The Lost Spoon
The spoon was covered in dust, and its tip was bent to one side. It would be nobody's first choice as an eating utensil, but it was still functional. It seemed odd to me that someone discarded it. Since no one had picked it up - perhaps no one even seeing it but me - I felt that it was calling to me, like it needed someone to notice it and care for it. Something just seemed wrong about seeing that spoon there, fulfilling no purpose, and I decided it needed a home, and a family, and to be with other spoons.
I actually found other stuff alongside the road, including some tools and a really nice pillow, but by far my favorite discovery was that spoon. People can take stock in complicated and expensive comforts, but for me, that spoon was the coolest thing in the world.
While biking, I also saw some really nice flowers in the ditches, but I couldn't put those in my backpack. The very first thing that I thought was "these would be perfect for my friend, Topsy," who said she was see me at church the next day. I went on a nature walk before church and picked out a lot of flowers, including the purple ones at the ends of thistles, to which I removed all of the prickles with my fingernails. However, I never gave any of those flowers to Topsy, since I briefly misplaced them while we sat together at church, but I still gave them to people I knew who I thought would appreciate them, who were all women, of course, since that just sort of makes sense, though apparently my sister would have handed the flowers to men as a joke.
It was just as well, because in a sense, the flowers are like the spoon. There are plenty of spoons in the world, but that spoon was that spoon. No other spoon will ever be that spoon. Likewise, the flowers I picked were the ones a short walk away from the church, by fields of wheat, but they were not the specific flowers that I saw when I was biking along the highway miles away that made me think of my friend, so it wouldn't have been the same. Maybe next Sunday, I will stop specifically next to those flowers and pick those up.
The last person I gave flowers to was the aunt of another friend of mine, who I'll call Airman. Airman introduced me to her aunt because she thought I'd really enjoy talking with her, which I did. She is an amazing woman who knows a lot about the Hebrew language, and I learned a lot from her. Unfortunately, she's from Colorado and was only around for the weekend. I only knew her from that one conversation, but I already missed her. When I said goodbye, I gave her the rest of my flowers, which she appreciated, but a minute later she said "I think these were meant for you but he's just shy," and gave the flowers to Airman.
That could have been an awkward moment, but I don't believe in awkward moments. I'm like the Most Interesting Man in the World, who "once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels." They only happen if you make them happen, so in this case I just rolled with it.
"No, they weren't really meant for her, because if I really wanted to be romantic, I would giver her..." I reached into my backpack. "This spoon."
Hey, the spoon is permanent. The flowers would wither away the next day. It made perfect sense to me. I also told her the story behind the spoon, said some religious stuff, and then joked that she could bend it back in place with her mind because she's psychic. I found out later that she told her brother and God knows who else the story behind the spoon with surprising detail. So apparently, as weird as the narrative was, it was actually kind of catchy. Perhaps next time I visit Sioux City, that spoon will be famous.
So now the spoon has a family, I guess, and it's not me. That's okay, because I seem to remember there being another lost spoon somewhere in the ditch a few miles out from my starting point. I'll have to keep my eye open for that one, too. I swear, it's a sign.