Location Not Found

I’ve lost one pair of keys, got them recopied, then found the original pair, then lost the recopied pair somewhere on a trip to New York. On the same trip, my phone died, and I fell asleep in Central Park. I woke up to a drizzle that quickly escalated into a torrential downpour. I found my way to the nearest subway station and stared at the ridiculously complicated MTA New York Subway Map, soaking wet and shivering, forced to navigate like the days of old.

 

I’ve looked all around my living area for a wallet that rested on the kitchen table. I’ve deposited cash into an ATM and walked away with my debit card still in the slot. An older Russian lady chased me down with it in her hand. Too many times, I’ve run my cashout report at work, ordered an Uber home, and walked out with my water bottle still at the servers’ station. I had to put an AirTag in my pocket the night I reconnected with the Earth, so my friends wouldn’t lose me to the elements. I am not trusted with navigation, so I can never call shotgun.

 

I rarely have the phone-wallet-keys trifecta on me at once. I leave purses slung over chairs. I’ve had to replace several credit cards lost to bar tabs. I’ve gotten my phone stolen at Pride and didn’t even notice until god knows how long later. My partner makes a sort of game of picking up my phone whenever I leave it to see how long it takes for me to notice. A Lost and Found bin hates to see me coming.  

 

I wander the streets without knowing where I am situated. I have no concept of never eating soggy waffles; soggy waffles seem to be all I eat. I get on the wrong bus. Take the train southbound instead of north. It seems I don’t lose my things: they lose me. I walk away, and both object and myself are now forever removed from the moment we were joined in material existence. I turn left, and right disappears behind me. There are souls who are lost, and I think mine might be one of them. Can one who belongs nowhere get lost?

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