If Found, Please Return To . . .

The sharpie started making that bothersome screech sound as I hurriedly drew out, in large block type letters, the message I desperately needed to portray. I would make two dozen and scatter them around the hallways. One of my signs would strike a chord with someone, it just had to. Should I add color? Something to grab attention. No time for perfection, but these needed to work. All I had, a pack of markers and a stack of white paper. These were my tools. I opted for a blue line under the word LOST. Red could grab attention, but also brought about feelings of a warning sign and who is really interested in reading those? Blue was bright, pleasant, and did not blend into the yellowing white walls of the hurried halls. I tossed my markers in my bag, the emptiness even more apparent, slung the bag over my shoulder. Freshly made printer paper posters and scotch tape in hand I shuffled down the hall and tacked my message on every board and door I came across. I seemed to catch the attention of some, hopefully they glanced toward the message and not just the shambles I appeared to be in. When I reached the second hall, I paused for a moment to check my phone for messages. No texts. No missed calls. No one had found it. Or no one cared to tell me. I continued my process: rip tape, grab sheet, apply tape to top of sheet, press to wall, walk, pause, repeat. On and on through four halls. I had paused at the end of each hall for a phone check. Texts: none, calls: none, email: my frozen yogurt rewards were expiring. The clock continued to tick. Of course, I’m being metaphorical. There was nothing ticking anywhere close to me, my phone was annoyingly quiet. Yet, I still felt that pressure, tick, tock, tick, tock. I needed someone to find it. I had searched and now I had to wait. Well, wait while sitting, listening, note taking, thinking, what time was it? Of course, I was late, I was always late. My hands were empty of papers, so I tossed the tape in my bag and hurried to my destination. Back to the first hall, no one waited for me, but they did note my presence as I quietly made my way to my seat grabbing a spare pencil someone had left on a desktop. I sat down, I was not present in the conversation, pencils are the worst, this is what filled my mind. I found my notepad in my sad bag and scribbled a little to test it out. Oh ,how infuriating that sound was. Could people even hear themselves think with my lead scratches. It felt like a punishment. It probably was. Scribble scribble, pause to absorb, scribble more, repeat. The conversations dwindled and I looked at my hand, a smear of graphite on the side of my pinky finger. So ridiculous. I looked at the clock, time ticking down in my head, but no sound emanating from its face. I had moments to myself, the search was on. I retraced my steps from before the postings. I was always so careful. A place for everything. I imagined my bag felt it too, something was out of place, the process was interrupted, the system was broken. Walking, looking, crouching, peeking, nothing. This was absurd. Check phone, nothing. Think, just think. Let’s try this in reverse, reverse of my current method, so forward. When did I last have it? This morning, first thing. Tick, tock, tick, tock. What happened after that? The thought of my looming schedule was muddling my thoughts. I couldn’t do it without it. I needed to find it. Dashing back to my morning start, think, coffee, I tasted coffee. Did I taste it now, or from before? I looked around, no cup or pot in sight. Before, it was a clue, my mind was clearing. I moved in the direction the coffee taste led me and peered through a door, room empty. I opened the door quietly and I rifled through papers and inside drawers, nothing. Snapping back to reality I realized what I was doing, rearranged all the things that were not mine and left, the door closing with a click. My phone vibrated in my pocket, my heart skipped a beat, the coffee taste vanished and I looked at the message. Appointment reminder. Not helpful. Initiate countdown. I continued on my path, the same path, I had already been here. This was not working. Someone was trying for my attention. I came back to reality, interrupted his question and pointed towards one of my signs. With a laugh he shook his head to indicate “no” and continued on his way. I knew what people were thinking, but I didn’t understand it. That’s how it usually was. Another person caught my attention, looked at me, tapped on her watch and gave an excited expression with her face. I raised my eyebrows and made a timid smile. I was aware of the pressure and importance, tick, tock, tick, tock. I needed to make my way to the room, that room. I frantically searched the corners and hall floors as I made my way to my destination. I passed by people, they patted my shoulder, gave encouraging jesters and attempted high fives. I left them hanging. I couldn’t stray from my task. The ticking became more real, I felt the urgency, I looked up to see an analog clock on the wall. Thank God, it wasn’t all in my head. I made it to the room, five minutes to spare. I halted my search to go over my plan. Routine had to mean something. Routine actually meant everything. I played it through in my head as I had so many times before. I could do this. I had done this. I was snapped out of it by a tap on the shoulder. “Is this yours?” The overly confident voice asked. My eyes were wide, my world came in to focus. I lightly grabbed the pen from his hand, barely said thank you, and he walked away without another thought. My pen, the pen. The search was over. I stepped towards the door, my finger clicked the pen top and my heart was ready.