“Lost, lost, lost”
“I’ve lost my marbles.”
~from the Peter Pan movie ‘Hook’
I lost a gift card this week. Well, I don’t know when I actually ‘lost’ it, but I was looking for it this week and couldn’t find it. That means it’s now officially lost.
I spent an afternoon rummaging through my office, hunting for this credit-card sized piece of plastic. For all I knew, it could be tucked away almost anywhere! My hubby walked in and observed the mess I’d made. He kindly asked me what had happened. I told him I was Toodles from the movie Hook, searching for my marbles everywhere – I mean gift card. I remember it had been right there, on my desk for months. Now it was gone. And I had no idea where it was.
It’s normal to lose things. When we’re stressed, or we’re multi-tasking, or we get distracted – or we have a combination of any of these going on at the same time – the setting becomes ripe for misplacing things.
Once we discover the loss, we simply check all the logical places we may have put it. If the initial search results prove fruitless, panic creeps in and we may well look like we’ve lost our marbles – lost them to frustration, fear, anxiety and anger. We’re angry at ourselves for having lost the object in the first place. We’re frustrated at the lack of progress and we’re anxious: what happens if we can’t find it? These emotions propel us into heightened action, endlessly searching and re-searching for the missing item.
The good news is that in most cases, what we are looking for does show up eventually. Even Toodles got his marbles back. Peter Pan found the mislaid bag of marbles in Neverland and returned them to Toodles upon his return to Wendy’s house.
I’ve stopped looking for my gift card. It may or may not turn up. I’m okay with that. The memory of receiving the card and the loving intent with which it was given are more important – and I didn’t lose either of these.
Here’s my 99 word (no more, no less) story about something that’s lost for the September 9th Carrot Ranch flash fiction challenge.
Electra flung off the white cushion and dragged the settee away from the wall to peer behind it. Where had she put those darn keys? She automatically picked through her coat pockets a second time and checked the side table, pulled back the door mat and even shook out her boots.
“Think Electra, think.”
Frustrated, she grabbed her purse and finished scattering its contents on the floor when the doorbell rang.
“Go away,” she screamed as she jumped up and flung open the door.
There stood her neighbour, holding the set keys she’d left in the door.