You never forget the first time you get lost. I was three. It wasn’t anything big or dramatic. I simply lost track of my mom in a mall. She was looking at blouses and didn’t feel my tiny hand slip from her normally firm grip, didn’t notice me walk away, looking for the toy store on the same floor.
I have always had a very bad sense of direction. My husband, who can find a place based on vague directions from random passersby, has stories about how I have gotten myself lost in different countries, various malls, and several neighborhoods, including our own. But this wasn’t the same.
That first time, as I headed to what I thought was the toy store, dodging the usual chaos of Virra Mall on a Saturday, I ducked into a hallway thinking it was a short cut. But as I did, there was a sudden sile
