Lost + Found: The birth of anxiety
Carrie walked to the Lost + Found right before the bell rang and right after the day ended. She did this every day for two weeks. On her way to school she’d be quiet on the bus ride, hoping to herself that she would find it. It was a bright pink plastic piggy bank but instead of the pig, it was a monkey, holding a banana. Since she was 8, Carrie had been picking up pennies wherever she could find them — in between her grandma’s couch cushions, on the carpet after service, the dime she found on the sidewalk — and then deposit them into her bank.
For a very long time — maybe for a year — the bank remained light in weight. There were slow periods, like the winter, where she’d look at the snow coming down, making the sidewalks disappear, leaving her to wonder about the number of pennies that would be gone until March. The summer was tricky too. Sometimes she’d see change and go grab the floor in the corner store and it would be stuck to something sticky. But after the 16th-month mark, it began to swell in a way that she could feel. And now, at 11, Carrie was finally ready to cash it in.
On this particular day, she brought it to school, focused on going straight to the supermarket right after, being careful to place it in a black bag. When she returned from Fifth period it was gone.
And so every day, for two weeks, this was her routine. She’d wake up and brush her teeth thinking about it. Who saw me put it away? How did they break the lock? Who will care if I tell?
And after two weeks, a new feeling started to settle into Carrie that she had never experienced. It made her cheeks aches just thinking about bright the pink of the bank glowed. It made her head hurt to think the amount of money that was in there.
She never even got the chance to count.
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