Get Lost

by Paul Marcus

The phone rings. I recognize the number. It’s local. Or local like. I do what I always do when unsure who is calling. Pick up the call, but say nothing. I remain quiet. Don’t want to be the first to speak. A moment. Two. Nothing comes. Fake call, but I wasn’t faked out. I’m a savvy fake call answerer.

I won a cruise. My interest rates have been lowered. Microsoft central says my computer has run-amok and is crashing the internet. Apple tells me a virus is emanating from my emails. The best one, I never tire of is the threats I receive almost daily from the IRS.

“Hello, dis IRS..” a husky eastern European voice intones. They know where I live and are proceeding with criminal prosecution for my crimes. Call at once to stop my imminent arrest in front of my children, wife, and neighbors.

There is some small part of me that enjoys this kind of harassment. I bow my head as I am led from my front door to a waiting black car, my hands shackled in front of me, one huge guy guides me forward, he has a thick neck and reminds me of a Slavic wrestler in a wedding suit.

The other guy opens the rear door of the car and grins at me, pushing my head down and into the seat he says only: “You should have said something when we called.”

II.

When they finally let me out I am skinny to my own touch. I’m given a gift card to Walmart (amount unknown) and a new cell phone. A tiny flip job with a non-virtual keyboard. I finger the keys and the screen lights. Mapsappears and asks: “Where do you want to go?” I’m a blank slate right now.

Where should I want to go?

Having recently been found and put in my place I want to be lost. To feel a direction now would be a betrayal. Remembering that my silence is what got me into this situation I type in: Get Lost. The phone, of course, doesn’t take kindly to this idea and the map program slowly zooms out, encompassing a larger and wider area. As it continues to zoom out a red dot appears on the screen. It says: You are here. I begin the game and mull the strategy of getting lost in an always-on, found world. If I can fool the phony IRS I can certainly fool this phony phone: No plan. Just movement.

III.

I stick out my hand at the exact moment a BMW 2002, hand-painted orange over rust spots slows beside me. I look through the window and no shit, it’s Omar driving. I do a quick check up the street and get in beside him. Omar looks to be about twelve years old but he’s wise and paunchy and a good driver.

Our acquaintance goes back to our discovery that each of us were trying to impress the same girl about five years ago. It was kind of a Marx brothers routine with doors slamming as others opened. Our maneuvers worthy of Prohias’s Spy vs. Spy.

Ultimately neither of us got her favor but we did have a laugh and a beer about it all once.

And now we’re next to each other, facing forward, looking through cracked and chipped glass at people streaming towards us. Driving slowly against the tide I wonder if a bus had broken down or a factory had just finished a shift. Or were they all lost, just as I hoped to be?

We are just about through the crowd and turning a corner when the rear door opens and some girl gets in.

I turn and say: “Can we help you?” Sarcastic like. And Omar says: “ It’s ok man. She’s going to ONE FIVE SIX FOUR LONGMONT DRIVE”- the girl and Omar say this together in unison.

“You’re a Goober driver? I say. Omar nods and shrugs. Girl: “Can we just go please?”

IV.

I look down and flip open the phone. I see the red dot that I assume is me moving across the map face. This whole ‘no plan, just movement’ is starting to worry me. Is it even possible to get lost and stay lost anymore?

I jump out of Omar’s car when we reach the girl’s destination.

“See ya man”. Happy Goobering” I say. The old Beemer takes off and the girl looks at me like I’m bathroom tissue stuck to her shoe. As she edges away I realize I don’t know where I am, but I’m still not lost. It’s a distinction and a challenge that I feel I’m up for.

I sit down on the curb. It’s getting dark and I probably look strange if any residents saw me out their window. LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS! IT”S THE LOST BOY! The phone buzzes and I raise it up, about to throw it as far as I can. I make to kiss it goodbye when I see it. The red dot, the me of the map is moving. It’s moving on without me.

It’s no longer showing me where I am. It’s showing me where to go- leading me. At long last, we’re getting nowhere, I think.

Followingthe me/red dot I feel stupid. It’s dark now and I’m cold. Lights are on in the homes, the street lamps are lit and I give up hope. I may as well call Omar for a ride home. We can get a beer and laugh about the girl again.

From a block away I see the dark. The street lights pop off in succession before me and then behind me. Houses too are becoming black holes.

I realize true darkness is rare. If one cannot see your hand in front of your face you are all you have in space.

The phone’s screen is dimming. The battery must be dying. The map clicks off, leaving only the red dot. And as that dot fades out too, I realize that I am finally, happily lost.