Lost and found.

Lost and found
By Ryan. M. Harris.
Word count: 1000

As Sara entered the store the instant sensation that she wasn’t welcome settled on her shoulders like a weight, every bit as real as the whoosh of the air-conditioning or the George Strait song playing.

No store liked her. She was young, that was a knock against you. And, she was walking, places hated that. Most retail seemed to assume if you couldn’t afford a car then you couldn’t afford them. Then from her dyed hair and fishnet sleeves to the graveyard and bats drawn in faded sharpie on her backpack, she just looked the type.

But she really, really didn’t belong in the oldest country western store in El Paso.

An old woman wearing all denim and a huge white cowboy hat, glared at her from the counter.

Without having to be told Sara removed her backpack and left it by the door.

“Can I help you, darling?” The woman asked looking her up and down.

“I’m looking for a man named Fredrick,” she said.

“Hmm,” The woman seemed to think about it for a minute. “Let me ask.” She locked her register and then wondered off through the store.

Sara looked around. It was a big place, uneven floors showed it had probably grown into spaces once held by other stores. The back half of it was lined with tall shelves filled with every possible variety of cowboy boot. The front had racks of hats, belts, and ranch style coats. There were a few cases of silver belt-buckles, and turquoise jewelry.

She picked up a white hat in a woman’s size tried in on in the mirror. Checking the price tag, she quickly put it back. Afraid to touch any of the rest of the clothing she turned her attention to a stuffed rattlesnake. Its fangs looked cool, even though they probably weren’t real.

The old woman came back. “Fred will talk to you. He’s in the back,” she said pointing.

“Can you keep an eye on my backpack?” Sara asked.

The woman glanced up but didn’t respond.

Sara headed off in the direction the woman had pointed, making her way through the tightly packed maze of boots. She had to almost turn sideways to make it through the narrow path between the shelves.
Emerging she discovered the other side of the store opened up into a small stage with some folding chairs set up. An old man sat in front of the stage with his feet propped up. He was beyond old. The man look absolutely ancient with hair so white it almost translucent, and ashen skin stretched thinly over a frail, slender frame. He was wearing an old corduroy suit that from like the twenties that would have made some of her trendy past boyfriends jealous. A violin laid across the lap. He was replacing one of the strings, his hands moving skillfully about the instrument.

“Mr. Fredrick?” Sara asked.

“Fred,” he replied without looking up. His voice was deep and smooth with a strong southern drawl. “It’s just Fred. And, since you’re thinking it let me clear something up right now. I am not the devil.”

“I wasn’t…” She didn’t really know how to respond to that, but she had been thinking it.

“Oh, yes you were. Don’t be lying to me young lady! And, now you’re thinking I must the devil because how else would I know that. Well, it’s pretty simple. Most people think I’m the devil. I’d like to think it’s the fiddle playing but that doesn’t explain all the kids crying when I walk by them in church…”

His string finished he turned his attention to her, smiling. His eyes were hazel and surprisingly soft. She was almost disappointed. It seemed like his eyes should have been some shocking color.

“But, I can assure you the devil would not keep breaking his E sting. While we’re on the topic, he isn’t old neither. The devils a young man and handsome. He’d smile at a pretty girl like you, and you would really, really want to smile back. Now what can do for you, Sara Wilson?”

She swallowed hard. She’d never said it out loud, somehow it made it real. “I’m looking for the lost and found.”

“Lost and found?” He chuckled. “Well that’s up front with Martha. What you’d lose a belt buckle, no…got be a snakeskin boot right?”

“No,” she said again. “The lost and found.”

He stood up quickly, kicking the chair his feet at been on with a surprising amount of force. It bounced off the stage and fell making a loud clatter. He stepped forward till his face was only inches from her. His features had darkened into a frightening glare. “The lost and found little lady is for people who are lost. People who have absolutely no hope in this world. It is not for meek little urchins who need to grow up.”

“I…” she stammered. Just like when her father was mad there was this incredible desire to accept what she was being told, agree, apologize - whatever, anything to be away from the argument. Instead she pulled her shoulders back. “I need it!” She said, louder this time.

“You need it?” His tone softened and he backed off, carefully sitting back down in a chair. “It’s a race you know? There’s a lot of folks going for it and only so many get in. And, they all need it too. Many of them are dealing with shit you can’t even imagine at your age. You know what they’d do for a place where they’re free, a place where they belong again?”

“Anything.”

“Dam strait anything. And, what would you do?”

She took a deep breath.

“I would do anything.”

He nodded his head. “Tell Martha you need a gun on your way out.”

“Wait – where is it?”

He laughed. “It isn’t about where right now darling. Right now is about commitment. You pick a direction and you move like the devil told you to.”