There's this place where lost wallets go. When they fall out of your pockets and you frantically search for them, they all go to this little crevice in an unknown location. You look for it, but it isn't looking for you. It is enjoying that free air feeling for as long as it can before it must return to its rightful owner; wedged between the denim that surrounds its life, stuffed until it feels like it will explode.
It needed a break. So, at the right moment, it jumped out of my pocket. Just jumped out. It had felt some motion and heat and decided it would be a great place to take a brief vacation. I didn't notice this directly. I didn't even notice it that day. The process of unpacking one's pockets at the end of the day becomes so routine that I forgot that there was something important missing. I just assumed it was there. It always was before.
In these wallets are placed the plastics of our lives. They dictate how much we can spend, where we are permitted to go, what we are allowed to do, and essentially tell us how much we're worth. One of the plastics was my key to food as it gained me entry into the dining hall. Come breakfast time, this reformed oil product had seemed to slip from my very hands. I subconsciously smacked my desk where the wallet should have been, expecting it to be there. When my hand felt the hard wood, bespeckled with rivets and scratches, I knew something was wrong. And thus, my misplaced wallet woes began. However, my wallet had now been out of my pocket for a good 12 hours. Oh, those 12 hours better have been great for it. Because if I ever found him, I would...ah, this is no time for frustration or anger. I must treat it better if it ever decides to return.
Regardless of its trip, I decided to tear apart my 9 X 10 cell. Pockets were turned inside out, mattresses and bedspreads were turned upside down and shaken, bookbags were searched. All this to no avail. The dude was gone. I even searched clothes I hadn't worn the night in question.
Ah well, I may as well check if anybody had turned it in. And so I walked out of my dorm and into the chilly, rainy morning as I cursed myself for having forgotten my rain jacket and umbrella.
At the desk, nothing had been turned in, but breakfast was still allowed. And I ate, albeit begrudgingly. All my friends told me that the first place I should search was the car I had been in. I knew this, but they were being good friends.
Half hour later, stories of lost wallets and calling to cancel credit cards have sparked concern in me. Oh no, I think, if I have to cancel my credit card, that means I can't watch Spider-Man 3 (because I had booked my ticket online and needed to bring it to the theater to confirm that I, indeed, was the Spider-Nerd who chose that perfect seat so many weeks in advance). I decided to forget about my wallet for a minute because worrying about it would not bring it any closer to me, it would only remind me how faraway I was from my state-given identity.
Upon leaving the dining hall, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. Blue skies, I saw. This intrigued me. If my day started rainy but was now progressing to sunshine, could I possibly find my misplaced wallet? If so, would this mean that my predicaments would be determined by the weather? If so, I would make sure to move to the Bahamas.
I woke my friend up, I think, when I knocked on his window. I told him I had misplaced my wallet. He said, "You lost your wallet?!" And I don't like using that word 'lost' so quickly. But everybody had been using it by now. I was afraid that my wallet was indeed lost. Or maybe it had fallen onto the carpet in my room somewhere.
Regardless, we went over to his car. The closer we were to his car, the more desperate my prayers became. Once the distance between soul and vehicle were mere meters, all talking stopped. It was the silence, nay, the deep breath before the plunge. *CLICK* the unlocking of the car was too amplified for my liking. It gave a call of *LOOK HERE FOR THAT WHICH YOU WILL NOT FIND!* I gave it a shot, I opened the passenger door. My eyes glanced over the seat and they searched the foot part, briefly passing over the bit between door and seat.
And there, blending in with the shadows of the seat, was a piece of a chocolate. I jest. There, amongst the shadows, was my wallet. I grabbed it, held it with both hands, and raised it high above my head. I had found my misplaced wallet. Those twelve hours have better been great for it, because I made sure that, however long it decided to stay with me, those would be the best days.
Moral of the story: Take care of your wallets. Place them in the side pockets of your pants and not the side pockets of those track jackets because you will forget to zip them up. I know I did.
