The Place Where the Lost Things Go

I wake up to the piercingly bright sunlight shining through my cheap bedroom blinds. It’s just gone past 9:30 and the reality is, I can’t recall even going to bed last night. The night was a good one though, from what I remember of it anyway, it must have been because what else would have possessed me to drink as much as I did? I try to lift my head, the shots I drank come back to me with a throbbing vengeance and as I steady myself and sit up, the room starts to gradually come back into focus. I look around my cluttered bedroom, reminding myself of the massive process I must have made getting myself ready. Isn’t it funny how you feel so great stepping out of a hot shower, tearing through your wardrobe to find that perfect outfit, applying all the makeup that you own on your face, only to feel this terrible the morning after? - And all you have left to show for it is the hope that the night was a good one. 

I don’t even drink that much, last night was a novelty to celebrate a friend’s birthday, we all pitched in to have an array of cocktails and mixed drinks made for the table, so we didn't have to keep going up to the bar. That’s all it took. 

I reach down to find the scattered remnants of my belongings across the bottom of my bed, I scramble myself forward, draw in a deep sigh as I brace myself to see what the damage is. Thankfully, my phone is there, screen still intact just the battery dead, turns out I didn’t spend a months wage in one night which is always a bonus and actually have a lot of loose change still leftover. Just my mascara missing and a broken lipstick. Not a big deal.

With my mouth feeling like sandpaper, I finally stagger to my feet and make my way to the bathroom for a glass of water, hands uncontrollably shaking as I lift the glass and take my first gulp. My ragged hungover appearance is staring back at me, I notice I’m still in my clothes from last night, my hair looks like barbed wire and you can see the dull outline of lipstick smudged over my lips and my mascara smeared acr-… I drop the glass in horror. 

All of a sudden I feel nauseous, my breathing quickens as I frantically grab my bare neck in disbelief, the necklace I wore last night is missing, it’s gone. 

In that very moment, the room felt smaller, I felt as though the whole world was crashing in on itself around me, I hunched over the sink, wrapping my arm around my stomach. My mother bought me that necklace. She died when I was 7 and it was the one thing I had of hers that made me feel like I hadn’t really lost her, but now for the first time I have. 

My footsteps echoed to the rapid pace of my heartbeat as I desperately tore my room apart to find it. I hopelessly turned everything over, spun my bedsheets off the bed and patted every square inch of the carpet until the palm of my hands stung red. I looked in my handbag once more, and still no necklace. 

After circling around the house repeatedly, the realisation then comes to me and runs my blood cold, the thought of losing the necklace while being out last night fills my eyes with a stream of tears. How could I have been so reckless and stupid? Out of all the things that could have happened to me last night, I was struggling to think of anything worse. The uncertainties of the night fill my head, as I try to reconcile anything, literally anything, that could piece all this together and save me from this nightmare. But the night is such a blur, my head spins just thinking about it and next thing I know, I stumble and hurl myself over the toilet seat. 

A dull ache deepens in the pit of my stomach as I lift my head up from the toilet bowl. My mouth wet from fallen tears and vomit. I bury my face in my hands and try really hard to focus on anything I remember last night, any minor detail could have resulted in losing the necklace. The fact of the matter is anything could have happened to it, I was so intoxicated that it was a wonder how I even got home, let alone fall asleep soundly in my bed. But I figured re-tracing steps from the beginning of the night was a start. 

Deflated, I slump myself downstairs to a kitchen that looks like a distillery that had been broken into. A heavy sea of empty glass bottles filled the dirty kitchen work surfaces, with piles of empty plastic cups showing different tones of lipstick stains and half-bitten used drinking straws. Jackets that were not mine were hanging on the backs of chairs - it was clear that I had the girls over before we went out. 

As I pace around the mess, I step into a sticky patch on the floor near the doorframe, I stop at it and distinctly remember spilling my drink in a hurry because the taxi had arrived, I wanted to go to the toilet before the drive ahead. The girls made their way out of the house and I followed and off we went. 

I then paced further as I deepened my thoughts to what else happened, I rub my hand subconsciously against my chest, where my necklace used to dangle, and stop to find that my dress had a huge, dull red stain in it. I struggled to fathom how I didn’t realise sooner because it was still soaked right through. Just above it was a very faint bruise on my collar bone, which coloured to match the stain. I closed my eyes hard, hoping that some memories would surface, I circled the graze with my index finger, wincing at the soreness. It is then that it came to me.

I then remember, halfway through the night I went to the club toilets and as I stepped out of the cubicle a girl swung round and elbowed me, knocking her drink, which must have spilt all down my front. Perhaps it was that impact that caught my necklace chain? Or maybe it fell down the sink as I washed my hands? I topped up my mascara in the grungy mirror and then remember handing it over to her so she could top up her lashes too, after all, she did ask and was very apologetic about my dress spill. We must have chatted and come to think of it - she probably kept the mascara.

Other than that encounter, I don’t recall making any new acquaintances really, just maybe exchanging a few friendly glances and a bunch of care-free smiles. You often get that awkward small talk sometimes with the person next to you while waiting to get served at the bar, but besides that, I mainly stayed with my group of friends. Surely not one of them could have taken it? Or seized the opportunity to keep it if it did drop on the floor, while I was obliviously frolicking about the place in a drunken haze. 

These thoughts running through my head was making me feel nauseous again, it made me question everything, what I did and now, even question who I associate myself with and deeply trust. 

I started to develop a cold sweat on my forehead and felt myself growing mentally tired from trying to figure out this frustrating puzzle. Worst of all, all I felt was guilt. How could I have been so careless with something so precious? What seemed like nothing more than a trinket was something that held a much deeper value, and now it is lost. My gut clenched inside me as I felt like I lost my mother all over again. 

The tears then flooded. Clutching at flimsy straws was not working and even if the answer to the riddle was found, that does not mean I’d still find the necklace. Defeated, I retired back to my bedroom. I overlook the distressing mess I made when I turned my bedroom over - back when I had hope of finding it. Amongst all the chaos, I tried hard to flush out the rest of the tears, convincing myself: it was only a necklace, after all, the thoughts and memories of my mother still remain. 

But the guilt also remained. The loss made me feel as empty as the day I lost her, that a part of her that stayed with me was gone forever. I walked over to the bed, deflated in every step and slouched to sit near my bedside table. I opened the drawer and pulled out an old gift box. I lift out a photograph of my mother and me together, the nostalgia triggers a sharp pain in my chest. I hold it close to me, my eyes so filled with tears, I can barely see out of them - unable to shake the fact that somehow I’ve let her down. 

My breathing becomes unsteady as I sob and on an inbreathe I whisper ‘Sorry Mum’. I hope to God she can hear me.

I looked at the photograph again with a half-smile before going to place it back in the box, to find that for a moment my heart skipped a beat.

The necklace.

I desperately reached in and grabbed it before anything could possibly happen for it to vanish again. Tears of joy and waves of relief came over my body in such a rush that for a second I felt completely numb. 

I held the necklace close, vowing to never be so careless ever again. It was then that I stopped and a smile gleamed wide across both my cheeks. I must have noticed I was still wearing it when I rushed to the toilet before we left, dazed and in a hurry, must have placed it in with the photograph to keep safe. Because of course - wearing it on a night out would have been foolish…and careless.

The relief overwhelms my body as I throw myself back onto the bed. Not believing my luck and faith in my life choices being restored. I have to give myself some credit, it was the best place to put it.

My mum always had a habit of being there whenever I felt lost.