Lost

This is a flash narrative of the time that I "lost" my passport coming home from France.

I watched an old french couple argue as I waited for my flight to start boarding. I glanced down at my boarding pass one more time as a nasally voice broke my concentration, “We will now start boarding flight 247 to Charles De Gaulle - Paris, departure 11:45.” I instinctively reached for my passport. My heart stopped for a second. Empty. Nothing in the pocket. I quickly reasoned that I must have put it in a different pocket, nothing to worry about. I reached the ticket desk and was asked for an ID. I showed my driver’s license and passed through swiftly. 14B, I scanned for my seat. As I sat down I promptly opened my backpack to find my passport. My connecting flight in Paris would be shortly after I landed, I had to move quick. My heart rate rose exponentially as I searched over and over and over. Nothing. No passport. I checked every pocket again. It was gone.

 

I panicked. My stomach did a loopty-loop, my brain started scrambling frantically through the last 45 minutes that I had been in the airport. “Where could I have left it?” I whispered angrily underneath my breath. Taxi? No, I used it to check-in. Baggage check? No, I used it to pass through security. Security? That was my only option. I went through all my memories once more before I sprung from my seat, startling the people next to me. “Is everything alright?” The passenger to my left asked. I almost didn’t hear him from how hard my heart was pounding in my ears. I shot up the aisle and grabbed a flight attendant and explained my panic. She looked at me in disbelief. Next thing I know we are both running out of the plane and to security. I checked security as she ran to baggage check. I was desperately rummaging through the plastic bins trying to find that little blue book that would take me home. Nothing. I turned to see the flight attendant, her expression was dismal. I already knew she hadn’t found anything.

We briskly walked back to the plane, the airline employees told me that I could either remain in Nice or take the flight to Paris. If they found my passport they would send it to me. I was conflicted, my brain was in shambles, I wanted to cry. In a moment of complete frenzy, I closed my eyes and tried to make an educated decision. All I got was a gut feeling that I wasn’t sure if I should interpret as hunger or divine intervention. I reboarded anyways.

As I sat back down I heard the flight attendant’s voice come over the intercom, “Ladies and Gentleman, we apologize for the delay in departure. The young man who has lost his passport has decided to continue with us on our flight today.” To my dismay, I heard the claps and shouts of hooray from several people on the plane. I looked at my watch. 12:14. I had delayed the flight almost 30 minutes. My heart sunk even lower. I shot a quick glance at some of the people across the aisle from me. They were upset. I dropped my head into my hands, “Why is this happening to me?”

As the flight took off I looked through my bag again. Still nothing. I must have looked through it a thousand times during the hour and fifteen minute flight. I’m not sure why, maybe I felt that if I looked through it enough it would magically appear. I finally stopped looking and accepted that I had messed up. I twisted open the knob above me in the hope that some cool air would help calm me down. I felt sick. My brain hurt from going over everything again and again. My hands were shaking from the adrenaline, and now the fear of what was going to happen. “How am I going to get home?”, “Will they find my passport?”, “If they do, how long will it take to get here?”, “What if they don’t find it, what then?”. The questions and doubts gushed out like a raging river and I was starting to drown. Despite all the anger, anxiety, and angst of the situation, or perhaps because of it, I feel fast asleep.

The plane made a rough landing. I looked around me as I regained consciousness. “We welcome you to Paris, the local time is 1:36, the weather is slightly cloudy with scattered showers. Please stay seated…” I stopped listening as I was catapulted back into reality. The feeling I had now wasn’t panic. It was despair. I had no passport. I had no way home. As I walked out of the plane, the flight attendant that had helped me before grabbed my arm and wished me good luck. I said the most heartfelt thank you I could muster despite the emotional exhaustion I was feeling.

I walked through the airport with my head low and my spirits lower. “I should go talk to someone to figure out how to fix this huge problem”, I whispered. But, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sulk. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, at least for a moment. I made my way down to baggage claim and watched as people were reunited with family members and friends. It only made me want to go home even more. I found a spot in the corner of the airport, far away from everyone else, and sat down. Everything I was feeling started swirling around in my stomach. My emotions got the better of me and I silently began to cry. I decided to look through my bag one more time, with no expectation or desire to find anything. Just to do it.

As I reached into the last pocket my hand bumped something. Small. Square. Leather bound. I ripped it out of my backpack with a squeal of pure ecstasy. My passport. I couldn’t believe it. It had been in there the whole time. I dropped to my knees and kissed it like a million dollars. I looked at the clock. 2:05. My flight was departing at 2:20. I put on my backpack, and I started running and cheering towards my gate. People around me must have thought I was crazy. I didn’t care. I was going home.

Author's Note

Hit me with everything you got. Be ruthless. I dare you.