Something’s rotten in the state of my room.
No, nothing smells bad. Nothing’s rotting—food doesn’t last long enough in our room to actually rot. But there’s something fishy. Something’s afoot.
Things keep disappearing.
Now, lest you think I’m about to accuse my roommates of theft, allow me to assure you that those two girls are as likely to be thieves as it would be for the pope to convert to Protestantism. We’re all missing things. Stuff that we use (or at least see) regularly have vanished into the ether, and we’re not sure how.
First it was my roommate’s hot pot. It was missing for about a week when it resurfaced of its own accord. I have yet to hear if there’s any explanation for this.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that I had a jacket missing. I can’t remember the last time I wore it, but the last I knew, I had put it over the back of my chair. After a few weeks of a lot of things going over the back of my chair, it got buried. But when I removed everything from the chair, it was not there. The thing seems to have transcended to Narnia. I’ve searched almost every lost-and-found on campus, and it’s nowhere to be seen.
Then I lost a headband. I hate getting hair in my face when I use the treadmill, so I bought a cheap elastic headband to wear while I run. As of last Saturday, it has made itself scarce.
This morning I used a bottle of eye drops. I have chronically dry eyes, so I have to use eye drops every morning before I install the contact lenses. This afternoon I returned to my room and could not find it. The bottle was not in any of its accustomed places. It had vanished into thin air. Thankfully, I have backups, but this is starting to get ridiculous.
Then my roommate came in missing a keychain off the back of her backpack. It was a souvenir from her travels to and from the U.S. and Korea. She’s rather distressed. I can relate. There are few things more unsettling than losing something and having no idea where you lost it.
I think we have Borrowers. Borrowers are little people who live in between walls and borrow things from you to survive. Usually, though, they borrow things like pins and sugar and bits of cheese and paper—little things that will fit into their little houses. Not big things. I don’t know what they wanted with my jacket. All I can think of is that they’ll all have little matching bedspreads made out of brown fleece.
I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for why all these items have gone missing. All I can say is that wherever they are, I hope someone gets good use out of them.