off her shoes and tuck her into bed . I turn the radio on low and she closes her eyes .
I know some of the things she ’ s lost : How to cook her famous apple pie . How to tell time . My name , and my sister ’ s name , and that we are her children . All of the grandchildren . Who to trust .
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I began kindergarten I started losing things : hats , gloves , sweaters , books . Things so easy to leave behind . The lost and found was a wonder to me . Somehow , the things that you lost were magically transported to that wooden box . Nailed together in some father ’ s garage from leftover pieces of wood , the box had “ Lost and Found ” stenciled across each side . My mother and I stopped there almost every day before we left the school . We pawed through hats , single mittens , and jackets .
I fell asleep in the lost and found one time . My mother was late , and I stopped there as usual to search through the accumulation . For a five-year-old , and not a large one at that , the box was deep . I leaned over the side , trying to reach a gold necklace with a bluebird charm . As I pushed clothes aside , the necklace worked its way deeper into the box . I leaned over further and tumbled in .
If I was in the lost and found , did that mean that I was lost ? I wasn ’ t sure . I knew where I was . But I must be lost , since I was with all of the other lost things . I leaned back in the soft nest of clothes to think . It was warm , and I was tired . My mother would know where to find me , I thought , as I drifted off to sleep . And that day she did .
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I sit with my mother until I ’ m sure she ’ s sleeping . As I ’ m walking out a man comes down the hall wheeling a bucket and pushing a gray , string-head mop . His feet barely leave the floor with each step , and the soles of his shoes sound like corduroy against the tiles . He dips the mop into the bucket and sloshes soapy water onto the floor , sweeping water and bubbles from one side of the hall to the other . Step sweep sweep . Step sweep sweep . I move to the side . He pauses to let me pass , and the bubbles crowd around his sodden shoes .
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My mother named me Therese after her own mother . Therese died when I was seven and I have few memories of her , little more than an impression of a
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