The Past

        After I stashed the brown wooden, shredded notebook inside of my tote bag, I immediately left the coffee shop. I pulled out some coins from my pocket to hop on the subway. I live in Louisville Kentucky; I have an apartment house complex within the city limits. The subway ticket cost five dollars, it takes fifteen minutes, give or take to come to my stop. My heart raced as I was anxious to get my hands on this book that Joe the coffee maker handed to me. I began working at the coffee shop around three years ago, I fell in love with this shop since the day he began to open it, even on my days off, I still enjoy a cup of hot coffee and a warm book, from time to time I log on to his WIFI, pay my bills for the month and clear out my schedule. 

             I am anxious to be home, the drive feels longer than ever. Whenever I finally do arrive home, I can barely open the door from the toys crammed in piles by my fourteen-year-old daughter. I live alone with my child inside of this big city. I am fortunate enough to have a friendly neighbor, an elderly woman in her mid-fifties named Helga. She often cares for my child whenever I am at work, or when it is too hard for me to roll out of bed. She will take her for ice cream, and give her a day of shopping, which she always comes back home to hand me multiple gifts as well. Helga's husband passed away, her grandchildren live an hour away from her, and she is grateful to have the company. 

              As I pulled out this strange book with small eyeballs and growing trees, I cried to myself first. I wanted more for my daughter, I wanted her to have a life filled with home and love, instead I am here scrapping by. My parents died as a baby, I grew up bouncing from home to home, relationships never worked out for me, I have never been more than a one-night stand. My heart aches for more than just myself, but for my child as well. I cried to myself before I opened this book, I just needed to know the answers if I would ever have family, companionship, I wanted the white picket fence kind of life, but if I were being honest, mostly I wanted a mother. I knew I was too old for that now; my life had led me to multiple paths of disappointments. I wanted my daughter to see what love looks like so she would find it for herself, I wanted to be a role model for her, I cried for the loneliness that I carried. I gave and gave to my child even with the feeling of emptiness, I loved her though I have never been loved. I cried because I didn't want to walk into my footsteps, grow in the same pains that I have. The older I get, the worse I feel. My fingers rub the edges of this book, and I hold it with a heaviness of wonder. I hold it for a while before I open it. I hold it as I contemplate my decision if I should or shouldn't open it. 

              Everything I heard the girl with the long face, the dark hair, and marbled jewelry, say sounded so good. It sounded so unreal, that she felt called to me. I have never felt like anyone special; I am just a girl who works at the coffee shop. I try to have successful relationships, although that is impossible to do, when I am constantly walked over, I just want to know if this book can answer my question if love is meant for me too. My heart broke as the years moved forward. I paced back and forth as I tried to remember what the girl at the coffee shop told me. Faint details spoke to me, while others seem lost in a daze. I open this book with a broken, lonely heart. I opened it with curiosity, I opened it with sadness that I hoped it would come to an end. I have become more and more tired with each person I meet. I don't have it in myself to spend my Friday nights crying over a soap opera and watching people around me smile with love that isn't toxic. I am tired of being alone. I am tired just as a whole, just in general. 

I flipped through the pages of the book that intrigued me, at first the book was nothing except unfinished sentences, written in a different language. I didn't know how to read this, or even what to do with it. The hand on the clock spun without my notice, I blinked, and the room grew darker. Helga messaged my phone a picture of her and my daughter, she asked to spend the night to help her run some errands. My eyes popped out of socket when I see the time: 10:00 PM. I messaged her back with my apologies for the slow response, and of course she is more than welcome to stay. I decided this book of riddles had me clueless, so I shut the book and flipped the tv guide. I plopped down on the sofa while I still held onto the brown wooden book. A folded note fell to the floor, as I jiggled around for comfort, I unfolded the soft note that felt light as a dryer sheet. The paper felt fragile, like it would crumble to ash within seconds. My heart leaped when I saw that I could understand the print. My folded legs on the sofa, jumped to the edge with wonder. I began to read aloud. 

 

 

Dear Diary,

Things have changed within these past few weeks. I am sixteen years old now and life has turned for the worst. I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish I was born in a different family. I have memories of my mother; some are harder to remember than others. I woke up to the sound of glass shattering, doors slamming, my parents were screaming at one another. My mom was upset that dad had slipped in the house drunk. -

The door banged three times as I was reading this page. My heart thumped loudly as I rose to stare at the front entrance. I glanced at my watch, 5:00 AM. I popped up my camera app on my phone that can see five feet in front of my front steps. Blood gushed to my head as I watched a tall bald ma, wearing a black leather jacket bang on my door. I hid to a cornered part in between my walls, I watched him pace back and forth. He never tried to shake the knob, few minutes had passed, and his fist would pound the door again. Several minutes ticked loudly inside of my thumping ears, I didn't hear a single knock. I wiped the stinging tears that hung from my eyes before I checked the app again, nothing. There was no one there. My feet tip toed to the door; I locked it although I was certain I already had. It took a few minutes for my head to calm back down, this book must have been giving myself too much of a fright. I hurriedly grabbed the book as I shut it so hard dust flew in the air; I crammed it underneath of my sofa.  I shut out the lights before I headed to bed, I would need to be in the coffee shop by 8:00 AM in the morning, although I had completely forgotten to lock the book back inside of the spiraling tree. The thought had slipped my mind. I trailed off to sleep believing nothing was the matter, I was just tired that's all. It was nothing but a silly book anyway, I will have a good night's rest, together with a sip of hot coffee in the morning. All will be well once I catch up on some sleep. 

    -Micah Vincent