When I discover I forgot my cell phone at home on my way to work, I immediately think of calling in sick and going back for it. Then I reach into my pocket for my phone, and it's not there to call with! Now I really do feel sick, so get off the train and stagger to a payphone.

The heart palpitations and shortness of breath are real now, and my stammered, confused excuse pours out of my mouth into the strange wired handheld receptacle that I suddenly start away from in horror. Payphones are for travelers and the elderly, yet here I am? I jam it down onto the hook and, heart racing, dash towards the homeward bound train and jump through the doors at the last minute.

My hand darts towards my pocket -- yes? No, it's really gone, gone! I hide my sweaty palms in my now-empty pockets. My finger twitches, instinctively searching. Panic wells up, surges, and ebbs. Suddenly I realize--I've been so silly; this jacket has that lower inside pocket that I always use when I wear it! How could I be so foolish! Haha, I've played quite the trick on myself. Soothed and bemused, I reach for the alternative pocket while thinking how silly this will sound when I SMS my friend about taking the train back a few stations for the unbelievably petty reason of thinking I didn't have my mobile with me.

Oh God. It's not there either. My mind races back, back, to the morning before leaving home and closing the door. To last night's walk home. When did I use it last? Did it fall from my pocket on the first train this morning, and is now lying there on the floor of the speeding train, heading towards my office but destined to disembark only when the conductor checks the cars at the final stop?

Or, did I just leave it at home on top of the shoebox at the door? Or is it still sitting patiently on my desk, drinking electrical charge from its stand while patiently awaiting my return? Fearful daydreams come. Visions of it toppling from my pocket and down a storm drain; of it being jostled loose by people pushing past in their haste to get off the train; of it falling through a tear in my pocket (this one, I check).

But my reverie is broken my the announcement of my station. A blind, time-compressed walk home. Pull out my wallet and get the key. Slide it into the lock and turn. Push open the door and let myself in. My eyes adjust to the interior's dimness.

Shoebox: nothing but mail and loose change. An extra set of headphones. Empty incense box. No phone.

Desk: My eyes move fearfully towards my desk, the last likely location at its home on the charger. I step around the door to see--

Emptiness.

Waves of darkness flow over me. It's not here. It's not in its normal home in my pants pocket. Not in the opposite pocket where my wallet lives. Not in either jacket pocket. Not in my inside pockets, left or right. Not in my back pocket (obviously, because they are still threaded shut).

But there is another hope. I step out of my shoes and head for the desk phone. I start to dial, stop. Pull out my business card case. Dial my own cell number from the card.

Ring, ring goes the receiver.

Brrrt, brrrt goes my briefcase.