fog. In a stutter step way, slowly materializing into clean

sharp images of the past. They sort of crystallize in memory this way,

as if you're looking through a window in which the view is the outside

of yesterday.

My first fireworks. Little league. Roaming in the forest

preservation. Vibrant green foliage everywhere and fallen trees to

walk on. A prevailing naive sense of peace; of the appreciable non-

consequential aspects of life which we commonly mistake for

irresponsibility.

With no regrets, and with hopes for true slumber, I let go ofthese introspective thoughts and let the drug run its course. After all,

thats all you can really do.

Tripping 101: You take a bunch of hallucinogens and wait for

it to end.

And yes, dont expect to sleep. Ive been awake for about 18

hours longer than I should have been. I think.

* * *

In the blink of a dream, my mind begins waking up in that

confused and sluggish way that happens when youre half asleep.

Instinct tells me what it should be.

I stretch my left arm up and over for what should be theindividual in bed with me to move closer. I wake up fully, confused,

when I realize no one is really there.

A phantom. Nothing but the ghost of the memory of someone.


5/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

The hope of someone.

Hello drug use! Nice to see you again!

No one had been there in the first place. No one has been therebeside me for 3 months now. Three months may not seem like a long

time to some. To me, something that had been happening for two

years and suddenly leaves you...even a single month can be very

lonely.

Drugs will prey on such things. They prey on hopes and

dreams and fantasy and pain, on regret, and most of all, fear. Thats

why they intrigue us, despite all perfectly logical warnings. (This

might kill you! This might warp your young mind for eternity!)

I look around my room, eyes still dilated to nothing but pools

of blackness, pupils darting back and forth through sleep ridden slits.

The fan has been on all night like usual. Its 'white-noise' hum

sedates my mind. I listen tentatively to it. Absorbing the relaxing

feelings rather than hearing or feeling it. I have all the intentions tolay here and enjoy this warm paradise as best as I can for as long as I

can.

I've never noticed until this moment how incredibly sacred

where we sleep has become. How many hours do we spend laying

there? Think of everything else were known to do in bed, too. What

else is sacred? Religion? Love? Most likely we lay there more than

we spend time showing someone we love them. Definitely more often

then finding Faith.

Love is not an appropriate tool of measure. Can you really

measure love in man-hours? I hope not. That would be awful. A time-

card for love? I have a feeling more people would be fired than reach

retirement.

One thing is for sure. Sleep is definitely not as involved aslove. If it was, I would be a connoisseur of both, instead of just one.

Ill let you come to your own conclusions.

Feeling more alert, my eyes open a bit more.


6/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

I yawn. Im thirsty. Not like a casual my-palette-could-use-a-

little-something, but a wretched feeling like I've spent a week in the

Sahara. The dangling thing in the back of my throat feels like it'sstuck to the inside of my mouth.

I reach blindly for my night stand and find a glass of water

there. It could be a few days old.

Itll have to do.

While setting the glass back down, I see rustling outside the

windows. I try to focus on all the noise and movement outside in the

bushes but my currently lack of small muscle coordination doesn't

allow me.

A cat bursts out of no where, prancing through the air, slowly

tiptoeing to one of my windows. I watch him stare at me, his bushy

tail whipping side to side like a serpent with a fur coat on. I smile. His

pudgy whiskered little cat lips open and mew a muffled noise. Why is

he still out? His sound and body language scream indignation to hisplight. Thats probably what hes trying to let me know. Why do I still

have this cat? Dogs are much more masculine. I should get a dog. A

little scrappy one with bad eye site, maybe a physical handicap, like

only 3 legs. And I could put a patch on his bad eye.

I twist out of bed, still wrapped in my blanket, and shuffle

over to the window. I pull the window up some. He takes some

ridiculously meticulous cat steps in, lays on the window sill, staring at

me.

Sure, he wants to be inside, but he doesn't want to seem too

eager. Typical.

A dog lets you know what he wants and shows gratification.

I wrap myself up tight and lay gently back into bed. I feel my

consciousness slipping through my fingers as my eyes bat shut. Iintended to lock myself in my room until this all wore off. If I can't

sleep, I may give in to the itching feeling to wander and take in the

world through my dilated sense of perception.


7/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

I stare off into my eye lids, the hours flip by some more, and I

wait. And wait.

After awhile, things begin to get less interesting. I begin tofeel more human again, more normal. I must be coming down pretty

steadily.

What seems like a split second after that thought, but must

have been hours, I hear a car coming down the street. It clearly

stopped in front of my house. The engine shuts off and I can tell only

one door had opened and closed.

During the seconds long interval of the one door opening and

closing, the stereo was barely audible with my window open.

I close my eyes, I grin lopsidedly. I can't help it.

One person comes to mind.

That person has approached my front door and is knocking.

With my room in close proximity of the door, I can hear that as well.

Shave-and-a-hair-cut...Two-bits.Does everyone knock like that? Its such a generic knock.

I wait.

Another knock. This time, simply 5 hard raps against the metal

storm-door.

And I wait.

After a brief moment I hear steps approaching my window. I

receive a faint whiff of some flowery perfume carried in with the

breeze.

My smile grows. Happiness, comfort, fun...all these thoughts

and feelings rush back when I smell that wonderful smell. How

wonderful are the smells that make you smile.

I hear my window sliding up more. Rusty, my cat, who just

happens to be a gift from this person, meowed and jumped off of thewindow to my dresser. I engage my best skills as an improv actor to

pretend that I'm asleep. I feel like a little kid again, pretending to be

asleep to fool mom and dad for some mundane reason.


8/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

A shuffle, four steps across my carpet, and someone lays next

to me. This time I'm positive someone is there. This ones real. Still,

the thought nags me; what if it's not? How do you know? When Iopen my eyes, is it going to be just another illusion? Is it the presence

of the person that makes it real, or the intentions and feelings and all

those human complexities of that person that make it real?

There's tugging at my blanket.

Her feminine hands creep into my tight cocoon, down my

chest, and to her intended destination.

I moan. Not a good moan. And then wince. "Why are your

hands always so cold?" I ask, sleepily, eyes still closed tightly.

"Because doing this would be just so dull and pointless," she

replied.

It's Mary. She's a person that you can actually hear her when

she smiles, and I definitely hear one right now.

A five foot eight inch brunette with a good sense of humor andeyes that just make you go weak like a Gumby doll cooked in a

microwave.

We've known each other for a long time. We go through

phases of being just friends and almost more than friends. Through

years of thicks and thins we've always stood by each other. She was

there when I had to bury my family. She was there when I left college.

She is here now when I'm stuck and can't figure things out.

We've been two peas in a pod for a very long time. We know

each other well. We know each other too well. I've always wondered

about what we could be. Recently, in particular, I've thought about

what coming home to her would be like. I've wondered what being

between her legs would be like, what calling her mine would be like.

She has always been a friend. I'm sure you know what the difficultyand confusion in this is.

Now that Im thinking about it, again, where's the fun in

something completely and utterly platonic? I know for myself theres


9/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

always that little voice in my head telling me what I would or

wouldnt do, given certain circumstances, with most of my female

friends. That probably just makes me a pig. Isnt that what womencall men who think like that?

I honestly believe in the old adage, we're only human. After

living life long enough, how can you not? Only animals controlled by

nature, right? At least this is how I justify the thoughts to myself.

Deep inside I know normal people didnt have friendships like this.

Yet, the cynic inside always asks me, Who's normal? If there are

normal people, they can go fuck themselves. I may need that feeling

of universality to the human condition more than I need the cynicism.

I open my eyes to see that Mary has gotten out of bed and is

now sitting in that old oak chair I had been in last night and morning.

We look at each other for a moment or two, both of us

searching each others eyes for what each other had been thinking and

we smile.My eyes are sore with sleep, my throat parched and yearning

for more to drink.

"How long is it going to take you to get ready today? Two

hours? Three?" She questions me politely. She's been known to call

me a 'diva' from time to time. She always wildly over exaggerates.

But I have this thing. If my morning routine doesnt go well,

my whole day is fucked. Its been like this for as long I can remember.

If I rush just one aspect, I could be cranky all day. I am completely

willing to acknowledge that its weird.

I stare blankly into her eyes, a combination of amber and

green, desperately trying to grasp onto something sarcastic enough to

say, but every recently exhausted brain cell seems to fail me at the

same time. By the time she blinks twice I realize she's tryingdesperately to be patient with me.

Abandon sarcasm.

"I can be ready in.... I pause as the wheels turn, ...thirty


10/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

minutes...If I try."

"If you try?" She doesn't seem amused.

As I twist around in my bed to find a more comfortable spot,my spine pops a few vertebrae loudly. Oh, now that feels so good.

"If I try," I grin to myself.

She jabbed me hard in the ribs with her knuckles, and I can

imagine her smiling while doing so. I spin around quickly in an

instinctual protective mode, grabbing her hands, which are still ice

cold, and pull her off of the chair onto the bed and we wrestle a bit.

She was fun like that. A girl who can get physical in a

nonsexual way is big turn on. Ironically so.

We twist around a bit and somehow she works her way into

straddling me, her arms having pinned mine down. She wins.

"Come on, stop joking around," she declares,"We have a lot of

things to do today. Remember? She pauses and searches my face for

some form of recognition, You do remember, dont you?" She looksat me incredulously.

Of course I do, not so sure that I do, I lie. No surprise, I

forgot. It doesnt matter though. I never have much to do as it is.

Your eyes look dilated. She's on to me.

I'm just tired, I lied again.

I motion to her with a nod and then proceed to stand out of

bed, still wrapped in my blanket. Mary opts to hold on. She wraps her

legs around my mid section and arms around my neck. I can smell her

perfume again. I think I sort of subconsciously did things like this to

remind her that I lose for the sake of good sportsmanship, even

though I dont really need to. Its just some stupid masculinity thing I

guess.

I think she enjoys it too.She slides off, pulling my comforter off with her. I turn and

push her onto the bed. She just lays there.

I'm beginning to think she woke me up in a conspiracy to take


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~ LOST AND FOUND~

my spot in the bed.

Drugs have been known to make people paranoid.

She looks really comfortable.Warm, soft, and all girly-smell-good...I want to jump back in

with her...I want to tear her clothes off, feel her body pressed against

mine, the tension and electricity of naked skin rubbing against naked

skin.

I'm naked and probably giving myself an erection in front of

her. I could blame it on morning wood?

Instead, I painfully ignore the urge and take some small half-

awake shuffles over to my long mirror-on-the-wall. I always feel

awkward saying that. I feel crooked and conceited whenever I do so.

But thats exactly what it is. A mirror. Which happens to be located on

the wall.

I look myself over once, turn left, and stride to my dresser. I

yank out a pair of black boxer-briefs. I slide them on and turn around,half expecting Mary to still be watching me.

Casual nudity has meant almost nothing to us.

I suppose it all started in high-school. Fake I.D.'s, a lack of

parental involvement, one lucky sonofabitch with a pool, and it all

equals drunk and hormone engorged teenagers skinny dipping.

After that, there's the inevitable college experiences: coed

dorm floors, random hook ups, one porta-potty at the frat party,

having to fireman carry her drunk ass two miles while picking up her

spilled purse belongings.... At least, this is how I've justified it. I do

imagine, if I just started to strip in front of her for no reason

whatsoever, she might be startled.

We have a strange relationship.

Bending down to sift through a cardboard box on my floor, Ilook for a little more to put on. While I'm searching through a

corrugated box, she gets up and turns around, poking through the

collection of general disarray on my desk.


12/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

Have you ever moved, and instead of taking time to unpack

and organize, just lived out of boxes for a few weeks?

No? Maybe its a me thing then.Im not sure why, but its been a year and a half and I just

cant seem to concentrate hard enough or long enough to actually

unpack.

The real kicker here is that I didnt even move. I was just

hoping I would move if I packed everything up.

Every few months I feel like I need to just get up and go. I've

always ended up halfway, or not even that much. My life: muted

progress and unfinished business.

A new t-shirt appeared and I slipped that on, tossing the

packaging onto my bed.

I stood in front of the mirror again, this time rubbing the sleep

out of my eyes, while assessing the need to shave.

Something from last night tinged my memory and I thought ofMary. My gaze reflects onto her from the mirror.

I can see her standing there with her back to me. I start trying

to conjure up what I should remember we're doing today.

Her hair is up, as usual, and a few of her quietly pleasant and

soft curls are hanging down loosely. She has jeans on that make guys

thankful women wear them and a tight fitted t-shirt. She looks

relaxed. Unfortunately, she looks ready to do just about anything not

involving butlers and h'orderves.

Even excellent powers of deduction won't help me out today. I

can't even attempt to lie my way through this one. I'm going to have

to just ask.

Youre awfully persistent today, I subtly question with a

statement. Doing so is really an art. I'm not sure if people do it toartificially implant the suggestion that they are right, or if its a low

level psychic thing, and we actually know what were saying.

Im trying to find your camera, thats all.


13/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

What for?

Youll find out later. Now hurry up and get dressed.

Yessum ma, I drawl as best as I can. She responds with afaint chuckle, just barely enough to acknowledge my attempt at

humoring her.

Shes normally a very lighthearted person. Somethings up. At

least it seems like it. I think. If I know, then why do I feel so infinitely

vulnerable? Women are so good at doing that.

I continue looking in the mirror, and for no apparent reason, it

slowly comes to me. I look myself in the eyes and realize I left

something out last night.

Problems may arise.

She has moved from the desk top to the draws, the small of

her back is showing, those 2 dimples that make guys drool just barely

exposed.

Then again, what is so wrong with problems? Problemsrequire action, actions require decisions, decisions require thinking

and thinking requires brain power. As a man, I feel hardwired to

instinctively solve problems. But does that mean I'm instinctively

hardwired to get INTO problematic situations?

Is it possible were bred to hate problems because idiots and

malcontents dont like thinking?

My thoughts are wandering. The acid has left me loopy, I

need to focus. I need to focus beyond Mary and her dimples.

To my shear unprepared wuss-like terror, she turns around and

looks at me, finding me looking at her. She smiles.

I love her smile.

It's a smile that make's birds appear and your stomach go

wobbly. It's a smile that can make you smile. A smile that can dissolvesituations. A smile that causes nervous chortles.

I bob my eye brows in a form of acknowledgment, more of an

attempt at downplaying the interaction, and turn around to the mirror,


14/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

feigning vain interest in myself.

She wraps her arms around my stomach, resting her head on

my back. I place my hands gently on hers, feeling her cold handsbegin to warm under mine.

My Mom used to say that having cold hands is a sign of a

warm heart, I whisper this to her softly, gently, trying to ease any

tension. I should have added some Barry White to it.

Do you miss her?

Everyday; but, is something wrong? Are you not feeling

O.K? I ask, with true sincerity, and with intention to cut to the point.

She ignored my question but at the same time answers it,

saying, Why has nothing ever amounted from us, Alec?

She used my name. Someone once told me that some

civilizations used names when they intended to exert strength over

them, to let them know they intended to bend them to their will. Mind

games.All I can do is stand here quietly, thinking, trying to call up the

most rational and true answer to that yearning question that has

always sat in the dark, burning brightly to be answered. My mind

right now is like trying to start a lawnmower that hasn't been primed

yet. No matter how hard I'm pulling on this rope to start it, it just

spins for a second and fails. If you've ever had to deal with this you

know the feeling I'm talking about.

I look down, my eyes sullen, slightly shameful because of

reasons I cant understand, and stare at her hands in mine.

This feels natural. Holding her, her closeness, it all feels right.

If something like this feels right, its right. Am I over simplifying

this? I doubt it. I tend to always make things unnecessarily

complicated.Her left hand pulls away for a moment and squeezes back in,

producing a picture.

I take it slowly and flip it around to its printed face.


15/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

It's a picture of her and I at The Alcove. A bar we frequented

as freshly minted 21 year-olds. We probably haven't been there in 4

years or more.In the picture I'm leaning against a poster covered wall, Mary

leaning against me, kissing me on the cheek quaintly. I had a goofy

look on my face, staring right into the lens. Staring right back at me,

now, saying Alright dude, time to make up your mind!

She must have found it by my computer monitor. I was

looking at it last night, wondering pretty much the same thing she is

now. This is what my subconscious was trying to tell me she had

found.

With purpose, I look up from the picture and speak into the

mirror.

Lets not worry about the past. Thats past. Let's worry about

the future. The present. Let's amount to something now. Did I just

say that? My stomach ties itself into knots.Her squeeze on me tightened. I hadnt realized it, but her

hands were warmer now.

Hey, I said it felt right. And right is right. So, is it right? Oh

man.

Her hands. Warm is good. Thats a good sign.

Alec, you have no idea how happy youve just made me. Ive

been wanting to hear that, she pauses, or something like that,

another pause, for years now.

Really? She never seemed like she wanted more than what

was at hand. Is anything ever what it seems?

Women. They can never say what theyre really feeling. Just

slightly distorted versions, not meant to do what they do: confuse the

shit out of guys, but meant to protect them in an insecure situation.Its like some weird interpretive dance. And the audience is a bunch of

A.D.D. delinquents, sprinkled with a few people who know whats

going on. And as I just found out, Im one of those who do not know


16/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

what is going on.

I rotate in her arms, feeling their grasp weaken, and our eyes

meet as hers fill with dewy tears.I cant recall her ever crying like this. What does this tell me?

That I really dont know her as much as I thought? Because if I did,

then I must have seen her cry at least once or twice, right? Or maybe

by some cosmic force I've just happened to not be around when she

did? Now I sound like that patchouli oiled hippie. I think this is what

panic feels like.

Then this slips through as if a wiggling gold fish were in my

mouth, and I just had to spit it out, I thought we werent mush

people?

I know how it sounds. It sounds nervous, it sounds pathetic. It

sounds bad.

This is probably the best thing weve done in our lives, as long

as weve known each other, and I just said that. She must think Im anabsolute jackass.

And guys. Thats all we can do. Say stupid things at the wrong

time.

She starts laughing immediately and I can feel her letting go.

She doesn't take it seriously, does she? I don't want her to go.

Really now, the image of her in my bed naked... I really dont

want her to go; for some reason I do the same, push away, too

astonished at what I had said to do anything at all. I feel like a jackass.

Words that dont exist in me try to come out but fail, resulting in a

slack jaw and wide eyes.

Before I knew it, she was composing herself, and then out in

the kitchen starting coffee.

I am a jackass.Maybe she isn't thinking of it as I do? I dont know. Its funny

how things work out sometimes. I replay Mary standing there in front

of me, walking backwards slowly, half crying, half laughing.


17/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

One thing is for sure, if she doesn't think of it as I do, she

knows me better than I know her, and I just dont see how that can be

possible. Or maybe it's like the spider theory: it's more afraid of youthan you are of it. Which always sounds impossibly convoluted but is

most likely true. No one ever stops to say 'hey, maybe the spider is

actually blissfully unaware of you, the shadowy giant spider-killing

monster over there.'

So maybe she's as panicky as I am?

I take one long stretch of a step over to the door and close it

morosely.

I suddenly need to be in private.

Searching the room for something to occupy my mind with, I

sit in my chair and turn on the computer. Putting my head down on

the desk to think, I can feel and hear the processor and fans and

gizmos that make this work. I have thirty minutes.

Everything has its time and place in a computer. Everythingknows what to do and how to do it. And when. And efficiently.

Theres a certain freedom in our own uncertainty. I dont know

about you, but I find it more comforting than not.

After I hear the last whir, I sit up and type my user name and

password in. I watch everything load and a few moments later, I have

checked everything possible to check.

Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing to bide my time with.

Maybe this is a sign to get off my punk ass and talk to Mary.

My teeth grit together. I do that when I get nervous.

Am I going to be a person who stops to see signs like this? Or

am going to be a person who takes everything for granted, thinking

everything is luck, or coincidence? That everything is going to figure

itself out? Is there a happy-medium between the two? What happensto the dude who see's the signs but ignores them? Something awful in

most situations.

I look up from my computer and my eyes fall directly upon a


18/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

picture of someone I do not want to see right now. I stand up to get a

closer look.

Damn it, I say out loud to the face smiling back at me. Illfill you in later.

Snatching the picture up without looking at it again, I pull

open my black filing cabinet that I've owned for years, which

incidentally has been packed more times than I care to acknowledge,

and toss it in with all the other painful memories in there.

Yes, I keep painful memories around. Why? Because

sometimes, its the only thing I have, I suppose.

Maybe there is a more philosophical answer to that question.

Ive been hard pressed to be all that philosophical lately.

Although I resent the idea that I have developed some trivial

masochistic way of reminding myself of the past, that I don't want to

remember one hundred percent, I can see the logic in it.

Maybe Mary saw this picture too?10 minutes have passed. I better hurry up.

While showering, all I can think of is how wonderful it is to

have an adjoining bathroom. Not for the general convenience, ha, no,

not that, but because I really dont want to go out there just yet.

Lately, I've become increasingly aware of the fact that

sometimes I focus on a negative aspect of the day and never let it go,

all day.

To my horrid realization, I've rushed through my shower, and

the water was too cold. I hate cold showers. And what I hate more

than cold showers is rushing.

In the delicate state my mind is in, this would normally ruin

my day. Today, though, despite my less-than-average showing during

the exposition of my emotional handicaps, I have a sense of renewedlife.

I pull on a pair of jeans, pick out the whitest socks I can find,

shove my feet into a pair of black shoes, and don the black t-shirt


19/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

from earlier.

Mary seemed casual. So whatever we had to do today, she sure

as hell wasn't going to pick me up just to drive home and change.When I stood, I was almost face to face with my reflection in

that damned mirror. In a Hitchcock rendition of reality, I see me, and

then myself.

I see a tall, well built man. Blue eyes, short cropped coal black

hair. Wide defined shoulders make me look strong and possibly fierce

if need be. My hands look more worn in than ever but my usual lop-

sided grin has a youthfulness to it that promises the world. And then I

see a confused, hurt, angry boy that lives only to be alive and to try to

enjoy what's left of lifes wealth.

As I snap back from thought, once more, I turn to leave. This

brings me face to face with my door and I realize what may happen if

I open it. And I will open it. Because locking myself in here and

ignoring the situation is not what an adult does. He may want to reallybad. But he doesn't.

I essentially have only two options. Fifty, fifty.

Option 1; face the reality I have created for myself and let

natures perceived end and guidance lead me as its fool into unknown

situations with only myself and my mistakes as reference. Life as we

know it.

Option 2; dont take that life giving breathe that is facing up to

ones self-committal consequences and fall back into my fluffy, warm,

and comfortable niche that is my bed. I love my bed. Life as we

would like it.

Option 1 sounds like more fun to me but Option 2 is more

appealing. I dont think Ive ever made a distinct contrast between

those two adjectives. They always seemed to go hand-in-hand. Untilnow.

My hand presses against the knob, my fingers wrap around it,

the cold steel cutting into the grip of my hand.


20/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

I turn it quickly. Quicker than I normally make decisions. Like

pealing a band-aid off.

I find myself in the hallway that joins my room to the publichumble-abode my Mom had created through her own cultural

demise and repressed fashion sense.

I stand there and listen to Mary hum a song. I can hear the

noises of her presence emitting from the kitchen. Some things clank,

some things sound pushed about.

She brings with her a sense of joy. But most important, a sense

of life. A sense of life that makes the distance between my life, and it's

end, broad.

Stretching out my life span.

It feels good to have life present.

With that thought in mind, and a smile on my face, I journey

to the kitchen that within contains my new found sustenance; the

beautiful Mary.I walk in and notice the room filling with natural light; Mary

is pulling the blinds up.

Fresh air billows in from the window over the sink, refreshing

the stale air in my unused kitchen. Mary turns to face me

momentarily, but as I stand there in the doorway, she shifts to her left

and grabs a large mug and pushes it into my hands.

Its steaming warmth feels good in my palms.

I walk over to the counter and lean against it with my hand

extended to the side.

With a cautious sip of the coffee, my taste buds revel in an

unusually sublime satisfaction.

I cant make coffee like this in that out of date pile of plastic.

How does she do it?I didnt even know that thing worked, let alone worked well,

I admitted.

Try plugging it in next time. She smirks and winks.


21/21

~ LOST AND FOUND~

Wise ass, I retort, with a partial mouthful of coffee in my

maw.

Should I say Im sorry? I should. Should I say anything?Maybe not.

Mary moved to the table and began reading the newspaper

with her feet up. I sip my coffee. Watching her through my eyebrows.

I watch her toes wiggle, the nails painted a soft pink.

Are you ready? she asks, interrupting what was most likely

going to be another one of my perverted man thoughts, all the while

scanning the headlines.

Her toes are cute. I even like her toes. Come on, that means

this is right? Right?

I know I have to have an answer.

As long as you put the top down.

Double entendre? Or just overt innuendo?

She has a convertible.It already is, she says with one of those smiles.

Well then, isnt this just a beautiful day?

lost & found: chapter one

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