lost and found

About a week ago, I decided it was time to wash the bath mat. (I know! Doesn't this story sound good so far! I can't wait to see where it's going, either!) So I pulled it off the shower door, collected my basket of laundry, and made my way to the laundry room, one floor below. But somewhere between here and there, I lost the bath mat. I can't explain it. I've worn out a pair of Vibram soles retracing my steps. A 2 by 3-foot piece of brown terry cloth appears to have vaporized. Nowhere to be found. Kablamo!

A missing towel is one thing. But I started to really fret on Friday night, when I realized that somewhere between the Back Bay and my front door, I'd lost a $400 check. This is getting serious--I'm really starting to lose it. And by "it" I mean any number of things in addition to my mind.

I spent a few days hemming and hawing, dumping the contents of my bag out again and again, hoping the thing had become wedged in a lining somewhere or stuck to an old piece of gum in an unknown pocket. I put off the inevitable phone call to my friend, the check writer, not wanting to 1) trouble her; and 2) be found out as a butterfinger. I wondered how much the bank would charge her to stop payment on the check, or how soon it would be before a teenager found it, hitched a ride out to one of those check-cashing places, and treated himself to a new pair of sneakers, or whatever it is the kids buy with their drug money these days. Then! The phone rang. "Are you missing anything?" my friend asked.

The facts, as we know them: I boarded a red-line train in Boston, presumably with a check in the back pocket of my jeans. I traveled outbound to Davis square, where I de-trained. My check, however, rode one stop beyond that, to Alewife. Alewife being the end of the line, the check disembarked the train and made its way to a mud puddle somewhere outside the station, where a good samaritan retrieved it. Said good samaritan drove to Belmont, the next town over, and delivered my muddy, well-traveled check to a branch of the issuing bank, where a clerk called my friend, who called me. Amazing that there are still people out there who go to such trouble for a stranger.

Sadly, the whereabouts of my dirty bath mat are still anyone's guess. If anyone can provide information that leads to its safe return, I will offer a reward. Of $400.