Ripples 4 by KimB

[Editor's Note: Ripples is a serial story.
The author makes no guarantees as to completing the serial.
Publication dates are located in the left side menu.]

04 By Any Other Name

Plastic bins, holding the fragments of what once was, were stacked along a wall. Remnants of the past. Harbingers of the future.

She got up and crossed the room and began to shift the stack of plastic bins. Rummaging through one of them she returned. An old pad of paper and stubby pencil placed on the table, she sat down, picked up the hot coffee and considered the phone.

It couldn't hurt to try to find the owner, she thought.

Brushing aside a small counterpoint of doubt, she placed the found phone on the paper and traced two outlines: one front and one back. She began to draw in all the features she could see. Buttons here and there. Plugs and connection points. She noted the colors that she could see but an enclosing protector covered the back and sides obscuring parts of the phone.

After labeling the outline drawings with what she could see, there still wasn't anything there to indicate the owner.

She frowned slightly.

She remembered long ago, losing her wallet while riding the municipal bus. She had gotten home with a small plastic bag of groceries only to find that the most important item she owned, the wallet, was missing. Her I.D. and a tiny amount of cash were in the wallet. Losing the money would mean a few extra dinners of peanut butter, but losing the I.D. was far worse.

Dread thoughts of having to stand in line after line at numerous offices waiting for bored and exhausted employees to help her fill out the required forms and obtain the official replacements, generated tears of frustration and anger at her own stupidity. Losing the wallet was just another step on the rung downward. No amount of peanut butter could fix that.

It was to her surprise that the door bell rang. Wiping her still damp face, she opened the door to see a person she did not know, standing there. Polite and well dressed, the person stood there and in broken English spoke her name. Yes, she nodded, puzzled as to what this person wanted of her. Then, as if in response to her expression, the person held out her wallet.

Almost like a dream, she reached for the wallet and opened it. There was all her money and her I.D too. A joy of profound relief flooded her. She stuttered her thanks and gestured for the person to remain. She hurried inside to find something suitable. Taking a small knitted lap robe from one of the plastic bins, she returned to the open door to give her thanks and the gift. Stepping outside to share her happiness, she looked around.

The person had gone.

The wallet, the only testimony that the person had ever been.