by Jennifer Campbell-Hicks
On Found Day, Elaine began her search at sunrise. She started with her apartment because lost things turned up most often at home on Found Day. National surveys each year proved that. She poked under her bed and in the closets, under couch cushions and inside cabinets and drawers.
By the time the sun rose above the winter-bare trees, she had been over the entire apartment twice. No luck.
That was all right. Found Day was a holiday. She didn't have to go to work, and it was hours and hours until the magic ended at sunset. She had plenty of time.
She put on her parka, knit hat, and snow boots and went outside. Her neighbors rooted through their cars in the parking lot or dug with shovels or gloved hands in the snow that had fallen overnight. A preteen boy whooped as he emerged from a minivan with a hand-held videogame device.
Vehicles were good places to find lost things, too. Elaine had never owned a car. Instead, she relied on the city bus system and her feet. So she peered behind the bushes around her building, her breath puffing in the frigid air. Behind her came the crunch of boots on snow.
"Happy Found Day."