Lost by Nancy Grossman-Samuel

“How about if I return the stuff to Walgreens and pick you up after your manicure?"

"Sure. That sounds great. Good idea.”

“Okay. See you later,” you say walking out of the nail salon.

You saunter down the street looking at the shops along the way. A woman is leaning into a car saying “Here, this is a sample.” You look over to see a pretty middle aged woman handing half a cupcake that looks an awful lot like the old Hostess Cupcakes with the white swirls down the middle to a middle aged man who is waiting in the car. You are taken aback expecting the cupcake to be handed to a kid. Ah you think, adults are allowed to eat cupcakes. I would like a cupcake. Maybe, if I hadn’t been pigging out so much during the last few days, I would let myself have one! But a cupcake from a cupcake shop shouldn’t look like a Hostess Cupcake that I could buy at a gas station!

You walk on, looking at the shops. Quaint, pretty, your friend had called the shops here a little che che which probably meant expensive. There was a tea shop that looked cute, and you think that maybe after your sister’s nails are done you could go there and have a cup of tea together, but upon further inspection, you notice the closed sign. Too bad, you think because it would have been a nice thing to do after a manicure and returning obsolete items, things that might have wound up in your suitcase and then in a pile on your kitchen counter until you either gave them away, returned them, or just stuffed them into a drawer.

The day was warm and humid but not unpleasant. You are proud of yourself for coming up with the idea of returning the art supplies. You purchased them thinking that they could be used to decorate the picture board you were making for your great uncle’s memorial service. But as it turned out, your sisters decided that the pictures were enough, and that extra decorating would be unnecessary, even a little ‘ungapatchka,’ her great grandmothers Yiddish word describing something that is ridiculously over decorated or excessively ornamented.

You get to the corner of the street where the green Starbucks mermaid shouts loudly her presence, and whose tables are crammed with people drinking coffee and tea, talking, and working on computers. You turn left remembering that you haven’t had a non fat vente latte in weeks. You remind yourself that you feel better when you don’t drink coffee, and that you’ve saved many dollars by not purchasing them nearly daily during the last month. You really want one, and the idea of the warm cup in your hand, and the smell of coffee that never tastes quite as good as its smell promises, entices you. You take a deep breath. You are on a mission. You are returning unwanted items. You are being responsible. You stand there for a moment. You look left and see a hill that looks somewhat familiar, then you look right and think Is that the street we drove down to get here? I think so… You talk slowly to yourself out loud as if you are trying to untangle a ball of memories that won’t quite come apart the way they should. You look from left to right, behind you and ahead of you, but you just are not sure. You turn up toward the hill, and your eyes dart from side to side, up and down, you look behind you. You do not see the car anywhere, but it is a rental, so perhaps you are mistaken as to the shape or make. You think to yourself, that’s ridiculous. I’ve been driving that car for two days. I’ve been parking it and finding it all that time. It’s a black Volkswagen Jetta, with New York plates. There is no vehicle fitting that description anywhere in site. You decide to walk to the end of the block but your heart begins to race and you are feeling slightly light headed.  You do not spot your car. You stand there; still; confused; your hands on your cheeks in a silent Munch-like “Scream.”

You put your hands down, close your eyes and force yourself to breath slowly and evenly. You open your eyes and see some people who just passed you on the other side of the street, and who are looking at you as if they are not sure if they should ask if you’re okay. You smile at them reassuringly, and then look around at the banner for a Memorial Day event hanging across the street behind you. You grab your cell phone from your pocket and look at it as if it will give you the answer you want. You squeeze it tighter and tighter. Your breathing is ragged again, and you try to slow your rapid breathing and heart-rate by saying to yourself  I can call my sister if I really can’t find my way back to the car. I’m not really lost. The nail salon is that way. I can walk back. Oh God, oh God, oh God. How much of my brain has dissolved? Oh God, I’m going to forget everything. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember where I parked the fucking car?

You are angry and scared and frustrated. You have been worrying about your memory for months, maybe years. It’s taken up a lot of your thinking whenever you forget the smallest thing. It’s like a demon that has come to haunt you, and you just can’t stand it. Not now, not here. Your sisters are here. You don’t want to be a burden. You don’t want to seem confused to anyone. You don’t want to be confused.

You again look around. You can feel your feet sweating in your sneakers. You are trying not to seem like a lost five year old, but you know you want cry. You want to wail out loud I’m LOST!!! Somebody please help me!!!! But you know that is irrational. You feel good knowing that you should not do that. You know that will not help. You have not totally lost control of your senses. You bite the left side of your lip and then your nails. You grab the phone tighter and walk a little further. You panic and think All I need to do is get back to the nail salon. I need to go now while I can remember where I came from.

You seem to walk out of your fog and remember that you are in Englewood, New Jersey. It is daytime. You have your cell phone. Your sister has her cell phone. Her phone number, which you do not have memorized, is in your phone. You can have her get you. You can sit at Starbucks and have the latte.

No. The fog, it seems, has really lifted and you decide that you will go back to the salon. You are a little calmer. You can make light of it. You can tell your sister that you don’t remember where you parked. You can make a joke of it. You walk faster, and faster. You just want to make sure you can get where you are going. You are sure you’re going in the right direction. You see familiar store fronts, the Starbucks, the cupcake shop, the tea shop. They are familiar. You are fine. You see the nail salon. You look in. Your sister is sitting there laughing with the manicurist. You walk in, and she looks up at you, surprised. You lean over and say in as light hearted a manner as you can. Oh boy, I cannot, for the life of me remember where we parked!

“Did you make a left at the Starbucks?”

“yeah.”

“Did you make a left at the end of that street?”
               “Right! No."

You slap your hand on your forehead as if to say I could have had a V8!

"I didn’t see the car, so I just came back. I figured you’d remember.”

She laughs and says, “Of course you don’t remember. You were on the phone talking to your friends. You weren’t paying any attention at all. You were just following my directions! Do you think that will get you to stop talking on the phone when we’re driving?!"

"No," you laugh.

She shakes her head and smiles. You walk out. Of course you think. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m fine. You walk quickly past the Starbucks making the left. You look behind and the sign is there over the street. You keep walking in the direction you first went, but you go further. You are more confident now and you get to the corner, aware that you are holding your breath slightly. You look down the street, and the car is there. You cross the street, and go to the passenger door. The meter has expired, but you lucked out. No ticket.

You get into the car and drive to Walgreens. You easily remember how to get there. You’re surprised. Perhaps you were being a little dramatic. Perhaps your brain is intact and not melting after all. You smile, and listen to an oldies New York radio station. You sing along with the Credence Clearwater Revival band. You haven’t heard this song for years, many years, and yet you remember every lyric. You get to the store, almost unaware of how you got there even though you went only once, and you easily and effortlessly return the items. The salesperson is kind and asks no questions. All is well. He doesn’t want to put the money back on your credit card because it takes a lot longer, so he asks if you will take cash. You tell him you will.

You both laugh about nothing in particular, but it’s a nice exchange.

Your phone rings. It's your sister. She is done. You tell her you’ll be there in just a few minutes, and that she should look out for you near the Starbucks. You get there easily. No problem. Very easily. You drive back to the hotel, and your sister tells you she thinks you’re going the wrong direction. You are sure that you are right, and this makes you feel even better. You are right. She’s surprised, but you are not. You knew this. You start to wonder why you give yourself such a hard time and why you move straight into panic when things seem a little off.

You decide that next time, if there is a next time, you will pretend to be Alice, on an adventure in Wonderland. You will be kinder to yourself. You will know that you are fine, and that these lapses of memory are just little tests to see how kind you can be to yourself, and how easily you can focus on the good things in life rather than the problems. It’s what you want for yourself. You’re just not always good at it. This will be a test of your own personal emergency broadcast system. All will be well. All is well. You know that.