The Writing On the Walls

March 18th 2021

Today has been one Anna doesn’t much care to remember, though that seems to be the running theme of her life these last few months. As a 34 year old woman in the midst of a hellish divorce she feels all at once too old to escape her relationship with the freedom found joie de vivre she may have once been able to muster, and too young to clutch to any sparkling shard of wisdom that might be collected in the chaotic endings of ill spent love. As a result she feels quite earnestly that she has come out of a decade long journey with nothing but ugly bitterness in her heart. Just as she allows herself to dwell upon this condition however, a small photograph slips from the book she has absentmindedly lifted from a box of mementos she is rifling through ( her attempt to fulfill the human need for nostalgic comfort that is often felt in turbulent times). She looks first at the book-a small turquoise bound journal with a silver dolphin leaping in the centre of the cover, gracefully arching over her similarly metallic name- and then at the photograph staring face up at her from the floor. Her mouth parts slightly and her eyes widen in a moment of powerful recollection. She picks the small photograph up, delicately tracing the sharp lines and angles contained within its borders, and she is pulled back in time.

July 3rd 2005

Dear Diary

I think I’ve finally my home away from home. I’ve longed for such a place for so long, conjuring up magical caverns in my mind that belong only to me and the fairies, a place to dream and write and dance, without the interruption of my parents bickering or the general obnoxiousness of my brothers. I never dreamed that I would actually find it, but today as I wandered through the woods behind our property I took a detour to the left that I have never taken before (on instinct), and 20 minutes later I landed here! It’s the most adorable little barn, with a gable roof. It looks like it has been abandoned for a while, it’s dark blue siding is chipped and faded, the yellow door is peeling, and it creaks like crazy. Vines swirl and creep with whimsical abandon across the exterior, and there are a few planks of wood falling right off. Once you step inside it’s like you are transported to a different time, one definitely more magical than today’s technology obsessed culture. It doesn’t seem to have been a livestock barn, at least that’s not what the last person who claimed this place seemed to use it for. The place is pretty empty except for a small wooden writing desk that rests against the left wall underneath the first of two window. Toward the back of the barn is a large airy loft, accessible by the old ladder propped against it. The second window pours light like spilled lemonade into the loft, turning the dust motes into floating golden orbs. The only other obvious sign of another person having been here at any point is a pile of old blankets piled in the middle of the loft. The whole space oozes an enchanted sort of serenity and I am perfectly at home.

Currently I’m using the writing desk for its intended purposes, so I can capture this experience within your pages Diary. I think we can both expect to find ourselves here quite often from now on.

Later

Dear Diary

I’m home now, unfortunately. It seemed pretty tense when I arrived here, my parents don’t seem to be speaking to each other which, if i’m being totally honest, is actually better than the alternative. I made it up to my room without having to interact with any of my family members (I really do love them). I explored a bit more after I finished writing the first time, and in the loft I came across a bunch of scribbles on the wall. There were poems, attempts at poems*, and what seemed to be general musings. Some of them were super romantic. One of my favourites was a heartbreaking Haiku

Never shall she know

The Moon’s gaze upon the rose

Is mine upon her

And I thought it was so sad that I decided to leave some words of encouragement even though I know the author is probably long gone.

The heart beats loudly

So our choice is only one

Be bold in your love

If only I could take my own advice, right? Before my foray into the woods today, I saw Jacob on campus as I was leaving my last class (My summer semester started up last week). He’s so pretty with his dark curls and his soulful hazel eyes. I’ve had a major crush on him since high school, but I still have yet to work up the nerve to talk to him- he probably doesn’t even know I exist at this point. Maybe one day I’ll find the courage that I offered up in my Haiku.

July 8th 2005

Dear Diary,

So sorry for the delayed entry. I have been working my butt off to get a couple of big assignments finished, so you haven’t really missed much. I haven’t even been back to my Enchanted Cottage until now! There *was* a tiny little moment yesterday where Jacob and I made eye contact, and he smiled at me. Not just one of those tight lipped smiles you give to people when you feel obligated to make some kind of expression of acknowledgement, but a beautiful toothy grin a la Ryan Gosling to Rachel McAdams in the Notebook (okay maybe slightly less intense, but only slightly!). I was walking on clouds for the rest of the day, that is until I had to sit and eat supper with my family, but they couldn’t completely dampen my spirit.

I am going to go take another peek around ye olde Barn and see if I make any new discoveries. I’ll report back if I find anything.

15 minutes later

DIARY YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED! Someone has responded to my Haiku! If I wasn’t so excited I might be slightly creeped out, but I have yet to hit that part of the emotional wave. This is what the response says

Hello Kindred Spirit,

It seems as though we now share a safe space, as well as a penchant for writing. Your encouraging response to my follys of the heart has touched me deeply. However I must shed some light on the issues at hand. There are certain circumstances that entirely prevent me from opening my heart to the one that I have referenced in this piece, and the many others which you may have seen carved into the very walls of this barn. It can never be, and so these walls are the outlet for my affections. Even so, I thank you for your kindness dear heart. Since you have the liberty of knowing so much about myself from the senseless scribblings within this barn, please, tell me something of yourself. It is good to have someone to talk with about these things, even if I cannot look upon your face.

JSR

Isn’t it all so tragic and mysterious? I’m going to back up to the loft to respond to our mysterious author and we’ll see if they respond again the next time we come back!

May 23rd 2021

Anna stands in front of her family’s old home. They don’t live there anymore, after Anna and her brothers flew the coop her parents separated and now live on opposite sides of the country. The exterior is freshly painted and new curtains drape across the inside of the windows but otherwise the place looks pretty much the same as when she left 15 years ago. She gets permission from the current owners to venture to the back of the property and thus begins her small expedition to the barn. She finds she can still retrace her steps with ease, it’s as if she was only here yesterday.

As soon as everything had settled post separation back home, Anna had hopped on a plane and ended up back here. It wasn’t really an entirely conscious decision, the pull of this place had become overwhelmingly powerful after rediscovering her old diary and the photograph that had drifted from it’s pages. She may have had a choice to come back, but it doesn’t feel like it. There is a sense of incompleteness tied to her memories, something that a piece deep within her needs resolved. She never found out the identity of her mysterious confidante, she had had her suspicions of course, and the confrontation of those had resulted in deep humiliation for her but she had let that go long ago, along with the place that had brought her there. Yet after all this time she finds herself going back to it for the closure she didn’t know she needed.

She steps into the clearing where the barn had once stood, and apparently, still does. Her breath leaves her for a moment and she stands frozen in time. The building looks exactly the same as she had left it, no more or less decrepit than it had been close to 20 years ago. She enters the barn and she sees the writing desk and the ladder in their places, undisturbed. A pink hoodie lies on the floor. Anna recognizes it as hers and realizes she must have left it behind on one of the hot summer days she spent here. She wonders what other belongings she may have left behind in this place. She slowly walks the perimeter of the room, running her fingers along the walls, sometimes stopping to trace familiar words or images carved into the wall. Memories rush back into her mind’s eye and old feelings of affection for her shadowy correspondent resurface from the depths of her heart. She looks for clues she may have missed so long ago that could indicate their identity but nothing jumps out at her. When she arrives at the wall below the loft window she stops, her name having caught her eye. She begins to read and suddenly realizes that this is not a message she has ever seen before.

My Anna,

I know that after all that has happened you may never lay eyes on this, but if by the grace of some kind star you do one day return then I hope this message finds you more than well. I want you to know that you are the dearest friend I have ever known, and though I never had the pleasure of conversing with you face to face, I feel that I know you better than any other, and more to the point, that this is reciprocated by you to me. Because of you I found the courage to love another in ways I never dared believe that I could, and for that I will always be grateful. I shall hold the memory of our friendship like a precious gift within the space of my heart, that which was once a fortress against the world but, because of you, retains its strength even though you have opened its doors.

I’ll love you through all time.

JSR

Tears stream down Anna’s face. Though she can’t be sure that anyone visits this place anymore, she takes a marker from her bag and responds with only three lines

My dear Friend,

Please, tell me your name. This would be the greatest gift.

Anna

As she places her marker back in her bag, she hears the door open behind her. She turns to face the sound, and sees a silhouette in the doorway. “Anna, is it really you?”. A gasp falls from her mouth and somehow she has found herself back at the beginning.