Lost and Found part 2
Matthew Ryan Fischer
There was no easy way out. No easy way to stop the overflow of
thoughts and emotions. Close your eyes, breath deep, count objects of different
colors, name things that started with the letter “p” and many other tricks deigned
to stop anxiety and runaway overthinking loops. They’re all just tricks and
they only work when they work. As stupid as it sounds, it’s the truth. A trick
is only effective when it’s effective. The rest of the time you end up annoying
yourself for even trying.
Life made Bryce sad. The march of time. The imperceptible loss
that came with each day that was only noticed long after there was anything that
could be done about it. Friend that faded away. Lovers that didn’t work out.
The past was a cacophony of failures, broken dreams and loss, stirred and mixed
into a hazy gray sludge that he couldn’t sift through to find something worth searching
for.
The future was made of mud. Stepping into it meant sinking into a
cold, endless slog.
Bryce had dreams. He was sure of it. Once. They were out there. He
had lost track of them. Many had run away, off to greener pastures with someone
else. The dreams came and went, but there had always been more. Not as much
now. Each passing day there seemed to be fewer that would come visit.
His nights had been full of adventure. The future was something to
look forward to. And the days had been touched as well. The daydreams were sometimes
more powerful, more present than the night ones.
Bryce’s days were routine now. 6:45 every morning. 7:15 the coffee
would be ready. 7:32 he’d have to stop picking weeds out of the garden and get
in the shower. 7:49 until 7:53 he could try to look at headlines on the
internet. Maybe 7:57 he could grab something for lunch if had remembered to
cool it the night before. By 8:02 he had to be at the corner light turning
right. If he wasn’t on the highway by 8:09 he would be late. If there was any
traffic, any accident, it was going to be a bad start to the day.
Somewhere, some time ago, none of that mattered. He could fly away
to a distant world. He was a traveler. He saw multiple lives and multiple
outcomes, fighting battles and winning hearts and loving those he met along the
way.
When was that? He wasn’t sure. Where did it all go? He had no
idea.
The past seemed to laugh at him. The photos of the others, who had
all made something out of life, seemed to mock him.
Had he dreamt it all? Had it all been a lie?
He liked seeing her smile in the photos. The daughter that wasn’t really his daughter, but he thought of her that way anyway. She was out there. Somewhere. She had stopped posting to social media seven years ago. Or maybe he just didn’t know what the new place to look was. He could try harder. But why? She wasn’t his real daughter. She wouldn’t want to see him now. It was just another thing to let fade away.
There was always a long line at the drive thru. The great American
waste of time and gasoline. People at in their car and waitresses on roller
skates used to bring food to you. Now there were two lines and kids with
tablets taking your order before you could see the menu and try to find a deal.
How did everything turn into a parking lot?
The 1950s and 60s would be broken-hearted to see what a mess had
been made of the open roads of the past. If that were true. If there ever was
such a time. Maybe it was all made up, part of some great collective dream. Time
might have begun ten or twenty years ago. Or a day prior. If they were all
asleep, all connected in the dream, then maybe the past was fake. Maybe that
was why it faded like it did. Like waking from a dream, the details quickly
slipped into the abyss.
Bryce hated looking at photographs. Hated seeing people get old.
Hated seeing them young because he knew that was so long ago and would never be
again. Knowing they were out of his life and had moved on and he’d never talk
to them. He liked when it faded. He didn’t want to remember. It was too painful.
But if they were all a dream, all something that never was, then
perhaps he could dream something different for himself. If only the dreams
would visit him again. Where had they gone? Why had they left him? How could he
get it back?
Bryce looked at his email and thought about writing a message. It
had to have been 10 or 15 years at this point. Would they even have the same
email? Would they check it, or see his name and hit delete? He didn’t know what
to say or how to begin. He just stared at the blank screen.
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