I began fully excavating my room about a week or two ago, and in doing so, I realized that I didn't know where my favorite hammer was hiding. The search started out pretty lightly, keeping an eye out for it while I was organizing things, double-checking boxes and drawers for the hammer. after a couple days, I grew more concerned. I asked my mom if she had seen it, and she had but not within the last seven years. [This hammer and I have a history.] I continued looking for my hammer, to no avail. I began reminiscing about hanging canvases, photos, and mirrors, or using the screwdrivers housed within the handle to fix my sewing machine, friends' bed frames, and tightening doorknobs and drawer handles. Things turned a little more frantic as I realized that every knob and handle were in need of repair, and I couldn't help them because my trusty hammer was M.I.A. It then dawned on me that I had recently had a conversation detailing how much I loved this particular hammer, but that I would let this person use it temporarily. I remember handing it to them with raised eyebrows to emphasize the seriousness of this transaction, but the face I was looking into was foggy and the circumstances beyond this glint of a memory were unclear. So I contacted a few friends that might have unknowingly kidnapped the little tool. "Did I lend you a hammer recently? Like within the last four months, and I told you that it was my favorite hammer?" I got a scoff from one. A sympathetic note from another. One responded slightly amused, but understood the grave situation. Two didn't respond. Needless to say, my suspicion grew. In the meantime, I thoroughly combed through the house. I looked in the usual haunts: purses, tool boxes, sewing kits, bathroom cabinets, kitchen counters, fish tanks, fireplaces, and under beds, couches, dressers, and each of our cars. Nothing. I looked in more boxes, sacks, and closets. Nothing. I looked in even more obscure places. Nothing. Defeated, I considered who might have stolen it. The list was short. But I had this itching suspicion that it was nestled somewhere in a foreign drawer or tool box. I made a couple calls, sent a few more texts, and even drove to my studio to search through the supplies over there. I got a couple hopeful replies. Tyler even said that he vaguely remembered discussing a hammer, but had no further details. Then I called my sister. I hadn't said anything to her before, even though the thought kept grazing my mind. She felt sorry for me, and we mourned a little together, but she added hopefully that she usually calls me for help when she's lost something, and it almost always turns up within a day or two. I agreed, but lowered my eyes thinking about where it could be. [My mind quickly flashed to strangers hammering their walls, criminals removing license plates with it, or fish picking at its remains at the bottom of a lake.] But then. In a new bag pulled from storage holding hangers, I saw the scuffed up, golden handle resting quietly inside. I didn't believe it. Seriously. I honestly thought that this was one of the countless times that this mirage had appeared while I was searching. "You've got to be kidding me," I said to Andrea, who was still on the phone. "What?" "I just found my hammer."