How I Became Un-Lost

Back in the old days, the days before GPS and cell phones, and all the satellite tracking, a person could just get lost. Sometimes by accident, and sometimes on purpose. On occasion, it was easy to get un-lost based on where the sun was in the sky and whether it was morning or afternoon. If it was cloudy or overcast, getting un-lost was a challenge--we didn't know where we were going. At night, it was easy to get lost and harder still to reverse the circumstance.

But once there was a boy, and there was me, and I was all kinds of lost in him. He was lost in me, but much closer to being found by all the other girls, I mean, 'young women,' where we went to college. He had a car. I had a poor excuse for a car. If there were any parts or pieces on this car that one would need to push or pull to start or stop or open or close, there was always a good chance the part or piece would come off in your hand. I had a pile of parts and pieces in the hatchback trunk. Mostly these things could be super-glued back onto the car. But, I think, if my car had a disease, it was most closely related to leprosy of the automotive variety.

When it came to looks, this boy was nothing special. He was very, very average--in height, weight, hair and eye color. Eventually, his hair would decide to desert his scalp, but for now, everything about him was average with the exception of his weak chin. But he was such a good kisser. I don't think I had ever kissed any other boy who made my lips tingle. He had this way of skimming his lips across every surface of my lips, with the barest touch, which always left me electrified. I was stupidly lost. His kissing skills propelled him well past all the other boys who may have been more than average in looks

In the autumn, we would get into his much more reliable car and drive around in the rural area surrounding our college campus, and we would take this twist or that turn, and then maybe an opposite direction here or there. I was always content to take in the photosynthetic canvas the leaves created, listen to CDs because his car had a much better stereo than mine, and eat homemade pumpkin ice cream from the tiny ice cream place that made special seasonal flavors.

This business with the trees was serious stuff. Tree leaves have a boatload of different pigments in them, but when the Earth is making its way around the sun, our little patch of the world gets slightly different wavelengths of light. These slightly different wavelengths activate some of the other pigments in the leaves, and the green we get used to seeing all through the spring and summer becomes dormant. The green gets lost, and golds, reds, pinks, and oranges give way to the crunchy brown leaves eventually littering the ground.

When we felt sufficiently lost during our aimless driving, this boy would pull off to the side of the bumpy, pock-marked road, and he would look into my eyes and see right into my soul. I was lost, completely spellbound, and we would spend what felt like hours kissing, groping, fondling in the front seat of his car. And then after a while, my whole body felt like it was tingling, like every part of me was one iota away from igniting.

Then after our small detour into the countryside, we would have to work our way back to civilization. It was on one of these jaunts that I knew in my sad little heart of hearts that this would be the last time I would feel his lips on mine or sense his urgent hands under my shirt. There was another young woman who had become lost in this boy, and it would never do to have more than one person lost in him at a time. When he searched my gaze for my soul, I made a concerted effort to search for his. What I realized quickly was that I had never found his soul. He was empty. Perhaps his soul was lost or stolen, or maybe he had given it away to someone else.

But I knew. I had seen him leaving the library her, laughing his ridiculous laugh that I thought had belonged to me alone. As they reached the curb and readied themselves to turn in opposite directions, she looked up at him, allowing him to search for her soul with his return gaze. It was at this very moment, as the corners of her mouth turned up in the smallest, most secret smile, that I confirmed she had found and laid claim to his heart and his soul.

I was overcome in equal measure with rage and sadness, and when I saw him gently take a lock of her hair between his fingers. When I saw the kind, loving care he used to push this errant bit of hair behind her ear. When I saw him glance at his watch to see how much time he had before he was meeting me. When I had to turn away and sprint to my apartment to get ready for him to pick me up for our date. When I realized he was bad for women everywhere who would fall victim to his soul-searching eyes and tingle inducing lips. When I determined he was a blight to be excised from the earth.

And on that very day, we set out to lose ourselves in a quietly beautiful fall afternoon, navigating with nothing more than the vaguest sense of direction, embarking on a quest to become lost somewhere where narrow county roads wound between fields of seed or feed corn stubble. I knew what kind of spot he would be searching for, where he would pull off to the side of the road, the stretch of grass bordering the rocky pavement, free of ditches or culverts. He turned off the car, turning his hopeful face to me.

"Why don't we take the blanket I brought and sit outside to watch the sunset?" I offered.

"Sounds great. We won't be as cramped as we are in the car," he said, reaching into the backseat to get the blanket.

"Would you go ahead and get the blanket out? I've got a thermos of hot chocolate in your trunk. Can I use your keys?" He gave me the keys, and he took the blanket, getting out of the car and looking for the perfect spot.

With keys in hand, I moved across the seat. He carefully placed the blanket onto a lovely, flat patch of earth. I watched as he settled himself onto the blanket. He lay back, closing his eyes, soaking up the last warmth of an Indian Summer afternoon. I started the car and lost myself in the purring of the engine. With the car in gear, I depressed the gas. Actually, I floored it, and the car took off. He didn't even look up.

There was satisfaction as I drove over the bump that had been the boy. I put the car in reverse and went back over him, and then forward again. All in all, I think I drove over him five or six times. With each pass, I seemed to be a little less lost.

When I returned to town, I took the car through the carwash, and then I detailed the car before returning it to his apartment. The boy would be found.

In the aftermath, I learned there were several other girls who were lost in this boy, and with the tragic event of his death, they, too, might be able to find their way. Each time I recalled the car's crushing noises, I sensed that I and the other young women were a closer and closer to being un-lost.