Black Book

Suddenly the world felt dark. There I was sitting alone with nothing but this small black notebook to remember him by. Why do we live only to die? Why do we love only to lose? How can this kind of change ever be sweet or accepted by us creatures of habit? I jolted suddenly at the sound of his laughter, but before I had turned around to catch a glimpse of his smile I remembered the reality. There’s no way it could be him. I lifted myself up off the park bench and walked through what now looked to me like a haunted forest, the sun was shining but I felt no warmth. I placed my hand on my heart and attempted to acknowledge my pain tenderly. Today I had lost something and had no idea how I was ever going to get it back.

I stumbled for my keys as I approached my apartment door and jolted again. “Wow I’m so proud of you!", his laughter was back. The memory began to replay of his joy on the day this place became mine. One small movement could throw me out of the memory, like a sky diver out of a plane. "I’m not ready" said my body to my heart so I stood frozen with my key in the door."Hello!?", my plummeting down to earth began as I recognized my neighbors voice and felt her hand rubbing my back in concern. "I’d been trying to catch your attention for almost a minute honey, are you okay?" she asked. "I’m not okay, so please… let me be" I said calmly, then with one swift movement I was in my apartment, alone again.

I threw the notebook across the room and clenched my chest, this time not so tenderly. I dropped to the floor of the living room in anger, rage and anguish. I felt selfish in that moment, not wishing for dad back but instead for my pain to go away. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. I had allowed my sadness to consume me, my body felt heavy, I felt my soul as if it were trapped in the body of an android. Turning my head to look at the door felt impossible and with one final effort to get up I heard the ringing of a bicycle bell and his voice again. "Come on then, get up! Nobody gets it the first time!".

I woke up to the sun shining through my window and saw the notebook in the helpless state it’d been thrown into last night, hanging half opened on the windowsill and shuddered at the remembering of what I was dealing with. Why of all his belongings had he left me with this notebook? I walked over to it and opened it to the first page, his messy handwriting all over it. What was peculiar is that he’d only written on the first page, lines and lines all randomly over each other, the page was almost black with writing. The most recent sentence he’d written, which was most legible on the top was, how do I tell her. As I slowly descended back onto the ground I analyzed the writing closer and saw question marks all over the page. Each entry was a question.

Now fully laid back on the floor, I tilted my head around looking for a pen I might’ve dropped. He was gone and he left me nothing but a page of manic scribbles. I spent the rest of my day laying on the floor, attempting to decipher the contents of the first page and made out a couple more questions. What is my purpose and What is the point. I contemplated those questions briefly until I remembered I had no energy or desire for self realization, I did however get up to the dining table by night to write in the journal myself. I began unloading all of my feelings onto the second page in the most illegible handwriting you could imagine. It’s as if my entire body was sending all the last bits of energy it had to my wrist to make the last micro movements it could. I finished my entry with a question, why do bad things happen to good people? As I dotted the question mark, writing began to appear letter by letter in emerald colored ink underneath. “Bad things and good things happen to all people. It’s a matter of perspective”. I sat staring at the page for what felt like an eternity. It didn’t matter to me how or who was answering me and after some more hours lost in the emerald ink I was asleep again, face down on the dining table.

I woke up again to the sun shining through my window and my eyes glued to the notebook. Upon remembering the mysterious emerald ink I jolted up to refocus my eyes on the page. All I saw was my own writing. I shook my head in disappointment of myself, I hadn’t eaten or drank anything in 42 hours, what on earth did I expect? With that thought I heard a loud knock on the door. There was no way I was answering it.

“It’s about the notebook Liz open up” I heard a voice say. Was that him? Energy surged through my body and I ran to open the door only to see an unfamiliar face who was so wrongly under the impression he was welcome inside, that he was sitting on my couch before I got a good look at him. “It stinks in here love. Might want to crack open a window.” he said looking at me compassionately. I stared at him in disbelief. “Look I’m sorry for your loss, I know, death is hard. He was a great guy too, such a great guy” he continued. I stood frozen staring at him from the front door with one hand still on the handle. “My names Chris, I’m a friend of your late fathers. He told me to check on you after a couple of days so here I am” he said awkwardly as he fidgeted on the couch. “Have you spoken to the notebook yet?” he asked. “He said you would’ve by now.”I closed the door and sat across from him. He looked in his 60’s, well dressed and oddly confident. “What?” I asked him. “If you could ask one question right now and guarantee an answer what would it be?” he asked. “Why did he have to die?” I replied quickly. “Why did who have to die? You need to be specific love.” “Dad” I responded under my breathe. “Ask the book” he said, edging it toward me, “on a page only you have written on.” I looked at him suspiciously. “Double dot the question mark if you want the answer to eternally remain on the page, otherwise it disappears after 6 hours” he said.I grabbed the notebook from the dining table and sat back across from Chris. I wrote the question on the third page of the notebook and waited for the emerald ink to reappear. “Everything must die to create new openings for more life. Your father helped create space for your growth and for the entire universes.” I may have been in a parched, famished and sleep deprived haze but it finally hit me, this notebook was speaking to me.

I spent the remainder of the day with Chris, learning more about the notebook and his history with my dad. “Why have I never met you before?” I asked him. “Your dad cut me off after I sold the notebook to the council, they said it was magic. I was young! $20,000 was a lot of money to a 20 something in our day!” he replied. “The first I’d heard from him since then was a month ago, telling me to visit you and tell you everything 2 days after he’d passed.”“How did he know which day he’d pass?” I asked. Chris raised an eyebrow and looked at the notebook smirking. He reached into his pocket and handed me a business card.

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“Lucky for me I invested that $20,000 wisely” he said with a wink. “Meanwhile your dad worked day and night to buy the notebook back but the council shunned him for wanting to share the books wisdom with the world.” Chris hesitated to continue, “he worked to regain the trust of all the higher ups until he knew where the notebook was. Took it back first chance he got and left $20,000 in its place. Left our small town, moved here and never looked back.”I sat stunned. Chris’s eyes darted around awkwardly.“It was my fault he had to leave” he said shamefully. He pulled out a cheque book and began writing in it. “I’ve carried this guilt my whole life, I owed him this and now it’s in your hands” he said as he handed me a cheque for $20,000. I accepted the cheque not saying a word.

I had a lot to process after Chris’s visit. Dad and I were close so of course the first thing I asked this 'magical' notebook was, why didn’t dad tell me about his past earlier? “He wanted you to only have to deal with problems that were of your own making, not from his". I glanced over at the cheque Chris had written me earlier that day and wrote in the notebook once more, what do I do with the money Chris gave me? “Whatever your heart desires” the notebook replied. My heart desires? I pondered those words for a moment, I’d forgotten I had a beating organ keeping me alive the past few days. What is my hearts desire? I asked the notebook “Everyone's is the same! To live and to enjoy doing so” it replied. The voice of the notebook both frustrated and inspired me. I hadn’t lived for enjoyment in years, I didn’t even really know how to do that anymore.“How do I enjoy living?” I asked the notebook with a double dotted question mark. “You accept what is and realize your joy is within, not without” it responded poetically. I stared at the answer puzzled, it felt like I’d lost my ability to understand the English language. “Do you understand?” it asked me, “It is important you understand". “No, my father is gone forever” I wrote back. The page turned itself and the emerald writing began appearing even more magically than before. “Is your father still in the memories in your mind?” Yes.“Is his laughter still in your ears, warmth still in your heart?” Yes.“Then he has gone no were other than closer to you. Can you accept this?” Yes but..“All that happens just happens. You make them good, you make them bad. It is okay to feel sorrow but must it be labelled as bad? Is it bad to have experienced such closeness, such love, such warmth that its absence causes a physiological sensation in response?” No but.. “It’s in fact beautiful to have experienced such love and such loss". I closed the notebook and took a few deep breathes, it was… right. I glanced over at Chris’s cheque and in that moment heard my hearts desire loud and clear, it wanted to share this wisdom with the world. It wanted to help others be free of their pain. I opened up my laptop and began co writing (with the notebook) my first book. “Suddenly the world felt dark. There I was sitting alone with nothing but this small black notebook to remember him by.”