Lost and Found
by E.H. Jacobs
The coaster approaches the drop. The cars almost vertical. I enjoy a moment鈥檚 hesitation. Screams 鈥 high-pitched squeals and screeches, sounding like little girls about to pee themselves 鈥 spew from throats male and female, child and adult. I watch the cars plunge downward, downward 鈥 fast, faster. The cars round the first curve, passengers straining to stay in their seats, then the second curve. For the twentieth time today. I pull the lever, for the twentieth time, to start the braking action as the cars complete the circuit and shudder to a stop. They laugh. They talk loudly. They lift their harnesses and walk by me. They look without seeing. There she is, again. Laughing, smiling, hands moving back and forth as she talks to her friend, like it was her first time. Always like the first time. Her hair. Long, blonde, shiny. The kind of shiny that captures the gold of the sun in each strand. Even after inching upward at a 70-degree angle, dropping at 65 mph, rounding two neck-whipping curves鈥erfect. She doesn鈥檛 notice. If she did, I鈥檇 have to explain that my orange cast-member golf shirt with the name of the park stenciled in bright gold lettering and my khaki shorts high above my knees aren鈥檛 my normal clothes. I hold the lever and watch her exit, knowing she will be back鈥oday鈥omorrow鈥wo days鈥ext week.
I鈥檇 have to explain that I won鈥檛 be making minimum wage forever. That this is just a summer job. That I鈥檒l be going to college in another year. She鈥檇 have to know that 鈥榗ause I can tell she鈥檚 the type that鈥檚 used to having money. I pull the lever and hear the click-click-click of the gears catching the undercarriage, pulling the cars up slowly. I look to see if she鈥檚 lined up for the next ride, or the one after that. Mom forgot to pack me lunch today. I guess I鈥檒l have to eat that soupy chicken crap they serve at the el-cheapo restaurant at the park with my discount. It鈥檚 all boney and fatty with that mottled chicken skin coming off of it. The bones are probably the healthiest part, and you can鈥檛 eat them. I鈥檒l be playing with my bone tonight, ha-ha. Seergaard the Princess Gladiator 鈥 starting the next level. That鈥檚 who she reminds me of. My Princess Gladiator.
This guy gets off the ride and hands me a pair of sunglasses. Aviators tinted blue, with frames of yellow-gold metal, just like her hair. He was in the seat she was sitting in on the last ride. Avery says I should put them in the Lost and Found. Otherwise, Buzz will think I鈥檓 stealing. Buzz is what we call Mr. Harrington, the supervisor. Not to his face. He鈥檚 got this buzz cut, like he thinks he鈥檚 a Marine drill sergeant. Kind of looks like Sgt. Rottweiler in Seergaard the Princess Gladiator. The guy yells at and bullies whoever gets in his way. He鈥檒l get away with it until Seergaard destroys him. You can tell it鈥檚 coming. Maybe the next level. Maybe tonight. I hold the glasses, waiting. She鈥檒l be back. She loves this ride.
Mr. Harrington鈥檚 standing in front of me now. Asking about the sunglasses. He looks mad. Using words like 鈥減rotocol鈥 and 鈥渞esponsibility.鈥 His neck is turning red. He doesn鈥檛 know that all his power won鈥檛 do him any good because, in the end, Seergaard will be victorious. I never look him in the eye. I tell him I know whose sunglasses these are, that they belong to a friend of mine who asked me to hold them for her until she got back. He tells me I better not be lying and walks away. It looks like steam鈥檚 coming out of his ears. I laugh. To myself.
Seergaard鈥檚 going to do battle. She鈥檒l wear her tight, black armored bodysuit, the one that hugs her breasts, but just barely. And her ass shines as she moves in that suit. She鈥檒l wait 鈥榯il Rottweiler and his forces are at their maximum strength, when they think they鈥檙e invincible, then she鈥檒l surprise them and, alone, defeat them all in hand-to-hand combat. One day, I鈥檒l be down there with my princess, after she gets to know me a little, lying on the couch in the basement. She won鈥檛 mind the dank smell 鈥 I keep asking mom to air it out, but she doesn鈥檛; no matter, I鈥檝e gotten used to it 鈥撯 because she鈥檒l be watching me. One level to the next, until I鈥檝e mastered the game. And she鈥檒l miss me when I leave for college next year. I can see her eyes tearing up.
I wipe the sweat off my brow with my sleeve. I feel the dampness on the back of my shirt and under my arms. I look at the crowd loading up for the next ride and there she is, for the second time today. I get the sunglasses and hold them out. Her friend sees me and taps her shoulder. 鈥淗ey, Marci, aren鈥檛 those your sunglasses?鈥 She stops in front of me. I smell strawberry and vanilla. Her hair looks so soft this close. Pinkness radiates from her glossed lips. She鈥檚 wearing a blue-gray loose fitting embroidered peasant blouse hanging off one shoulder, and tight white jeans. I think about reaching out and touching her bare shoulder, reassuring her that I kept her sunglasses safe until she returned. That I knew they were hers and how pretty they looked. That I didn鈥檛 put them in the Lost and Found where somebody else might have taken them. She reaches out and, as I hand her the sunglasses, I open my mouth, but what escapes could barely be called a squeak. I swallow hard to start again, but her friend grabs her hand, laughs, and says, 鈥淐鈥檓on, we鈥檙e gonna miss the ride!鈥 She glances at me, smiles and opens her mouth, then gives in to her friend鈥檚 tugging. I pull the lever. I hear the gears engage the undercarriage. The cars inch up, up, up to the top of the drop. I hear the screams, I hear the cars whipping around the first curve, then the second, and then I hear the deceleration, the people laughing and yelling, the mechanical sound of the harnesses raising, the footsteps as they step onto the platform and walk past me, as she walks past me, her sunglasses perched on her head, her frames and her hair shimmering gold, moving her hands in perfect rhythm, talking to her friend, and off the platform.
Tonight, Seergaard will be patient. She will bide her time until the moment is right. Until Rottweiler鈥檚 forces are at full strength. Until Rottweiler has defeated every army on the planet. The population will cry out in desperation. No one will rise to the challenge. No one, except Seergaard. She will swoop in, pluck out their eyes, and scatter them over Greenland鈥檚 frozen tundra.
E.H. Jacobs is a psychologist and writer based in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. His work has been accepted by or has appeared in Santa Fe Literary Review, Hawaii Pacific Review, Storgy Magazine, Streetlight Magazine, Aji Magazine, and Smoky Quartz. He has also participated in three fiction workshops with the Kenyon Review. He has published two books on parenting, professional papers in psychology, and articles for the general public on psychological topics and has been a contributing book review editor for the American Journal of Psychotherapy. He has served on the clinical faculty of Harvard Medical School. In addition, he was a finalist in the New Hampshire Writers鈥 Project Three-Minute Fiction Slam.