voices >
OREGON'S LGBTO NEWSMAGAZINE
MAY 20, 2011
39 J u n i
Everything She Lost
In the twilight, I trip over the black back
pack. “W hat the hell?” I ask aloud, scanning
the empty street around me. I’m walking home
from a friend’s house, about to turn the corner
into Ladd’s Addition; a car drives by, spilling
its light over the open bag.
Someone must have left this when they got on
the bus, I think, noticing the Line 70 stop be
side me. An envelope is sticking out of the top
o f the bag—I pick it up as another car goes by,
read quickly by the passing headlight. “Dear
Kelly,” the card reads, “Happy birthday!” I pick
up the bag, intrigued, and turn the corner to
ward my house.
I set each o f the objects inside the backpack
in the middle of my apartment floor: a birth
certificate from the mid-’70s, a skirt with the
price tag still attached, another collections no
tice from the county, nail polish and tampons
and a book titled Queen for a Day. I look at the
feminine artifacts, fit them together like puzzle
pieces. Kelly is a woman in her mid-thirties,
struggling to get her life back together after
hard times. She probably never went to college,
probably drinks too hard and laughs too loud
and never got along with her mother. She lives
with the sort of insecurity that the vain culti
vate, looking at her reflection so long in the
mirror that imperfections, the crooked nose
and the crow’s feet, overwhelm her. I shake my
One by one, I put the books and clothing
and cosmetics back into the black backpack. I
don't want Kelly to be bereaved, any more than I
BY NICK MATTOS
am, I think, the teeth of the zipper interlock
certainly wired to never forget the things I de ing shut. Loss is the great unifier, a universal
sire— I can’t think of a time I ever forgot that I experience that gives all of us a matching brand
was hungry or horny or greedy, even if I wanted upon our hearts. I imagine her, crying to a
to— and loss is almost the same thing, a pain friend about her misplaced backpack, drawing
ful hunger for things I once knew, a desire to close to someone else who understands her
have them with me always.
fear and longing. “I hope I get it back," I hear
I pick up a flier—a man’s name is written her say, and hope the same— for her missing
across the back, a local phone number beneath items, and mine.
it. Through my phone, I hear two rings, three,
Perhaps somewhere in the world all the
four. “Leave a message,” the nondescript voice- things that have absented themselves from my
mail message commands.
life— the ex-boyfriends and the missed oppor
“Hi, this is Nick M attos,” I say, pacing tunities and the misplaced t-shirts— are in the
around the room. “I’m calling because I found hands of curious people, endlessly asking
a backpack that I believe belongs to a woman themselves the question, “Whose was this?” I
named Kelly, and your phone number is the hope those people turn the lost things into a
only one in it. If you know Kelly, or how to get puzzle, make up their own stories about the
a hold of her, please give me a call.” As I recite man who misplaced everything— my absent-
my telephone number for the message, I real mindedness and vanity, my quickness to laugh.
ize how silly it is for me to be contacting this Even if they don’t find me, I hope the question
man. W hat if this is someone she met in a bar sticks with them. I hope they keep looking. In any
and never called? I hang up the phone and see case, I think with a sad smile, I will. JW
Kelly, sitting at the bar in her low-cut floral
blouse, making flirtatious eyes over her drink. N i c k M a t t o s has so far not found Kelly, and is
Kelly, the woman who got away, I imagine him fairly confused as to what should be done with her
thinking as he listens to my message, hearing birth certificate, collections notice and other effects.
her name. The one Host.
Email suggestions to nickmattos@justout.com.
remember to breathe
I can keenly remember the titles of
books that I misplaced years ago, the
sting of tennis games in which I was
defeated, the faces of ex-boyfriends
right before the door shut and they
walked away from me into the vast
darkness of the world.
head sadly—I bet I'd like Kelly, I think of the
woman I am making up. She’s probably heart
broken that she lost all this. She'd want me to get
it back to her.
I am not someone who sits easily with loss. I
cannot for the life of me remember telephone
numbers or appointments, or even where the
hell my keys are. However, I can keenly re
member the titles of books that I misplaced
years ago, the sting of tennis games in which I
was defeated, the faces of ex-boyfriends right
before the door shut and they walked away
from me into the vast darkness of the world. If
I lost it, whether it’s an object or a person or an
opportunity, it’s branded on my memory. I’m
. . m-r,
W h e r e To Host
Bottoms
Ver
In My Car
é
0^
1-5 Rest Stop
S te a m P o r t l a n d .
Freddies Restroom
Book Store Arcade
Yah!...We Can Host!
M o rn in g W o o d S p e c ia l $5
$5 lo cke rs fo r 6 h o u rs (6am to 12noon M -F )
1 S h o t M e m b e rs h ip $5
T
REVOLUTION!
SATURDAY,
D on't w a n t to c o m m it to 6 m o n th s or 1 ye a r?
Ju st visit us fo r the day!
JUNE
ARLENE
=
$10 for 6
hours w ith yo u r M a n h u n t m an!
(H ot tub. S tea m R oom . N ude Sun Deck. Porn L o u n g e)
v
18, 2 0 1 1
- 7 !3 0 P M
S C H N IT Z E R
C O N C ER T HALL
Gay Liberation takas canter stage with performances of
both Testament of Freedom, accompanied by Portland Gay
Symphonic Freedom Band, and NakedMan. The last concert of
\ PGMC's Flashback season serves as a compliment to this year's
Pnde theme. “ Make it Happen." "Join us and 2010 Tony Aw
Levi Krais presented by Pride Northwest to "Be part of
Tickets available at BUY.PDXGilC.ORG
www.steamportland.com
2 8 8 5 N E S a n d y B lvd ., P o rtla n d , 9 7 2 3 2
S r n o n Sponsors
or by caing the box offee at 503-226-2588
Tickets also available at P C M Box Ottico,
additional charset may apply.
justjout
O M C O N ASTI
C OMOll i n o *
*
ittn tm illlia«
”
L U IllJI C L U U IIU I