Panic.

I flipped papers over on my desk, emptied my bag, the laptop case and the drawers. Nothing under the desk but a pile of cables and cords – and a dried out marker that successfully resisted a toss into the garbage can. I stood up to scan, I squatted down to scan. Nothing.

It’s official. My wallet is gone.

The reality of the situation doesn’t take long to sink in: No wallet means no money. It means credit cards (the only one I have, which has hovered precariously close its limit for over a year), debit cards (that delightful plastic key to ATMs and coffee shops) and cash (which I had little of) are all gone.

It means that my driver’s license (that proves that I am, officially, no longer a flatlander – no matter what my nasally voice might indicated to the contrary) is likely making its way into the hands of some 18-year-old USM co-ed.

And all this means that the next several days, weeks, months will be filled with phone calls, card cancellations, trips to the BMV, the library, the gym (maybe not) and the constant monitoring of my credit. And, oh my lord, I can’t go to happy hour.

Yes, Wednesday was a downer.

So I mentally retraced my steps. I had it when I left the office for lunch. I had it when I bought some grub. I had it when I sat outside with a colleague. I had when I came back…or did I?

I called the bagel shop. No answer. I ran over there. Closed. The table at which I sat earlier that day (the last moments my wallet and I enjoyed together - oh, if only I'd known) had been taken inside. I called the Portland Police Department, but the only person who’s allowed to discuss lost and found property (yep, there’s just one) had already left the building.

I could do nothing but wait for morning and pray that whoever had discovered my fake-leather bundle of all things important had turned it in – and wasn’t in the middle of a Wal-Mart electronics shopping spree.

That night, I dreamed of the good times.

Sharing a float.

A wild night of Jenga.

Celebratory drinks after wallet got his G.E.D.

It was a tense walk to the bagel shop early yesterday morning. I approached the gentleman behind the counter.

Me: "I'm here on the off-chance someone found a wallet here yesterday."

Him, apologetically: "I don't think so."

Me, still hopeful: "Wait - the wallet was in a small black and white bag." [You know, so it's not as easy to loose.]

Him, recalling something: "Hang on..."

He disappears into the back and I stare after him - half wanting to know the fate of my wallet, half fearful of the chance it could be gone forever. It could go either way, but I needed resolution.

Then back through the doorway he comes - with the wallet still encased in the small bag! I reached out for it, expressed profuse thanks to him, the shop, whoever found it and all the customers eating breakfast around me.

And the world was peaceful once again.

Thank you Works Bakery Cafe. Thank you kind stranger who saved my wallet from an unknown fate.

Reunited - and it feels so good.

I'll never leave you again, wallet.