The Library of Lost Things

Chapter 1

Anticipation crackled in the air of that lecture hall, an energy that normally invigorated Elias.

It had the sensation today, however, of a swarm of bees buzzing beneath his skin, a constant irritant he could not shake off. 

The speaker to be introduced by Professor Davies, his favorite lecturer, was a guest honor, a renowned archaeologist who had unearthed long forgotten civilizations and deciphered ancient languages.

Elias should have been ecstatic, his notebook open and pen poised ready to absorb every word. Instead, his gaze slid to the window, the grey sky mirroring the dull ache in his chest.

It had been a week since his grandfather's funeral—the solemn experience still had left Elias feeling hollowed out.

The vision of the waxed mahogany coffin, the scent of lilies masking the staleness of the air in the funeral parlor, the hushed whispers of the distant relatives still played in his head,  a reminder of a loss he couldn't comprehend.

A slight commotion in the back of the hall broke him from his reverie. There stood a little boy, up to ten years at most, by the doorway. 

He looked so distraught, holding a broken toy in his hands. The casing of plastic was cracked while one of the wheels hung loosely. Tears flowed down his face while his small frame shook with sobs.

Elias, too, felt sympathy for as a surge of grief overcame him at about the same level as the despair of the boy. He watched as Professor Davies advanced on the boy, and with a soft smile, he said,.

"Lost, are we?" Professor Davies asked, his voice smooth as balm to the boy's frazzled nerves. The boy nodded wretchedly, saying nothing because of his sobs. 

"And what is this?" Professor Davies motioned toward the broken toy, which was a small remote-controlled car in a sad, battered state.

Finally, he was able to croak out, "It's broken," holding up the car.

A mischievous glint sparked in Professor Davies' eye. "Well, let's see if we can find someone to fix it." He swept a gaze through the lecture hall and settled on Elias. "Mr. S.," he called out, "I believe we have a challenge for you."

Elias felt his face grow hot with surprise, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He had no idea why Professor Davies would single him out, and yet he felt, within the arc of that gaze, he could not refuse. 

He rose to his feet-a little thrill of trepidation and curiosity combining in a swirl inside his chest.

With each step nearer, there was something uncannily familiar to Elias, who could feel nothing else but that loss the boy felt: distress at his broken toy, attachment to it in a desperate attempt just to hold on.

With that, he dropped onto his knees beside the boy and took the car in his fingers with much gentleness. "Let's see, shall we?" he said in a low, soft voice that could only reassure him.

Elias turned the toy over in his hands, tracing the cracks in the plastic as his mind worked out a solution. He fished a small toolkit out of his satchel; an old habit passed down from his grandfather. The familiar heft of the tools in his hands brought a sense of comfort, connection to the man he truly missed.

With sure touches, Elias got to work. He screwed back loose screws, hooked up wires, and carefully reglued the pieces of the broken parts. The boy watched, his tear-dried eyes wide with every repair. 

Finally, Elias snapped the last piece into place. Flipping a switch, the car whirred back to life, its wheels spinning with eagerness. 

A radiant smile lit up the buddy's face; he had forgotten his tears. He thanked Elias profusely, clutching the repaired toy to his chest. He slumped back in his chair, and suddenly, it was all into perspective.