The street is wet from the night’s rainfall. The dark pavement glistening with the briskly cold winter sun. The air smells fresh and the streets are free of dog shits and scum.
8:45 am, I am pushing David’s stroller on the way to school. Our area is already alive of its daily, monotonous activities. Working people rushing for work, students munching on-the-go-breakfast, construction workers busy in their work, parents screaming at their kids to walk faster…
A sudden gust of bitter-wintry wind blows on us and with reflex, I bow my head to avoid it. At that instant I see the 50 euro bill lying on the pavement. Automatically I pick it up. Within my gloved-hand I can feel its crispness. A feeling of tension washes over me as I pick my speed. Then I halt, turn around searching my immediate surrounding for someone who would be looking for something. Weirdly, that busy spot is devoid of people. Cars are passing by but the nearest people I see are at least 400 meters away.
I continue pushing David, now feeling guilty. I check every person I cross to actually see if he/she is looking for the lost money.
I feel ashamed and guilty and paranoid. I’m thinking maybe someone is playing a prank with their hidden camera or that the money is counterfeit.
Arriving at the school, I show to David the money, knowing that he doesn’t really grasp yet the idea of this valued paper. He replies with his thumb-up gesture, “money? super mama!” How very French his expression is, to my amazement. And does he really mean it?
I should be happy with that little encouragement from a three-year-old, but I feel far from it. Someone lost this, and I found it. There’s no way in the world how I will know to whom it belongs to. Somewhere out there, someone’s heart is agonising. While me. Well, nibbling with the distant idea that one day I may have to pay for what I have found. In double price.
Paranoia. It can sicken one’s stomach and torture one’s mind. And it’s definitely not worth 50 euros.
What will you do if it’s you who found it?
