Track Two

In my forty-five years of life, I have never, ever, met someone so forgetful. It’s a miracle that I’m still here to be honest. She forgets where she puts me all over the house: in between the cushions of the couch, the kitchen counter, the mess all over her desk, inside a drawer… If I could, I’d sigh.

After all, how can you lose a cassette player so much? It’s not like I’m a simple pen that you can replace whenever. It’s 2025 for god’s sake, I’d say I hold some value.

I’ve had lots of near death experiences thanks to her. Okay, maybe not actual death but being separated from her forever? Yes. She forgets I’m in the seat next to her on the bus, under her book on a coffee shop table and in the pocket of her jacket hanging on a chair. Still, she always comes back for me. Even if she doesn’t remember me for a moment or she leaves without me for a second, she always comes back just in time.

In that sense, Grace reminds me of her mother. They're quite alike in that sense. They’re both forgetful but loyal to a fault. Erica had me at her side all the time ever since she bought me. Until she passed.

Then, I was put in a box and left to catch dust in a garage. I thought that that would be it. And I was okay with it. My best friend was gone and I’d rather be left in storage having been loved until the end than sold to be replaced for the shiny and cool new technology arriving, making me obsolete. 

But then, years later, the box was opened again. And as Grace’s hands held me to her chest, she cried. I felt like crying too.

And just like that, I was resurrected. And I had a new best friend too. Accompanying Grace through her day just like I had done with her mother all that time ago. There’s a lot of new technology these days but she still chooses me to listen to music. Even though her listening methods are old, her taste in music is modern. I don’t know who Taylor Swift is but she’s going to burn the tape if she keeps playing her so much.

She’s nervous today. She’s scratching at the star sticker that Erica put on me so long ago, just like her. Grace has an important presentation at the internship she’s doing. It’s a great opportunity to make a good impression and gain visibility, things that will surely help her to get a job offer when the internship ends. She loves the publishing house she’s at.

She wants to design covers. She’s always loved drawing. I can still remember early Sunday mornings, Erica helping Grace to draw when she was little while having breakfast, me playing in the background. Those were the best kind of days.

She leaves me in her bag in another room while she does the presentation. I hope it goes well, she’s so hardworking, she deserves it.

But it’s been hours and I still have no idea how it has gone. I guess she has a busy day today. But then I feel the movement of the bag, she must be leaving.

Still, she doesn’t take me out to listen to music on the ride home. It has either gone very bad and she needs a moment with her thoughts or it has gone really well and is taking it all in.

The bus arrives at her stop, she takes the bag and leaves.

But she hasn’t noticed that I’ve slipped out of it. The doors of the bus close behind her. And the bus takes off.

When the bus takes a turn, I fall off the edge of the seat that I’ve been precariously balancing on.

I break with a crack.

And I slide through the bus’ floor towards the back, hidden under the seats.

I don’t know how losing consciousness feels like, but I think that it must be something like this.

***

I have no idea how much time I spent lost on that dirty floor. It could’ve been hours or days. Either way, someone should really clean this bus.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t do anything. I wonder if Grace feels as lost as I feel without her. If she realized I was missing and tried to come back for me. I think she did.

A young man hops onto the bus, panting, having caught it at the last minute. He comes towards the back and takes a seat. The bus turns. I hit the man’s shoe with a soft thud. He looks down at me and arches an eyebrow.

He takes his hands out of his pockets and picks me up off the floor. He brings me close to his face, inspecting me. His fingers trace my cracked corner before his eyes shift towards the star sticker. He passes his thumb over it and his gaze softens. It’s like he realizes that I must’ve been special to someone. Special enough for wanting to be decorated.

He inspects the crack once again, analyzing the damage. He nods to himself.

When he gets off the bus, he takes me with him.

And it turns out that Wyatt is quite the handyman. He takes me to his small apartment and sets me on a big working desk. Everything in the place is simple, minimalistic, but this desk and its area is full of things. Several tools and projects half-finished, from an intricate clock to a remote control toy boat.

Wyatt presses play on me but as expected, no sound comes out.

He immediately gets to work. He opens me and takes out the Taylor Swift cassette. He looks at it for a second and smiles softly, probably wondering about the person I could have belonged to. He sets it aside and with the skill of a surgeon, tries to fix me.

He takes pieces off of me, writing down in a notebook what he’s going to need. I thought it would hurt, being pulled apart like that, but he does it so carefully and with such gentleness that it’s almost relaxing somehow, being taken care of in that way. I’m aware that my fate could’ve been far worse. Like being forgotten in the lost property department of the bus company, because if there’s one thing I've learned in all my years is that the transport in this town sucks.

So, I’m very glad for having being rescued and just go along with the ride. During the next few days, when he comes back from work, Wyatt works on me. On the desk I’m on and the wall it’s pushed against, there are several photos of whom I can only guess is a young Wyatt and his father. For example, there’s a picture of them building a plane model in which Wyatt smiles brightly at the camera, another one where they seem to be repairing a console from my time and another where they’re looking inside the propped up hood of a car.

Every once in a while, when Wyatt comes back from a bathroom break or from getting something to drink, he looks at the pictures for a moment. His gaze is fond and it doesn’t escape me that it’s the same look that Grace had whenever she thought about her mother.

Finally, Wyatt puts me back together and takes a deep breath before inserting the Taylor Swift cassette back in. It’s the moment of truth. He holds his breath and I feel like I do the same even if I can’t when he presses play.

When the first notes of music begin to fill the air, Wyatt jumps from his seat and fist bumps the air as he lets out a happy shriek.

“Yes!” he exclaims. “We did it again, Dad. We did it,” he says exhilarated, looking at the ceiling. Once again, if I could smile, I would. It’s hard not to join in his joy.

***

Months later, after several unsuccessful attempts at leaving me in lost objects of the bus company, Wyatt carries me everywhere. He listens to both modern music and music from my time. He puts me on as he works on repairing other things after me. I didn’t think I’d have a life after Erica, let alone two. And with two young twenty-somethings with a love for vintage stuff like me. I think they’d get along.

Wyatt pushes open the door of a coffee shop to exit just as a girl is reaching on the other side to open it, the door suddenly hitting her softly.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Wyatt rushes to say, his cheeks blushing as he steps outside the café and struggles with handling the door, his coffee and me.

“It’s okay, we didn’t see each other,” the girl says, and as I start to slide from Wyatt’s hands due to all the haste, she catches me. “Oops, almost,” she says with a small awkward chuckle.

She catches me and I’m home. Because the girl... is Grace.

She hands me back to Wyatt once he’s finally gotten a hold of himself. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

And just as I’m about to exchange hands, Grace catches sight of the star sticker and holds me even tighter, bringing me closer to her face, not believing what she’s seeing.

“Where did you get this?”

“Oh, I- I found it on a bus.”

“It’s mine,” Grace says softly in disbelief.

Wyatt’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah, well, it was my mom’s. It slipped out of my bag. I noticed just after the bus dropped me off. I tried to get back in but the bus was already leaving. And then I tried everything with lost property but everyone knows that in this town it’s a lost case. I can’t believe this.”

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I saw it broken on the floor and I like to repair things and I just-”

“It was broken?” Grace asks in a sad tone. Wyatt nods. “And you repaired it?” He nods again.

“Thank you,” she says relieved.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m sorry, actually. I should’ve taken it to lost objects straight away but it seemed special and I couldn’t leave it like that and when I repaired it and tried to take it there, they’d just ignore me and I-”

“It’s okay, really. Better with you than at lost property. You fixed it.” she reassures him with a smile. He smiles back.

“Oh, well, guess this is yours too,” Wyatt says, handing her the Taylor Swift cassette as well. Grace takes it and replaces Wyatt’s cassette with it, giving his back to him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

They keep gazing at each other for a second, probably about to say goodbye.

And I’m happy that I found Grace again. But I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at the idea of parting ways with Wyatt.

“I’m Grace, by the way,” she finally says.

“Wyatt.”

Hm, interesting. No goodbyes. They smile at each other before deciding to sit and chat over coffee, where I finally find out that Grace’s presentation did go well and that they offered her to stay.

And when they keep seeing each other after that, I realize I don’t have to worry about parting ways.