Written in a fugue state a few weeks ago. Don't even think of sharing without my permission or I'll come at you with my fists.
The Finder of Lost Things
By
Ken Faraoni
Copyright 2022
His grandmother called him the Finder of Lost Things.
On that particular grey October morning, house keys were the missing items in question, and lately, Nanny seemed to lose them every other week.
He climbed the narrow stairs to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Autumn leaves, all fiery red and sunset orange, clung to the rain streaked glass and cast his room into a tiny cathedral. He lowered his head as if in prayer.
In order for him to achieve success as The Finder of Lost Things, he had to know the object, preferably by holding it in his hand even though he had gotten lucky a few times just by having seen it enough to create a mental picture. Intangible items, things he had never held or seen, were impossible it seemed, something his grandmother could never grasp.
The Finder of Lost Things was intimate with house keys. He had held them countless times, fascinated with the glittery brass and silver and the reflections they cast if you were to hold them just right. Not that long ago, they had occasionally even served as a makeshift pacifier, the big shiny smooth ring that kept the keys in line proving to be too great of a temptation for his teething gums.
He closed his eyes and pictured them in his hands. He opened his mind and felt the cold metal he had started countless rocketships and race cars with. He felt the weight and the responsibility of their purpose.
His ears popped and he began to drift. First, up and out of his body and into the hallway where a single light bulb hung from a long knotted wire. There were possibilities here. Right or left? Upstairs or down? He drifted left.
Infinite possibilities between Nanny's bedroom and the bathroom. In his mind he was smoke and streamed through the bedroom keyhole on the slightest breeze. The options counted down to one and suddenly he was in the closet and tumbling from a coat pocket and into the muck boot below.
He opened his eyes and hopped off the bed. "Found 'em, Nanny!", he called downstairs. "Well, bring them to me!", she shouted back. He shuffled into her bedroom and retrieved the lost keys from the bottom of the muck boot.
He dropped them on the kitchen counter next to her while she stirred a pot of soup. She ruffled his long blond hair for a moment, a rare display of affection. He smiled and looked up at her. "Now go find me that gold I've been telling you about and maybe you can get a little bit of supper." His smile disappeared but he did as he was told.
His grandmother called him The Finder of Lost Things.
