Lost and Found—and Lost by David Margolin

Lost and Found—and Lost by David Margolin

 “Be back before you know it,” said Carolyn, followed by a see-you-soon wave to her husband Sam. She didn’t trust the outside mailboxes, so she always went inside to drop off their letters. Sam waited outside, not wanting to risk unnecessary exposure to COVID, rhinovirus, bird flu, or any of the other countless nasty bugs that thrive during the winter, eager to make a home in their next victim’s respiratory system.

Through one of the large windows, he watched his bride of 11 years open the door and enter the vestibule. He was surprised by the twinge of separation anxiety. Ridiculous—they would be parted for less than a minute. As Carolyn walked toward the outgoing mail slot, Sam lost sight of her due to the glare from the winter sun, and the heavy smudge and grime coating the windows, part of the generalized delayed-maintenance malaise that had befallen the Pearl District Post Office branch.

After a few more steps Carolyn came back into sight. Sam breathed a sigh of relief that the moment of invisibility had ended.  He watched as Carolyn dropped the letters, one-by-one, through the slot in the vault-like wall. He knew that it made his wife secure to hear the letters plop onto the pile of mail waiting in the bin.

When Carolyn turned around, she and Sam saw each other, and exchanged smiles. As before, he lost sight of her as she neared the vestibule. Sam was annoyed when Carolyn did not come out the front door right away. He figured that she was chit chatting with an acquaintance, or fawning over some cute canine.

After waiting a few more seconds he ascended the cracked concrete stairs to the front entrance, foregoing the assistance of the tilted, rusted, gritty handrails, and opened the door. The vestibule was empty except for Carolyn’s distinctive bright blue-and-white knit scarf lying like a curled serpent on the well-worn carpeted floor.

“Excuse me, sir,” brought Sam back to the moment. He realized that he had been standing still and staring at the scarf for an unreasonably long time. He was blocking the way of a young woman attempting to enter the building. He picked the scarf up and wrapped it around his neck for safekeeping.

“Sorry,” Sam uttered distractedly, before stepping into the small, dingy, cold lobby. He surveyed the hallway from one end to the other, and then checked each of the short corridors lined by post-office boxes. She’s too small to fit into any of those, he thought, shocked to hear himself joke.

He wondered if it was physically possible for Carolyn to have gone out the front door without his seeing her. Even if she had, where was she now? His thoughts and breathing sped up, and his throat felt tight and dry, as he considered his next move. He looked at the four customers waiting to be helped by one of the two not-too-cheerful clerks going through the motions at the main desk. He noted the prominent “EMPLOYEES ONLY! VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED” sign on the imposing steel door leading to the back office. He decided that it was better to continue searching on his own than to spend precious time trying to rally the staff to his cause.

Sam did another fruitless sweep of the lobby before reluctantly heading out the front door. When he heard the swinging glass door close behind him, he felt that it was shutting out his hope of ever seeing Carolyn again.

During the four-block walk home, Sam stared at each woman that he saw. There was an initial twinge of recognition, but he realized that wish fulfillment was altering his perception. Despite that realization, the illusion increased with each woman that he passed. Something seemed Carolyn-like about each woman—the color of her hair, her posture, the tilt of her head.

Lost in thought, he reflexively put his key into his front door lock. He turned around to see the source of the “Hi, Sam, how are you doing?” It was Claire. She and Trent, Sam’s closest friend, lived next door. When he turned to face her, Claire was surprised that Sam, usually well dressed, was wearing a dirty faded brown scarf with tattered fringes. “Whoa, where did you get that scarf?”

Sam, not up to telling the whole story, answered, “Guess, I grabbed Carolyn’s scarf by mistake this morning. Have you seen her today? I lost track of her.”

Sam didn’t notice the crestfallen look on Carolyn’s face because he had already turned to face his door. He abruptly parted with, “See you later, Claire.”

Claire’s, “Take care, Sam,” was a worried, sad whisper.

Sam quickly closed his front door and latched the deadbolt. He brought the ends of the scarf to his nose and inhaled deeply. The-blue and-white colors were blindingly bright. Carolyn’s scent was so strong that it he could taste it. The odor triggered such vivid memories of her essence that he reached out to touch her. A flood of ideas and emotions raced through this mind. He sat down and tried to slow down and organize his thoughts—struggling to make a coherent plan. He closed his eyes to help him concentrate, and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

When he opened his eyes, Sam knew from the dappled pattern on the curtains and the fading rays of sunlight shining into the room that it was late afternoon. He had slept for a few hours and felt happy and refreshed. Then he saw what he was wearing. He felt like he had been hit in the head with a baseball bat. It was an old dirty faded brown scarf. Memories of the day burst into his consciousness. Being together with Carolyn, their walk to the post office, her blue-and-white scarf, his search for her. It was the first time that he had been “with” Carolyn since she died, 11 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days ago.

He was sure that it hadn’t been a dream. During his search for Carolyn he had felt the full weight of reality. Maybe I wanted to be with her so badly that I made it happen, willed her back into being–but then I lost her again. Sam angrily tore off the scarf and flung it across the room.

Mentally and physically exhausted, Sam sat there until he was forced into action by a noxious racket from the large neighborhood murder of crows. He got up quickly and closed the windows. He picked up the scarf, folded it neatly, and put it in the top drawer of his dresser, next to the blue-and-white scarf. Part of him dreaded having another experience like the one today. Part of him couldn’t wait until it happened again.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright David Margolin 2025