Lost and Found - A Flash Fiction Story

In Honor of Valentine's Day

Lost and Found

I stand here and stare from this empty shell, waiting to be pulled in for an embrace. Yet again, just another dismissal. I choke out a thank you to this woman, but all I have on my mind is my wife… well, she used to be my wife. That was before the accident. I’m sorry, I need to stop thinking of it, I just feel so much pressure on my chest that it makes my lungs burn. I don’t even have any tears left to shed.

I have another one of these tomorrow. Oh how much do I have to endure? I know my family means well, but they can’t force my heart. I loved her and now she’s gone. Even if it’s been 10 years, they just can’t make me love anyone again. Oh my dear, how much pain can I endure for you? I’ve thought so many times about… no, she wouldn’t want that, even if it would take away the pain. I love her too much to do it. I’m sorry for even thinking about it my Love.

So I find myself walking down the street, cracked sidewalk and loose gravel rolling under my steps. The air is so think with resentment. I know the universe hates me. It won’t even rain for me, that’s just how much it truly hates me. I should have been the one driving that night. It hates me. I am choking now on my own thoughts.

I suddenly strike something and here a muffled groan. I fall to the ground and can hear the scattering of paper and books to the ground. The cement is hard and I’ll probably bruise up, but I deserve it… I always do. I roll to my knees and start to rise, only to hit skull-to-skull against someone. I hear a small cough of laughter, feminine and tinkling.

Sitting back, I look over at this woman. She’s rather pretty, though nondescript. Her pale curls are done up in a 20s style… my wife would have loved her hair. I shook my head and heard her apologizing to me. I forced a half-smile and waved away her “I’m Sorry”s until she drifted silent. I felt the raindrop on my forehead first, right where my wife used to like to flick my with her finger.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I fell back, sobbing. The raindrops splattered harder and I scooped up the woman’s books and papers. Her scribbling was so delicate, not like my awful handwriting. A fanciful flow. She leaned in and took my shoulder to turn me in her direction until I was staring straight into her pale green eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asked. I could feel the emotion in her voice and all I could do was nod. “The books are not important, are you sure you’re alright?”

I couldn’t stop, though, because the books would get soaked. I cried with the rain and scooped up the books into a pile. I covered them and just bawled like a baby while this woman, a complete stranger, rubbed my back and held me and just let me go. Such compassion.

I shook off the pain slowly and took some shuddering breaths. I scrubbed away the wetness, only for the falling rain to help wash it away. When I glanced back out, it was like I was a new person. I felt like I had entered Oz, the washed-out colors of the former world suddenly flooded with color. This woman was the most vibrant of all.

She helped me to my feet and took her books. It was then that I noticed the top book, The Great Gatsby. I looked at her and she smiled. She wiped her glasses on her skirt and pushed them atop her nose. She held the book out.

“Have you ever read it?” she asked me. I nodded in response. She continued on, “I love it… it’s my favorite book. Pain and drama and love.”

I swallowed and coughed to clear my throat before speaking. Even so, the words still came out in a croak, “I agree, one of my favorites as well. I’m sorry for running into you.”

“Are you really?”

“No, I’m really not. My name is Jay.”

“Like Gatsby?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Indeed. I’m hungry, have you eaten anything?”

“Yes.”

I tried to not look disappointed at her response. It would be nice to have someone to talk to again.

She smiled then. “But I really like food. I could do with a muffin and some tea. What do you like?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. And since we’re right outside of Karol’s we might as well go inside.”

She nodded and took my arm. It felt natural and right. I looked out and breathed deeply, inhaling her subtle vanilla perfume as we opened the door and stepped out of the rain. Behind me I caught just the edge of sunshine and prismatic colors of the rainbow. The tinkling bell that hung from the sweet-shop door made me smile, thinking of this radiant soul beside me and her own tinkling laughter.

As the squeak of the door behind me echoed, the woman turned and whispered to me, “By the way, my name is Daisy.” With that she laughed and I just shook my head in wonder.

The End