Lost and Found by Karin O
There is a young woman stumbling out of her car, clutching her jacket over her body and shivering visibly. For a second, she simply stands, glaring at the storm and licking her lips. Then a stream of curses fly from her mouth, and even from the other side of the street, inside a store, I can hear her. From her vocabulary, I judge that she just got out of college, probably with an Associate’s Degree in basket weaving. Her jacket is brown and dirty... she either doesn't care about her wardrobe or she can’t afford a new one. Beyond her tattered gloves, there is a little exposed skin where the sleeve doesn't quite cover. I shake my head and go back to my reading. It’s dry, and very biased, but it’s something. Whatever pawn shop I’m in - I think it’s Bargain Boutique - lets you pick up a book and read it, even if you don’t plan on buying. Right now, the pages I hold in my hands are so yellowed that the title at the top of each page (as well as the page number) is missing. And the front and back covers of the book are gone, so I have no idea what I’m really reading. It’s so very boring. But, well, anything for heat, right?
When I glance up again, she is moving gradually toward Jim’s Bar. Maybe she’s an alcoholic. Or perhaps, her son or husband is. She might be picking up someone from a birthday party, where they all come into the tavern and drink until they vomit... it’s been so long since I've thought about that sort of stuff. About 40 years, now....
A telephone pole stands in her way, and she doesn't show any sign of realizing it. Her head is tucked away under a red scarf, and her mouth is moving furiously, probably pumping out curses that would offend Satan himself. I try in vain to read her lips, but as usual, my eyesight is strong enough to see her, but not what she does. A sigh escapes me, and I huddle down farther into my little chair. It is on display in the front window, next to dilapidated Christmas ornaments and blow-up Santas. When the woman walks right into the pole, I almost laugh out loud. People-watching is such a great pastime.
Instead of reading on, I fold the book as well as I can - since it basically has 400 pages but nothing to hold it together - and cross my legs comfortably, ready to watch an entertaining movie. She opens her mouth wide and forms it in a scream of fury, but the wind has picked up and I can’t hear her over the howl of the storm outside. With a shake of her head, she trudges onward, passing Kramer Real Estate and Auction, then finally nearing the door of Jim’s Bar. There she stands for a moment, probably catching her breath, and then she reaches for the doorknob. I lean forward, my eyes wide. This must be it. She is grabbing it....
Her fingers wrap around the metal, and she pauses. She must have seen it. I see her body shake as she looks around warily, not wanting passerby to witness what she’s doing. A hint of a sparkle lights up the bland landscape as she unfastens an object from the doorknob. Her face is lit up, probably celebrating the fact that she can now sell this little shiny thing. A grin spreads across my face. This is exactly what I have been hoping for: someone to pick up the keys and do something with them. What they do, though, is up to chance. The amusement of observing never ceases to amaze me.
She continues to gaze at the ring of keys and I begin to wonder if she is having some sort of seizure... or perhaps she’s underfed and she is blacking out right in front of a bar. How ironic. Worry strikes me, but it’s not for the woman, it’s the fear of the failure of my experiment. I desperately need entertainment, and now that I really have nothing to live for anymore, this is the only way I can get it. After a few excruciating seconds, she seems to wake up and her body jolts in a weird way that I can almost think of as... well, insane. Maybe she’s an ax murderer out for her ex, or something horrific like that. Silently, I scold myself. My overactive imagination often gets out of control. I suppose it’s just my growing senility. Even I cannot convince myself that I am not slowly slipping away....
The woman, whose name I deduce must be Claudia or Melissa, lifts her hand and slowly, slowly turns the doorknob. She still seems in a trance. I sincerely hope that she didn't just get pushed off the edge by me. I would never wish that upon anyone, even if it’s some poor lady that swears like nothing else.
Her shape disappears into the bar, and I turn around and search for a new book to read. Honestly, that last one (whatever it was called) was the dullest book I have ever laid my eyes upon. I guess that’s what one gets when reading books in a Bargain Boutique - they are guaranteed to be boring. I pick up a children’s picture book about Winnie the Pooh and smile quietly as the cover falls off in shreds as my fingers touch it. Without thinking about it, I read the first pages and am carried back in time to when I discovered the magical world of Hundred Acre Wood....
It was 1928, two years after the release of the book, and I had received it as a Christmas present for my third birthday. I had just learned how to read, and these words made sense to me, and I loved it. My mother, Susanna, gently read the book aloud to me, and then I would repeat her words as I learned what different things meant. Back then, we were in an apartment, crowded against each other, wishing for some space, but every year at Christmas time, my entire family would be packed into 25 square feet and we would sing around a tree covered in popcorn strings, cranberries, and glowing candles. My cousin Cornelia from Amsterdam would write weeks ahead of time, so that we would receive her letter right on Christmas Eve. Everyone was there, and they would all listen to me read those first words: “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump....” I remember back then that I loved Winnie the Pooh so much that I thought he was my guardian angel, and I decide that if I had a daughter, I would name her Angel.
I am dragged from my reverie as the announcement, “Bargain Boutique is closing in five minutes. Please finish your business and check out! Thank you!” crackles to life over the speakers. A sigh escapes me. Why do I have to venture out into the cold? It’s at least five miles to my residence, and I am not looking forward to the walk. A thought strikes me: why not just wander around Walmart? It’s around three miles away, and I can hitch a ride with someone, perhaps even the woman. Speaking of her -
She emerges from Jim’s Bar, clutching to her side a limp body of a boy no older than twenty or so. He must be her son. A faint smile warms my face. I miss my family so. She glances around, then sticks her free hand into her pocket, where the key ring must be. She is no doubt feeling the rusted grooves of the center one, tracing the inscription on the gold one, and admiring the sleek surface of what must be the newest addition to the ring - a spotless, stainless steel key with a black cover. My eyes are probably twinkling. I glance down the street and another realization strikes me - the library is closer still than the Walmart. It’s probably only 500 feet. Easy-peasy for me....
I struggle out of the stiff and very hard chair that I was sitting in and make my way to the front door. Along the way, I snatch up a scarf, rip off the tag, and drop it, wrapping the cloth around my neck as I walk. Ah, instant warmth. I smile warmly at the cashier, and never look back. She wouldn't suspect anything. She waves, shouts a thank you, and turns back to her cash register, probably listening to some music from a hidden Walkman or whatever kids nowadays use for music. The library will be my final destination, at least for today. Hopefully, there will be a few places to go tomorrow.
The woman is in her car, buckling up her son, who is vomiting all over the seat and her hands. Unwisely, she stick her fingers into the snow and immediately pulls them away, blowing on them to keep them warm. She shouts a profanity at the boy and jogs around the car to the driver’s side. The car engine starts, and it plows away snow as it is jerked from its resting place. I hurry out onto the sidewalk in an attempt to keep up, but my old legs are far too old. I settle for a slow pace that will get me to the library without getting me to the grave from the cold. Thank the lord I bought that scarf. It is snug around my neck and keeps out the cold like any brand-new scarf you’ll ever see.
Her car turns toward the library, and for a moment, I wonder if she has the same destination in mind as I do. But I dismiss it, because wouldn't she drop her son off at home before she runs any errands at all? Out of breath, I calm my racing mind. Why is it always so busy? Sometimes, I am so awake and full of thoughts that I can’t even seem to fall asleep. At least my contemplations will keep me from fading away after I stumble and fall, if - no, when - I do. I just know I will. After all, I’m really, really old - proudly born in 1925 - and this happens to elderly folks all the time. Slip, fall, break something, can’t pay for treatment, sent somewhere, goodbye. I shake my head free from these morbid ideas. Not the time....
Finally, with my chest heaving, I reach the library and pull open the doors. With a first look, the place seems empty. But then I see the woman, heading toward a computer, her son nowhere to be seen. Is he still in the car? How horrible! I walk her way and take a seat at a nice Windows PC a few feet away from her. She doesn't pay me any mind. I’m just another poor person, just like her.
Inconspicuously, I lean back and peek at what she’s doing: logging on to Craigslist. Will she place the ad? Will she be that selfless? Probably not. She’s probably hunting for a potential husband with lots of cash. After all, what are those sections for?
I wiggle the mouse and wake up the screen, waiting for it to load. Even I can use a computer. I’m not that technologically illiterate. After I log on, I open Explorer and type in craigslist.org. If I’m right, her post will appear within minutes, as soon as she’s finished typing. And she’s typing furiously, as if she’s in a great big rush. Well, she probably is. Her son is freezing to his own vomit out in the car. Disgusting!
Finally, after repeatedly clicking the refresh button, a notice appears on the screen, responding to a filter I set up. Someone has posted an ad containing either “key,” “ring,” or “Jim’s Bar.” I eagerly click on the link to it and am surprised at what I see. That woman, the one I was almost certain would throw the keys away, has published an ad about the keys she found. I smile, happy for once. This is the best way I could have dreamed of to end my experiment. I am amazed at the little bit of selflessness left in the world, however small it may be.
I glance over at the woman, who is staring blankly at her screen, as if she is waiting for someone to claim the keys. I wonder if asking for them back would be a good idea. Maybe I should. No, I really should. Achingly, my legs heave my body out of the spinny chair by the computer desk and head to the right, ready to finish the test and go home. Rest, and relax. That will be so nice.
When I am only a foot or two away from her, she notices me. I really don’t know what she sees - probably an old, wrinkled man with too long of a beard, not enough hair on his head, and a scarf freshly stolen from Bargain Boutique. Her nose crinkles, and I realize that I probably smell like... well, something very unpleasant. I try for a smile, but this doesn't seem to help, because her face just contorts even more. Sadness washes over me for a moment, but then I remember what I came for.
“Miss,” I begin. She leans way back. “I am responding to the ad you put on Craigslist, about the ring of keys. They’re mine.” I smile again, filling it with warmth.
The woman picks up the keys with two fingers and holds them far away from her body. “Um,” she says. “Um, well, here they are.”
I nod graciously and pluck the keys gently from her hand. My eyes linger on hers, and I try once again to speak without disgusting her. “Miss, I am so thankful that you decided to return these. Most people probably would not have. Thank you, Miss....” I wait for her to fill in her name.
“Angel,” she whispers. Shock hits me. This woman, who I thought would have a bratty name, has the very name I wanted for my daughter when I was only three years old. What a coincidence. My eyes burn, and I realize I’ll probably start crying if I don’t start talking soon.
“Miss Angel, then,” my voices echoes around the empty library. “Thank you again. Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime.” I hold up the keys and dangle them in front of my face. “I've been missing these.” I walk away, still smiling, and take a seat and my computer.
So I place my fingers carefully on the home row, resting them on the little bumps on the keys, and start typing up an ad for someone out there, who lost their keys near Jim’s Bar. The words flash in front of me and they appear in the text box - even I know what that’s called - and I smile wider and wider as the first few lines emerge:
Found Keys (PDC)
Found a key ring; some of the keys are marked. Found in the vicinity of Jim’s Bar. Ring is gold and a little worn, with several small scratches on it. There are three keys on the ring: one is gold and with a very small logo that is illegible because of wear-and-tear, one is very rusty and probably an antique by now, with a fine layer of dust covering the crevices, the hole to attach to the key ring has a jagged edge and is very rusty and there are small patches of mold growing if you look under a magnifying glass, and the last one is silver with a black cover on the top, and it looks like a regular car key but the cover is jammed, so I can’t get it off and reveal the logo or brand. There are small inscriptions along the edge of this key, but they look like extra security measures done by the manufacturing company. There are no names written, but there are the initials T. M. scratched into the bow of the gold one, and they are deeply underlined. Otherwise, there are no means of identification. Please call 555-2116 if you think these are yours.
END OF STORY
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W-O-W. How old are ou, because this story is AMAZING!
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