Lost Things

 Inspired by Prompt 4 from 5-Minute Daily Writing Prompts: 501 Prompts to Unleash Creativity and Spark Inspiration by Tarn Wilson.

    "HOW THE HELL DO YOU GET LOST WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE A SPECIFIC DESTINATION?"  I cursed myself out loud for the third time in an hour.  No phone signal.  Of course.  I'm in the middle of nowhere.  I kept thinking I'd run across a driveway or a parking lot sooner or later, but so far, nothing.  This winding mountain road has no place to turn around. I haven't seen another car for what feels like eternity, but with my lack of luck, as soon as I try a U-turn, I'll crash right into someone.  At least I still have gas, I guess.  And all roads lead somewhere, right?

    When I left my tiny apartment this morning, I had every intention of going in to work.  I did.  I really did.  But the closer I got to my job, the more my stomach turned.  I just couldn't face another day of the drudgery.  The job is fine.  It pays the bills and buys me food.  And so I go.  Day in and day out.  And I pay my bills and I eat the food and I repeat.  Just like everybody else, right?  I should be more grateful.  Lots of people have it worse than me.  I have nothing to complain about.  Really.  Everything is fine.  But sometimes I wonder what I do it for.  I just can't bring myself to care.  Hell, my boss has been calling me Grant for the last three months.  I haven't even been bothered enough to remind him my name's Greg.  I've worked there for five years...what's wrong with me?

    I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parking lot.  I quickly check my rearview mirror and slam on the breaks, turning my car into the gravel lot.  Thank goodness!  I can finally turn around and head back to civilization.  In front of me is a tidy little store front.  It's wooden planks remind me of an old west ghost town I saw in a movie when I was a kid.  Must be like a mom and pop shop for the hill people or something...although I don't know how you'd stay in business all the way out here.  My eyes land on a small sign in the window.  The Museum of Lost Things its neatly printed letters read.  I snort to myself at the irony.  Just the place for me.

    I'm about to turn around and go, but something stops me.  Ah, what the hell.  I'm here, ain't I?  I'll probably never come back this way again...  I decide to check this place out, just for shits and giggles.  It's not like I've got anything else going on.

    As I walk through the front door, a bell chimes and a second later, a tiny old man pops up from behind a desk.  He's wearing a grey suit and vest with a white shirt and a blue bow-tie.  He's got a bowler hat on his head with wispy grey hair sticking out wildly from underneath.  He looks like an elderly carnival barker, and I'm a little impressed at his theatrical appearance.

"Hello there, young fella!  Welcome to The Museum of Lost Things!"  His energetic voice is a serious mismatch for his stooped body, but definitely confirms the carnival barker description.  "It's five dollars for the tour, or ten dollars for the deluxe guided tour.  And I tell ya the truth, it's worth the extra!"

    "Well, guided tour it is then."  

    "Woohoo!  You won't be sorry, friend!"  The man exclaims as I hand him the money.  Honestly, I think he's probably just glad to have a customer...or even just somebody to talk to.  "Right this way, friend, right this way!"

    Despite his fragile appearance, the old man is pretty spry and I find myself hurrying to catch up to him as he swishes aside a dusty red velvet curtain and proceeds into a hallway.

    "Before we begin, a little about me: I'm Charles.  But enough about me, let's get to the exhibits!"  Charles cackles at his own joke and opens a door on the left side of the hallway.  As we enter, I suck in a breath.  The room is huge.  Huge.  We're in what appears to be a giant warehouse.  And floor to ceiling, from one wall to the other, there's socks.  Loads and loads of socks.  "These are lost socks.  To date, and as of five minutes ago, there are ten million five hundred and forty-three thousand two hundred and seventeen individual socks.  And no two are matches."

    "I, uh...I mean, there are a lot of socks.  How do you know there are no matches?"

    "Dryers only eat one sock, my friend.  They abide by a strict code."  Charles answers with a twinkle in his eye.  "Now then, time is always of the essence, let's move along."

    I follow Charles out of the sock room and back into the hallway.  The sock budget here must be through the roof.  He opens a door on the right side of the hallway.  Inside are rows and rows of clear glass cabinets.  Again, the room is cavernous.  I am not entirely sure I'm not having some sort of breakdown.  The size of this place doesn't seem possible compared to the small storefront I walked into.  Maybe I'm missing something...

    "To the left is the brick-a-brack, friend.  Lost earring backs, lost pens, thumbtacks, paperclips...all the things we drop in the floor and can't be bothered to locate.  In the middle, is lost paperwork...minus mail of course, that's the post office's department.  To the right, that's the stuff we put somewhere special so we'll remember where we put it and then forget where that special place was...I call it lost marbles, but that's a sort of inside joke I suppose."  He chuckles.  "Now before we move on, I need to tell you that you are quite safe and there's no need to be alarmed by what you see."

    "Uh, ok..." This place is weird.  Charles leads me to the next door on the right and we step inside to a buzz of conversation.  Another huge room, this one resembling a school cafeteria.  What looks like thousands of people are sitting at lunch tables engaged in polite conversation with each other.    "HOLY SHIT!"

    "Yeah, that's the usual reaction."  He sighs.

    "I know that guy!  Her too!  And them.  This isn't possible..."  I start backing towards the door.

    "Completely safe, friend, remember?  This is the Hall of Lost Minds.  The folks you recognize...yes, you know them as serial killers, mostly...but this is the other part of them.  The part that was lost...the kind, gentle part that would have kept them sane.  And you may have noticed a few geniuses in here as well, a few CEOs and the like...people tend to forget that most CEOs have psychopathic tendencies...we get the more altruistic bits that have to go in order for them to be so extremely successful.  And we have many less famous faces as well, we don't discriminate.  You know, they're very interesting humans, most of them...oddly philosophical if the truth were told.  They're quite happy to have interaction with each other and haven't made a bit of fuss in all the time I've been here."

    "Geez, maybe I belong in here...I must be losing my damn mind.  Wait...no...holograms right?  It's got to be holograms.  Yeah, that's it...a reasonable explanation, right?"  Charles ignores my rambling questions and leads me to the next room...  Except it's not a room it's a huge field full of animals.  Dogs and cats, mostly but also birds and hamsters and mice and even a few snakes.  

    "And these are our Lost Pets..."  Charles starts to explain, but is interrupted by a persistent barking.  I look at the black and white dog in disbelief.

    "He looks just like a dog I had when I was a kid!"  I exclaim.  The dog continues to bark at us, his tail going ninety miles an hour.

    "Oh yeah?  What was your dogs name?"  Charles asks.

    "Noodles."  I reply and the dog barks at me.  I cock my head. "Noodles?"

    The dog bounds up to me and rolls to his stomach.  I reach down and scratch his belly.

    "My dog loved belly scratches too...but I guess a lot of dogs do."  I say.

    "They sure do, Greg.  But not as much as Noodles here does."  Charles replies.  

    "How...how do you know my name?"  I stutter.

    "Oh, we know all kinds of stuff here.  You'd be surprised how much very important information gets lost.  I found your name about three months ago."  I had stopped scratching the Noodles-look-alike's belly and I received a slurp to the hand as a request to keep going, but I was too stunned to do anything but stare. "Now don't panic, friend...you're perfectly safe, remember?  Why don't we bring Noodles and see the last exhibit?  It's good to have a familiar face, maybe, for this one."

    I don't really see what choice I have, since clearly I'm either crazy or dreaming, so Noodles and I follow the old man to the next room.  He stops at the door and turns to me.

    "This is the best exhibit, friend."  He opens the door and we walk out into a gigantic park.  There seems to be a fair with rides and cotton candy and games.  There's a playground in the distance.   And there are kids everywhere.  "This room is for Lost Childhoods."

    Noodles sits by my side and leans into me.  I reach down and pet his head.

    "I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Greg.  I didn't know your name at first...just that another lost childhood showed up around the same time as Noodles here.  We get a lot of lost childhoods, sadly.  You were eight years old when Noodles got out.  I know you felt like losing Noodles was your fault.  You thought you left the gate open.  After all those times your mom and dad told you to make sure it was shut, you forgot and you thought that you lost Noodles and that poor Noodles paid the price.  After that, you made yourself grow up.  You stopped being a kid.  And all the grownups in your life ignored that.  No one bothered to tell you that the latch on the gate broke.  It was never your fault, kiddo.  But you paid the price."  Charles shook his head sadly.  Then he looked up at me and beamed.  "And now, here you are.  A lost soul.  In just exactly the right place.  Aren't you glad you got the deluxe guided tour?"

    "I..I don't understand...Am I dead?"  I ask.  Charles hoots with laughter.

    "No, no, no!  Not at all, friend.  You're in The Museum of Lost Things, remember?  There was a sign  and everything!"  Charles states, still laughing.  "But you see, like any upright person would, we at the museum try to get lost things back to their owners when we can.  It's just due diligence!  And you, my friend, are here now.  You found Noodles!  And now, you also have the opportunity to have your childhood back...the one you deserved all along.  And once you and Noodles have had your happy life together, you won't be a lost soul anymore.  All in due time, you'll grow up into the adult you were meant to be...you'll gain the life you lost...the one you should have had...the best life for you, Greg!"

    I look down at Noodles, who looks into my eyes and wags his fluffy tail at me.  It's all it takes for me to decide.  I shake Charles's hand and the old man seems to get taller the longer I shake it...but really it's me who's getting smaller.  I shrink right down to my eight year old self and smile at him.  Charles lifts his hat off his head, flips it over and pulls a tennis ball out. 

    "Go on and have some fun."  He says as he places the ball in my hand and pats me on the shoulder.  I watch as he walks back toward the door in middle of the park, opens it, and walks into the hallway I'd walked down just a short while ago.  "I'll see you around, kiddo."

    I toss the ball up into the air and catch it again.  The fluffy black and white dog beside me barks and wags his tail.

    "Come on, Noodles!"  I call as I take off running, "Let's play fetch!"