Shallow Pockets

The train approaches the tarmac. People move towards the last car, pulling suitcases and children behind them. Elle draws her phone out of a shallow jacket pocket ready to tap the faregate.

“Why did I bring this coat – the pockets are so small,” she wonders. She hikes her travel bag up on her shoulder, adjusts the slippery black puffer coat and holds tightly to the Wegman’s and Trader Joe’s bags full of gifts, toddler books and a container of fresh pea soup.

She taps in and finds a seat facing forward near the window. Perfect. Within minutes she is listening to Between Two Kingdoms: A Lift Interrupted by a woman her age in remission from AML (blood cancer).

She falls asleep. Two and half hours later she steps off in Toronto’s Union Train Station and takes the Downsview subway line north to Dupont TTC Station. Disembarking, the soothing author’s voice abruptly stops. Elle grabs her phone in the shallow pockets and, it’s not there.

As the subway doors close, she realizes her book disconnected when the phone was out of range – and it is still on the train. She runs up to the glass ticket booth.

“I left my phone on the subway; how can I get it?,” she screams through the small stainless steel opening.

“We suggest get on the next train and go to the end of the line and see if someone took it to the office there,” the TTC attendant offers as if he says this hourly.

“Nope, that is ridiculous,” she answered. As a savvy millennial, she asks, “Can I hotspot your phone to track my phone on my computer? Opening up her laptop, connected, she gasps.

She saw it was in the next subway station north – St. Clair. The attendant called the station manager who confirmed that a concerned couple had just turned in a phone. “It’s a light blue case with a picture of a baby (newborn nephew on screen saver),” she blurted out. “Yep, they have it; you are very lucky.”

“Would the TTC staff hold onto it for an hour?” (I have to make my nail salon appointment, she thinks.) “Yes,” with an eye roll was the response.

“Phew!,” she exhaled walking several blocks to her nail appointment – trying to beautify the red, ugly, bitten to the bone nails and cuticles. She has an in-person interview for paying job on Tuesday.

Later arriving at the TTC counter at St. Clair she asked if the Good Samaritans gave their names.She wanted to give them a coffee gift card for their efforts. “No, they just left it.”

Relieved she walked up the subway stairs and towards her apartment. The air was frigid, -17 Celsius. She dug into her coat for her keys. Not there. Ugh, again?

She turned around and walked to her best friend’s apartment who had her second set of keys.

Perhaps prescient, Elle had put a key tag on it with her phone number.

Looking on her newly found phone, she saw the keys moving west on the commuter train, Etobicoke, then towards Oakville. Damn they were still on the GO commuter train.

Just then, a call on her “recently reunited love interest” appeared.

“I think I have your keys, can you describe them to me?”, a young male voice asked.

“Oh, thank G-d,” yes, I have an air tag on them, there are three keys, one brass with ACME written on it.

“Yep, that’s it. I am back home in Oakville but can meet you at Union Station Tuesday after Family Day weekend. Or I can leave them at the train station desk,” he offered.

“Oh, I’m so grateful. I want to give you a coffee gift card, yes, I’d love to meet you in person. It is so kind of you and after my day – this is really nice of you.”

Elle picked up her extra set of keys at her friend’s and finally walked home into her 30-story building at Bathurst and St. Clair. I am so lucky she thought. Those damn shallow pockets, I HATE them.

It was Sunday and she showered, put on a black sequined evening dress for another friend’s engagement party. Everyone was getting married. And she was only 27 years old.

Tuesday morning, she went to a hot Pilates class, home for a quick shower, wet hair up in a quick scrunchy and stopped at a Tim’s to get a $20 gift card.

Arriving at the cavernous Union Station five minutes early, she approached the lost and found kiosk. Several people were lined up; I guess lots of folks lose their loved items on the train, she thought.

She told the second Good Samaritan of the day she would be wearing a long deep pocketed puffer coat and a bright red scarf. She spent extra time scrolling through IG – videos of mom’s with giggling babies, making faces at babies, babies spitting up. She missed her two-week old nephew in Buffalo – when all this mess started.

Was she preoccupied with him, her 3rd year in developmental psychology PhD? Why am I so flighty?

“Excuse me, are you Elle?” She looked up. A tall, black haired man peered down on her 5’3 frame.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. He dug into his deep pocketed rustic leather shearling coat and produced, her keys.

“Oh, thank you so much, I’m such an idiot. Thank you, thank you,” she kept repeating. Fumbling with her long and pointy pearly white nails she pulled out a Tim Horton’s coffee card. “Please accept this small gift.”

“Do you know how many people would have just gone by, not even looked at the keys. I’m so grateful…” she blathered.

He was so striking, kind blue eyes, like hers. His demeaner patient, waiting for her to tire herself out babbling.

“There is something you could do for me in return,” he asked boldly. Her instinct went into defense mode.

“What?,” she cautioned.

“Do you have time to go over there to Tim’s, so I can treat you to a coffee?” he smiled.