Green Glasses

If you close your eyes, you can remember the smell, the feel and the sound it made. That black journal that you spilled your inner thoughts into. You can’t really describe the smell of the paper; the crisp yet smoky odour that is left on the tips of your fingers when you’re done. Whether you finish covered in tears or show a subtle smile with that indented dimple. This is what your mother wanted when she said,”This is yours and only yours. A place for you to hide or flourish with dreams and goals.” No pressure for a ten year old. I could barely finish Black Beauty but here I will enter my every thought and feeling. Doubts? Maybe. Willing? Definitely.

As I started to put pen to paper for the next volume, I examined my pen. “Wow, now that’s a pen!”, I said in my head. An expert in procrastination but very interested in how this pen would get me going. Would the voice in my head channel through the pen right to paper? Would an epic event happen just as I look up and cause me to document the outcome? So far, no.

But then I actually looked up. As I sat at my desk, almost stapled to the window, I happen to catch a flicker of movement. Not much in my field of view but green grass and one solitary tree. The tree that we climbed and hid behind when you were the victim of a game of hide-and-seek. So, was I missing a game?

Then I saw him. The boy I seem to see everywhere. You could always tell it was him by the large green glasses that tipped on the edge of his nose. Those glasses that the store kept in the back drawer, the discount drawer. The rest of his outfit was never something I noticed, but he was always covered from head to toe. Was that meant to hide him from everyone else as he peeked around corners, hid behind shrubs or tried to camouflage between the flora and fauna? Was this what the pen was trying to tell me?

I opened the window and leaned out, trying not draw attention to myself. Nope, that was not going to happen. He was staring at me. “Hey,” I said but his eyes bulged out. Should I have not spoken? Does he not speak? But he took that opportunity to step forward, straightened his shirt and coughed softly. “Hey,” he said back. “You done yet?” he says. Perplexed, I leaned further out and yelled, “Done what?” He crammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and said, “Writing.” How did he know that? While these questions bounced between my ears in my head, my grip slipped on the window edge and I fell face first into that green grass. I did not notice anything until I tasted that citrus-y flavour of the grass crammed between my teeth. That jarred me to quickly jump to my feet and assess who was watching. Did anyone notice? Yup, the boy.

“Does that mean you’re done?”, he says with a bit a smile. “For the moment but how did you know?”, I said back. “Every time your light comes on, the reflection hits my window up there.” he said pointing to the third floor window across from where we were standing. “Oh, sorry.” I replied, feeling a bit embarrassed that he was watching. “I have always wanted to know what was so interesting that you wrote about. Is it about me?”, he asked. “Why would I write about you?”, arrogant little man, I thought. “Can I see?”, he asked. I walked a bit backward and found my Wonder Woman stance. “For $20,000!”, I shouted, turned around and headed back into the house. Not waiting for a response or laughter.

Slamming the door behind me, I leaned back against it and waited. Not sure what I was waiting for but a little shocked by the conversation. “I can’t believe that he watches me,” I said in my head. Slowing peeling myself off the door and slipping through the living room, back to my bedroom. Lowering myself closer to the orange-brown carpet, I crawled back to my desk and lifted up with my fingers securing around my black book. Now this was a precious item.

I don’t know how long I sat there but I wanted to make sure that he was gone. When my mother entered the room, she looked at me and looked at the window. Saying not a word, she closed the window and left as quickly as she entered. I threw the book into the lower drawer and decided that the day was done. But as I ran out the door for the hundredth time that day, my last thought was, “What a weird day.”

The morning started a little odd, odder that most. My mother woke me to tell me that there was someone at the door. “A little boy with green glasses,” she said. Wrapping myself in My Little Pony robe, I made my way to the front door to see Him standing there. A white envelope in his hand and a smile on his face. “I got it!” he proclaimed. “You got what,” I replied, perplexed at knowing what he wanted at this early hour. “$20,000 for the book. I will take it now.” he said. Speechless was the best way to describe my reaction. I clenched my robe a little tighter and looked up at my mother. She was as surprised as I was. “Honey, did you ask this boy for that kind of money?”, she asked me. “I think I did, Mom but I’m not sure,” I replied. “Not sure of what?” said the boy. “I did not think we had a deal!” I exclaimed. “Well a deal is a deal, sweetheart. “ my mother timed in, “you have to honour your part of the bargain.”

I turned around and headed back to my room to retrieved the precious item. Opening the drawer, I saw the stack of black books crammed into its corners. Grabbing the one closest to the top, I headed toward the deal maker at the door.

“There you go,” I exclaimed as I shoved it in his direction. “Thank you,” he replied as he grabbed the book, handed me the envelope and ran right out the door. Still half awake, I peeked into the envelope. Tucked beneath the fold, I could see countless pieces of coloured paper; Monopoly money! Pulling them all out, I counted a total of £20,000. A deals, a deal!