loss

[gotta do two to catch up, so this one + one (writing + photo) counts for saturday...]

Harold wondered if he was having a heart attack as he spun his car around the corner and floored the gas pedal, barely beating the red light. He jolted out into the middle lane, screaming past the cars in the two adjacent lanes, his little car revving until it sounded like it might explode.

Just like my heart, he thought. He held the wheel with one hand and felt for his pulse with the other. Did I just miss a beat? he wondered. Was there a hesitation? He had difficulty keeping accurate time as he counted the seconds and beats, flying through the green at the airport intersection as confidently as if he'd programmed the stoplights himself.

The lanes peeled away on either side for "Short term parking" and "Terminal A" and he took his foot off the gas but didn't even tap the brakes, taking the curve well above the posted sign suggesting 35 MPH. He careened into Terminal C with abandon, checking the car radio clock that blinked unhelpfully at 12:00. Impossibly, he crammed the car between a waiting limo and an SUV with next to no space between his bumpers and theirs, but he slid over the hood of his car as if he'd done it every day of his life and ran through the revolving door without locking anything behind him.

He still held his fingers to his jugular, and he counted with his breath, sure he was skipping beats, sure the tightness in his chest was going to keep squeezing and squeezing until his heart exploded.

I'm late I'm late I'm never going to be able to fix this this will never be okay.

He scanned the walls for a clock and, amazingly, found none; glanced at his watch -- at his bare arm. There was no watch. He looked at the floor, ran back through the spinning door, frantic. "Where's my watch?" he asked total strangers. "Where's my watch? Did you see it?" He ran back to the car, where a security person was leaving a ticket under his window.

"Is this your car?"

"Did you see a watch?"

"Sir, is this your car? It's going to be towed."

"It's got to be here. I just had it.

"I think I'm having a heart attack. I have to find my watch."

Over the intercom a nasally woman announced the arrival of the bags from the flight from Ft. Lauderdale. She would be standing at the carousel now, scanning the crowd for him.

"Oh my god where the fuck is it?"

"Sir, calm down. Calm down. Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"I have to find my watch." He sat down against the car. His left arm felt numb. The watch was missing. She would be here any minute. She would see him dying on an airport sidewalk. He laid his head on the concrete curb; he could see the revolving door sideways. He waited for her unmistakeable legs.