Restoration of Faith in Humanity Vol. 1

I left the library earlier this afternoon in a daze, placed my things on a bench while I put on a sweatshirt, and then stepped out into the rain. I ran a few errands around campus, picking up things I had left in places. I was worrying about the fact that I've forgotten things all over. I've been worried that I am losing my mind somehow, or that some form of early onset Alzheimer's is setting in. While in the midst of this quest to collect my belongings I decided to sit in a quiet corner to write down a thought I had. My notebook, however, was missing.

Of course, while in the midst of wondering if my brain is decaying due to losing thing, I lost something else. I quietly panicked and began retracing my steps. I looked in all of the places I had been on campus between the time I woke up and the time I discovered my notebook was missing. Finally, I ended up at a computer thinking that I would try to forget about my loss for awhile. I thought that if I stopped trying to find it, it would find me.

When I logged into my email account I found a message waiting for me from a peer here at school. She had found my notebook. It was safe. She assured me that she hadn't read anything, simply that she'd opened it to find a name, which was written on the inside cover. She explained where she'd found it, described the notebook, and told me where she would be for the next few hours (fifth floor of the library, by a window overlooking the football stadium, wearing a gray sweatshirt).

I rushed to the library. She turned as I walked into the room and recognized that I was looking for someone. She made a motion with her hand and I walked over, practically in tears. She held up my notebook and looked at me.

"Are you looking for...?" She had barely started the question when I let out a rush of air, relieved beyond measure. I thanked her profusely and explained, when she asked what the book was for, that I am a poet and playwright. And that my notebook is an extension of both my brain and my physical body.

I left, but felt that I hadn't done enough to say thank you. She had mentioned in her email that she'd be the one "in the gray sweatshirt, looking like she hates her life". I assumed she had a large assignment due soon. I bought a pack of M&M's for her, and scribbled a short poem about being found onto a piece of paper. I went again to her corner of the library and presented them to her. She looked as if she was about to cry as she stood and gave me a hug.

She said that all she had done was pick it up. "Picking something up is easy," she said. I've been so lonely lately that even the idea of being found and cared for by a stranger was nearly overpowering. It's easy to love your friends, but forget to tell them. It's more satisfying to love or be loved by a stranger and make every effort possible to make sure that they know.