Lost and Found | Teen Ink

Lost and Found MAG

August 5, 2008
By Anonymous

I liked being a mess. The desk that should have been clear so I could do my homework was always besieged with bowls of cereal and spoiled milk, old magazines, and Post-it notes I had forgotten to remember. My floor was a vacuum in itself, eating anything entering my room. It consumed sweaters, stuffed animals, socks, shoes. When I occasionally did laundry, I would dig up clothes I couldn't even recall purchasing. My shelves overflowed with containers of little odds and ends: hair bands, chapstick, matches, loose mints, coins, earring backings. I couldn't always see these things, but I knew that they were safe, nestled somewhere on a shelf. Like old friends in a phone book, I figured that someday I would find all the loose strings and tie them together.

One lonely day in August when all of my friends had yet to return from camp in Maine, visiting family in Florida, or some community-service trip in Mexico, something inside me began to itch. I tried taking a shower, scrubbing myself with every bodywash and bar of soap I could find. I brushed my hair and my teeth, but didn't feel any cleaner. I checked my e-mail, which was empty. I checked the DVR to see if any new shows had been recorded, but I had already seen everything.

I went downstairs and found my brother playing video games, my mom on the phone, and my dad in his office – everyone in their right place. I told my mom that something didn't feel right, and she suggested that for once I should clean my room. The thought itself made me nauseous. I went upstairs to sulk, feeling so overwhelmed that I might as well have been floundering without a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

When I opened the door to my bedroom, everything was in its usual cluttered arrangement. A plate of half-eaten pancakes sat on my desk, soggy with syrup from the morning. My bikini hung lifelessly from my doorknob, dripping pool water. My heavy covers lay crumpled and cold across my bed, molded by the twists and turns of the previous night. Piles of dirty clothes sat unsorted, collecting dust.

I stood in the middle of the cluttered room, breathing in the filthy air that I had become so used to. In the silence of that moment, I began to hear the clock ticking. I became aware of the moldy smell. I noticed that a spider had spun a shimmering line from my lamp to the top of my mirror. I shivered in disgust. I remembered that winter how my stuffed animal, Vanilla, had fallen behind my dresser and I hadn't noticed until I caught the repulsive scent of her fur burning against the heater, until it was too late and she was permanently covered in brown spots.

I suddenly felt sympathy for everything in my room that I had buried, never to be seen again. Lost items I had blocked out for years made their way back into my consciousness: my favorite yellow tank top, the picture of my mom and me on that boat in Jamaica, my baseball card collection.

I had an urge to dive under my bed and uncover everything lurking in the murky depths of dust, and to climb up into the highest corners of my closet and rescue items that had been mingling with the spiders. The innocent piles were growing higher and higher until they were looming monsters before my eyes. They were threatening to swallow me whole. I had to get rid of them. And so I started to clean.

In a box buried under old textbooks, I found a letter that my Poppy had written me at camp. I hadn't thought of him since his funeral. I suddenly remembered the thrill of running naked through cold sprinklers with my cousins, the spicy smell of barbecue mixing with the salty air at his beach house, and the distinct feel of his soft sweater rubbing warmly against my cheek each time he enveloped me in a hug. I remembered my dad rocking me to sleep the night Poppy died, and how the tears wouldn't stop.

I sat with his picture, blocking out the rest of the mess around me. I was in the middle of a storm, but I sat there and studied him until I had memorized every line in his face. Tears began to roll down my cheeks again, and the relief was like the sound of heavy rain pounding on a roof at the end of a drought.

In the drawer next to my bed, I found a friendship bracelet my childhood best friend, Aubrey, had given to me before she moved to California. I traced the green and purple pattern with my thumb, realizing that I hadn't spoken to her in years. The next day I called her, and we talked all night, laughing about memories like dressing up as the Spice Girls for Halloween. She reminded me of the time we built a family of snowmen in my backyard and had a funeral for them when they'd melted. I had lost so many precious childhood memories over time, letting them slip away into the tide like grains of sand. It was the kind of conversation you never want to end because for each moment we talked, it felt like a bucket collecting droplets of water from a leak.

Under my bed I even found that picture of my mom and me in Jamaica. I had forgotten how turquoise the water had looked from our ship, but what really caught my attention, though, was my image. I had buck teeth, short hair, and pimples covering my face. I stared at that girl, barely able to recognize this person who had drowned in the mess of my room so many years before. I decided to completely re­organize and revamp my room so that all the books, belts, and baskets were in their right place. It was like finding the missing pieces of the puzzle.

The finishing touch was framing that photo and hanging it high up on my wall. After all, it was me I had been searching for.

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This article has 427 comments.

on May. 2 2011 at 9:56 am
CoughingColours BRONZE, Athens, Alabama
2 articles 41 photos 27 comments

Favorite Quote:
Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.
~Pablo Picasso

this is extremely amazing! i love how it started off with the whole messy room concept (its easy to relate to) ;)

MadMouse GOLD said...
on Apr. 10 2011 at 8:26 pm
MadMouse GOLD, Springfield, Missouri
15 articles 11 photos 37 comments

Favorite Quote:
'The only things worth doing on the weekend are completely pointless and wastes of time."

This is an amazing piece! I love love love it! Keep it up :D

on Apr. 8 2011 at 2:39 am
RadiahMariaBelak BRONZE, Singapore, Other
1 article 3 photos 63 comments
Wow, it set a great picture in my mind. Keep writing, you're awesome!

Aidyl BRONZE said...
on Apr. 3 2011 at 10:59 am
Aidyl BRONZE, Oshawa, Other
4 articles 0 photos 90 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If you want a friend be a friend."


"That's cool. Hey you know what's even cooler than triceratops? Every other dinosaur that ever existed!"
-Dwight Schrute The Office

I loved this :) Especially the last line, it really tied everything together.

on Mar. 19 2011 at 12:43 am
PerfectMGymnast DIAMOND, Parker, Colorado
57 articles 25 photos 633 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If you don't leap you'lll never know what it's like to fly"

really great story! i loved the similies you used and the last line ended the the piece perfectly!! great job on this!!! :))

on Feb. 25 2011 at 3:22 pm
StayClassy1 SILVER, Stockton, California
5 articles 1 photo 40 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Buy me food so i know it's real"

wow, really good!!

blahblah said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 1:31 pm
I think that this article was very well written.  You did a wonderful job describing your room and how messy it was.  On top of that you made about more than just cleaning your room by adding more personal concepts to it.

Katy said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 1:24 pm
Your writing was very good and colorful. You used a lot of descriptions that really explained how you were feeling.  I think a lot of people can apply to the messy room concept.

unknown said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 1:19 pm
Wow! This is really good! There's a lot of descriptive language and sensory details.  Reminds me of my room and some of my old memories and friends I haven't thought about in a while. Gave me an over all sense of nostalgia. :)

on Feb. 25 2011 at 12:53 pm
skyblue95 PLATINUM, Bear, Delaware
35 articles 1 photo 40 comments

Favorite Quote:
I am paraphrasing, of course. "My only fear is that when they are turned to loving they will find we are turned to hating." -Reverand Msimangu, Cry, The Beloved Country (a book by Alan Paton)

I loved this! Awesome job!

student said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:25 am
I liked the descriptive and  colorful language used in your piece. All the little details make your memoir so interesting to read. I think all of us can relate to or remember a time when we had to find ourselves. We tend to lose ourselves in the midst of all our 'stuff' and have to sift through it to get to our memories and find ourselves again.

Student said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:20 am
I loved the descriptive and colorful language used in this piece. All the little details make this memoir so interesting to read. I think many of us can relate to your story, because we all have times when we lose ourselves in the midst of all our 'stuff'. We have to sift through our possessions and bring back all of our memories to find ourselves again.

Satire said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:20 am
This was really relatable and written very well. The imagery was great. I could really see the room being messy like it ws described.

Mizpalmyra15 said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:18 am
i agree. lolz. loveddddd the picture:) and the descriptiveness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:11 am
Really great story. I enjoyed it. A+

Spanky77 said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 9:10 am
This essay was very well written, with a good description of the messy room.  It is gross.  

Giggity BRONZE said...
on Feb. 25 2011 at 8:56 am
Giggity BRONZE, State Center, Iowa
1 article 0 photos 1 comment
Interesting story. Good use of showing. Can almost see the dirty room.

i love u said...
on Feb. 24 2011 at 7:33 pm
we have to do the questions now tahlia lol

Luv u <3 xx said...
on Feb. 24 2011 at 7:33 pm
nice sammi samesss lol

sammi xx said...
on Feb. 24 2011 at 7:32 pm
nice pic hahaha im so bord in english