Black Book Over the Ocean

When I first received the gift of the black book, I had no idea it was about to be filled with stories of my life and shared with a stranger many miles away. I looked to my favorite aunt who had gifted it to me. She was smiling.

“I know how you like to write. I thought it was a perfect gift for a girl turning 13 who might be filled with new ideas” She winked at me then and I loved her even more.

Life wasn’t easy then. It wasn’t as bad as some of my friends that came from split families and had to juggle two home, two lives. My parents were together, but they believed in old school values. There was no need to go out and hang out with friends or to spend your money on foolish things like going out to a movie or a restaurant. We have perfectly good food at home and a TV, what more could you want?

So, I stayed in my room, listened to music and wrote stories, poems and letters. The letters were new thanks to an English assignment. When Ms. Donald told us we were going to be writing letters to other teens around the world, I rolled my eyes along with my classmates, but I was secretly excited. I loved to write and the thoughts of connecting with someone far away intrigued me.

I know we were just supposed to send a letter but when I received that beautiful black book with all those blank white pages, I thought of another idea. I was going to take a chance and send the book and hope that it came back. And instead of just a letter sharing my boring teen life I would write chapter 1 of a story and hope that they would write the next chapter. I knew it would probably fall flat. When I looked around my class I don’t know if any of my classmates would do it. But all of their attitudes and armour was a façade for all the unknown underneath.

The story I wrote took me away. I wasn’t a teenager struggling with figuring out who I was. I was a rich adult living in a cabin on a lake. There was a hint of a mystery and romance, but I left it open ended, hopeful my pen pal would do the same.

I touched the soft black leather of my journal as I put it in the envelope. It was going all the way to Scotland and I was anxious I wasn’t going to see it again. Closing my eyes and putting faith in universal hands I dropped the package in the mailbox.

I think Ms. Donald made a mistake. We all had been purposely matched with same sex pen pals, for obvious reasons. But what Ms. Donald or myself for that matter, hadn’t anticipated was that Paddy was a boy’s name in Scotland. Now, if I had known Paddy was a boy, I would not have sent that book and I would definitely not have sent the beginnings of a romance story.

To my surprise though, Paddy wrote back. He was extremely delighted in getting the journal and thinks this idea of writing a book together is brilliant. Apparently, he loves to write but it is not a very cool thing for a 13-year-old boy to do so he does it on the sly in his room, listening to music.

Paddy’s chapter 2 brought me further into this fantasy world where the main characters were getting to know each other while solving this mystery as suns set and waves washed up on shores.

It would take a month or two before I would see the book again after letting it go. The waiting was excruciating. Paddy and I communicated in no other way. As the months went by not only did our story grow but out own stories were slowly being shared.

It sounded like Paddy’s family did not have a lot of money and it was a struggle for basic things. As time went on, I would send care packages of treats and things I gratefully realized were luxuries for me. He would admonish me for my generosity, but I always knew he appreciated them.

The journal was no longer new, it was full, and it had been well loved. We were now early adults and Paddy had his first serious girlfriend. It was time to let go. We had finished our story and although I knew we could very easily stay on as friends, it was a very good time to make my exit. I had fallen in love with him somewhere along the line, but I was sick, and it felt extremely selfish to tell him that now.

It had been a few years since he had heard from her. He was surprised to get the package in the mail. In it was the old beat up black book, a new novel with a shiny cover and an envelope. It turns out she had made our journal into a book and it had published. When I opened the envelope, I already knew what she had sent but I was still shocked at the amount. It was a cheque for $20 000. I looked around at our tiny cold apartment. My wife and I had a mattress on the floor and the baby’s bassinet was beside us. I worked round the clock to have what we did have and this…money was too much. I had to send it back. I looked back to the box to see if there was another letter telling me how she is. There was nothing.

I picked up the book. I flipped to the back cover. It said she had finished the book and then fell ill with cancer. She gave all the proceeds of the book to family and friends and then she passed. I sat down hard on the nearest chair with a sad smile on my face.

I had always loved her but had been too scared to tell her. I had also been too scared to tell her what I had been planning to do the day that black book first arrived. I had had enough of feeling alone and different. I had planned on coming home from school and killing myself. I had a rope and a plan. That day had been the day. Then there was a brown package waiting for me. When I first felt the journal and it fell open to her words, my life changed. She gave me purpose. I needed to finish this story. I had a connection to someone even if that someone was a million miles away. She saved my life.

I look at my wife holding our baby daughter, Hazel. I pick up the old journal, my hand brushing the same name in the top furled corner, embossed in gold. I held the journal close and smiled looking at my little family, grateful tears in my eyes.