Lost and Found
By Geoff Tolley
Copyright 2012 Geoff Tolley
LOST AND FOUND
The day had arrived. Finally. And despite knowing for quite some time that it would (he knew six months ago, more like a year if he was really honest with himself) the day was no less difficult to face. How to say goodbye? Was goodbye even the right thing to say? Was it even the right thing to think? Yes, this was the day. And now that it was here Barton Macray had no earthly idea what to do with it.
He sighed deeply as his red Volvo hummed atop the gray country road, and peered across the front seat at his dozing passenger, at the way the boy’s chestnut brown hair fell across his ears. It had been a long time ago, almost 18 years, but Barton couldn’t help but think about the day his son was born, about the hopes and dreams that were also born on that day. They had wailed inside his mind, these dreams for the future, refusing to be pacified, or put down, or rolled over. And even back then – way back then – when things were so simple and perfect, Barton understood the day would come when he would have to say goodbye to him. But he always imagined he would be uttering those words while parked outside an ivy-covered dormitory, mingling amongst other “freshman” parents, smelling the crisp autumn air, swallowing the warm anticipation of the future. He imagined he would be wishing Lance well at college, giving him a hug of confidence, slipping him a smile, offering him a credit card for emergency expenses and emergency expenses only. But that was 18 years ago, and it would be impossible, simply impossible, for the gap between the dream and the reality to be any wider. It was, Barton thought to himself, a goddamned chasm.