Lost and Found

When I was a student at GTCC, I worked in the computer lab of the Advanced Technologies Building on campus. I helped students with software and made sure no one was playing games when it was busy. Outside the lab, in the main corridor, was the help desk where students would ask for directions, and on occasion we’d receive inquiries on lost items.

It wasn’t unusual for someone to leave a jacket or something in the lab. We’d keep it until the owner came back for it. We’d ask simple questions like, “What color was your jacket.” to make sure it was the rightful owner. If we didn’t have it, we’d tell them to check with campus police, and that would be the end of it for us.

Nearing my final days at this school, a co-worker mentioned that I was outgoing and friendly but never asked anyone out. I’m a bit of a chicken but promised I’d ask someone out by the end of the workday. He didn’t believe me, of course. I didn’t believe me either.

Wasn’t going to be easy, not only was I nervous, it was also a slow day—due to exams. But I spotted a young lady standing at the help desk waiting patiently, so I went to see what she needed.

“Has anyone turned in a cellphone.”

I checked the bin. “No, have you checked with campus police?”

“No.”

I called and they had no cellphones either. 

“Maybe check back later. Someone may turn it in.”

She said she would and walked away looking glum. I felt for her. Certainly not the time to ask her out. Hours later she came back.

“Sorry, still no phones. Want me to call campus police?”

“No, I have to go. Do you have a pen and paper?”

I handed her a pen and sticky note.

“If someone turns it in, could you give me a call?” 

She wrote her number on it. I hadn’t even asked for it. 

“Sure, I’ll call if it turns up.”

She walked away. It dawned on me that this was my chance. I already had the number. All I had to do was ask. I’d be hopeless to ask anyone out if I couldn’t this time. But she’d left already. Probably lost in the crowd. I decided to try and find her. I ran out of the AT building and looked around. She was far off in the parking lot. As cheesy as it was, I ran.

When I caught up, she looked at me as if I was some crazy person. I doubled over trying to catch my breath. “Can I call if I don’t find your phone?”

We’ve been married for 12 years now. Two kids and a lot of memories. This was our first. 

Bryan Timothy Mitchell is a new author and loves writing Speculative Fiction. In February, he'll start a series of short stories and provide them free on his site. He’s written a novel and hopes to find a publisher for it soon. He’s a husband and a father of two boys. His website is www.bryantimothymitchell.com.

Fabulous February

After being teased the entire month of January that the following month would be fabulous, I instinctively knew that Valentine’s Day would be proposal day. 

A few days before the holiday, Eddy and I planned a dinner date with his parents and my children. Not unusual. We all enjoyed spending time together.

An overtime workday made me franticly late with no time to change from my khaki slacks and comfy shirt. The Jones clan were already on the way. Reservations had been made so all I could do was fluff my hair, dab on some lipstick, and hope for the best. I climbed into their van and immediately felt underdressed. The men were in suit jackets. What was up with that? 

We passed many of the favorite attractions you find in the Disney landscape. I was thrilled when we made the turn into the drive to Arabian Knights dinner theatre. Even though I had never been there I knew it would be a great night. The kid in me still liked the animated version of Aladdin. Surely, the show would be just as entertaining. 

Did I mention there were horses? 

I kept quiet but was still confused. Valentine’s was three days away. Why wear your suit jackets to a tourist attraction? I was totally oblivious to what may seem obvious to you.

We entered a grand ballroom that buzzed with excitement. Hawkers sold their wares. There was music and souvenirs galore. The DJ played requests and tried telling jokes. We laughed because they weren’t funny at all. Soon we heard an announcement, “Is there a Michele in the house tonight?” 

Actually, everyone in our party heard, except me. I was too enthralled with all the activities around me and anxious to see stallions prance around the arena. Suddenly, my arm was thrust into the air. My kids had a death grip and were waving it to get the DJ’s attention. He finally noticed and told everyone to pay attention to a big announcement forthcoming.

Surrounded by a throng of unknown faces who smiled and stared at me, I yanked my arm back and asked the kids, “What are you doing?” A slight nod and a roll of their eyes directed my attention to the overdressed suit jacket.

Eddy’s hands trembled and his voice quivered as he tenderly spoke and shared his love for me. He had planned the perfect setting and recited the perfect poem, all to ask me to be his bride. The crowd seemed as excited as I, and offered a round of applause when I said, “Yes!”

February did turn out to be quite fabulous. I spent the evening with the ones I love and enjoyed a show with beautiful horses. I heard a lovely, poetic confirmation of love and knew it was all done to invite me to be a part of his life. 

Twenty years and counting, we still celebrate Fabulous February.

Michele Jones is a pastor’s wife, writer, and horse enthusiast. Her devotionals and stories seek to stir our hearts to see God’s love.

Return to Sender

            During the summer of 1966, I was 16 and often rode my bike to the Wednesday night youth meetings at the Free Methodist Church on Main Street. Many of my friends also went because the young pastor enjoyed being around teens and working with them.

            One night I expected the usual crowd, but was distracted by a beautiful blond, blue-eyed girl sitting across the aisle several pews back. I asked one of my friends who she was. Tom told me she was Lorraine’s cousin. Lorraine was Tom’s girlfriend and they had been dating for almost two years.

            If I were to confide in anyone about dating girls, Tom would be the one. Tom was a good friend and I knew I could count on his help.

            His first place of advice was to write a letter to the young lady telling her about myself and include a picture. Then he added, “That’s all you need. I’ll help you write some good stuff.”

            Good stuff? The letter he wrote was filled with more X’s and O’s than an entire year of The Dating Game. All I had to do was sign my name, address the envelope, put on a stamp and send it. I couldn’t wait for her reply.

            After two weeks, I started to doubt the girl would ever write back. But eventually I went to the mailbox and found a letter addressed to me. This was going to be the best day of my life.

            I took the envelope to my room so my mother wouldn’t get suspicious. I carefully opened it and pulled out a picture. Great, I thought, she sent me hers. Not so fast - it was the picture I had sent her.

            As it turned out, the letter was addressed to me, but was written by the girl’s mother - an entire page telling me that her daughter was much too young to get into a serious relationship with someone she had never met. She was courteous, but straightforward.

            The more I read, the more embarrassed and ridiculous I felt. So much for my friend Tom and his help. Never again did I trust someone else’s advice in making a love connection. I stuck with reading comic books.

Douglas Maxson is retired and has been a member of the North Grand Rapids West Michigan Writer's Group for five years.