Submitted: A Letter to the Lost

I had been in Spain for three days, and had not ventured out of the house except to go to class, and when my host family showed me around the city. I’ve had a horrible sense of direction all my life, and by this time I’d been lost so many times it didn’t really scare me anymore – in America. But there was something about the narrow, twisty streets, the lack of street signs, and the lack of people who spoke my language, that made getting lost in Spain different. I was less inclined to wander out on my own.

But on this third evening, I had to meet the other American students in the center of the city for a cultural excursion. My host mom drew the route on the map, and walked me there, pointing out landmarks as we went. It was about a half hour walk from their apartment. When we found my group, she left me with this advice, “If you get lost, just keep walking downhill. You’ll find us eventually.” Right, so no worries.

Of course, I did get lost walking home. It took me a while to even realize I was completely off track. At first all the cobbled streets tight with tiny shops and scattered with beautiful churches and cathedrals all looked the same to me. By the time I realized I was lost, I could hardly even find my way back to the beginning, and just as if I was in the movies, the sky turned dark and it began to pour. It took me almost two hours to get home, by which time I was soaking wet. But after that, I had a much better understanding of the layout of the city, and I knew they were right – I would find my way home eventually. I wasn’t afraid of getting lost in Spain anymore.

Getting lost has always been part of my life, and always will be. Getting lost can even be fun sometimes. I met one of my best friends when we got lost together at fifth grade camp. I got lost many more times in Spain, and sometimes it was horrible. Once I got lost with a good friend when we were visiting a city far away, and she was dehydrated and vomiting and we needed to get back to the hotel – it was not a good time to be lost. Once I led another friend an hours walk out of the way because she trusted me to know where I was going, and I didn’t.

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A letter to my “Half-Daddy”

As the young thug that I was, I was almost constantly drowning in a mass of about 2 billion stuffed animals.  As you remember, each of those jewels had their own name, personality, background, and life story.  They took turns accompanying me when we had to venture out into the real world.  When we returned home, I would go about my usual self-entertainment of lining them up, single-file, in a parade that stretched from my room, through the kitchen, around the couch, and ending somewhere on the stairs leading down to the den.  Whenever there was a tornado warning, I secured those suckers in trash bags for easy-grabbing in case we had to take shelter underneath the stairs.

Essentially, these beanie babies were my bros…that is, until you informed me that growing inside each and every one was a sack of SPIDER BABIES, waiting to hatch, burst, or whatever the hell it is that they do.  You told me they come “spewing out from between the seams ANY day now”.

This haunted me for weeks.  Deathly afraid of the inevitable hatch-and-attack of the Charlotte’s offspring, but unwilling to do away with my beloveds, I decided to stash them in one corner of the room and sleep with one eye open.   I, now, know that this was just a real jerk move.  Either that or some kind of subconscious indication to the evil spider babies that were living inside you, threatening to burst out onto your exterior.  I  almost think it may have been the latter which makes sense, considering the fact that up until a couple of years ago, I recognized your existence as the poison of my life.

Yes, we’ve since renewed and repaired that relationship for which I am very grateful, but the spider babies still haunt me.  It makes me wonder what else I have swept under the rug or into the corners of my mind where the spider babies can fester, waiting to drag me down to rot forever in Spider Baby Hell.

Thanks a lot.

-Yours Truly