“Do you know how to get there, dear?”

“Not really.”

“So…are you lost?”

“No.”

I smiled at the nice lady that I’ve met on the street and went on my way. She must have noticed my gaze wandering and glossing over the tops of the trees framing the boulevard from each side more than on the road itself, or even on the signs with the street names on them, forking off the main road.

It’s nice, you really don’t come across people like that anymore.

That, or she thought I was some crazy tourist. Or just your run-of-the-mill crazy lady, every city seems to have a few.

Either way, it was nice of her to show concern, but I couldn’t help finding this pattern of question amusing in its repetitiveness. Just before her, some gentleman was looking more peeved than concerned while asking me the same questions, give or take, although he was far less patient than the other lady.

It happens every day, so it no longer gets under my skin. There was something uplifting in knowing people tended to initiate an interaction with those who appear lost. It was amusing, after a while, learning the range of passerby’s reactions and assuming what goes on in their daily lives by that.

I made my way farther down the boulevard, stopping once more to chat with some kindergartners on their recess, over the fence facing the street.

Naturally curious, they asked where I was going.

I gave it a thought and smiled at the tykes. “Lost.”

“Where’s zat?” A little girl with two pink pigtails walked closer to the fence, a curious look glinting in her big eyes.

At that, I shrugged. “I dunno.”

“So- so how- so how you gon’ get there?” a little boy her age piped from the back, standing on the tips of his toes to get a better look ahead.

“I have a compass.”

“Wazzat?”

It never occurred to me that something so simple would be something not every kid knows about. But then again, kids today have phones that show them their way on a map, and if they don’t have a phone, they’re not taking any adventures down unknown paths anymore.

But who am I to deny knowledge from those willing to learn?

“A compass shows you where North is,” I explained, remaining patient.

The kids murmured in awe, as if I just revealed a magical secret to them…although, a compass always felt to me like something holding even the tiniest bit of magic in its midst.

“Is Lost up in North?” the girl in the pigtails wondered.

That was a wonderful question. “Maybe it is,” I smiled at her, “I’ll know when I’ll get there.”

My thoughts wandered once I was on my way again, after the kids were out of questions, and when I paid my mind to what’s around me again, I noticed that I’ve arrived at the very outskirts of the city, at an abandoned, unmarked crossroad. There were four paths around, and behind me the one I came from, leaving me with three more directions into the unknown – roads of gray asphalt spot peeking through powdered sands, blowing up in a cloud at the slightest breeze.

While looking around, I became aware of the weight resting in my pocket. It was like it kept appearing out of nowhere whenever I would reach these sorts of places, but in truth it was always there. It just made its presence known and felt whenever there was a need for it.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a little suede bag, its ochre color making it appear as if it was made of leather. With the strings untied, I emptied its content into my hand – a small device, archaic in its simplicity, made of pewter that would feel cool to the touch no matter where it’s been stored, and what the weather outside was.

The compass took rest precisely in the middle of my palm, creating the illusion that it was embedded into my flesh, weighing more than what one might expect an item of this size to weigh. I let the silvery metal warm up before tilting it around until the air bubble in the transparent dome and the star in the middle shifted on its axis, looking for North. The wind started blowing, as if it were trying to guide the compass, or rather – it was the compass that was guiding it.

I didn’t quite know where it was that I’m heading. It was always the road that piqued my interest more than the destination.

But my brief chat with the little girl in the pigtails about where this ‘Lost’ is has awakened my curiosity.

The star stabilized, and the Northern needle pointed between the road going right, and the one leading straight ahead. “They always say that it’s better to take the road less traveled,” I told the wind and fully turned North, crossing the cracked sidewalk and into the open field outside the city’s limits.

“Small world,” a foreign voice snapped me out of my awe at the at the wild foliage covering the fields spanning between the cities. I turned to see an old man, hunched over, and leaning on a wooden cane. His wrinkle-riddled face was almost entirely buried in a gray scarf matching his long coat. He didn’t seem familiar in any way, despite the way he addressed me, and when he noticed my questioning look, he pointed to the compass in the palm of my hand. “Half world.”

It sounded as though he wasn’t his native language, but him pointing made it clear what he meant. I turned the compass over, so its round bottom is facing up, revealing an engravement of the Western hemisphere, judging by the familiar shape of the Americas.

“May I?” he approached curiously, still pointing to the small object.

I reached my hand to him, and he took one slim finger to inspect the cold, polished metal. “Ancient,” he declared when moving his finger to the rougher indented surface representing the oceans surrounding the continents, black oxidized spots adding to its distinction from the land masses.

“Not so much,” I couldn’t remember when I got that compass, or how long it existed prior, but ‘ancient’ might’ve been an exaggeration. Perhaps he didn’t know how to describe something that’s not-as-old in this language.

Minding my manners, I asked where he was going, and he said Nowhere. I said I was on my way to getting Lost, and that perhaps Nowhere is the same direction and he’d like to join.

He agreed and we continued our way, heading North.

The old man wasn’t the only one on the way. There was a young lady that said she was going Somewhere. She didn’t really know either. When we told her where we were going, she asked if she could join. She said it doesn’t matter if it’s South from here, and that if she’ll go North for long enough, she’ll reach South eventually.

Another man was travelling with his dog, which was just looking for a place to stop and rest. It looked like he was following his furry companion, who was very confident of the destination by how it was tugging on its leash. We offered for him to join us until we pass a place that they’ll find fitting, and he agreed.

We all walked together, eventually finding our first stop in the grassy plane – a huge tree with a canopy big enough to cast a shade far past its trunk. We sat together, and each of us told their own story, where they came from and why they’re going where they’re heading.

I sat with my back to the trunk and listened, the compass still resting in my hand. I ran a finger over its flat rim, and the more I listened to the stories, the quicker the meaning of the sentence carved into the pewter dawned on me. It wasn’t a complex one, but it had a special charm to it, almost magical in quality, now that I understood that not everybody needs a compass to find their way – or that sometimes what guides your way is not a compass at all.

The engraved letters were blacked out, like the sea on the device’s back, standing in stark contrast to the silver shine of the rim, boldly whispering them into the wind.

“Not all those who wander are lost.”