Lost and Found

The subway doors parted at Bleecker. He quickly stepped onto the train as he always did, even though it wasn’t necessary. In this post-pandemic world it was still easy to find a seat and would be quite some time before the trains were packed with mask-less faces. As he searched for a spot he eyed a small black notebook lying on an empty seat. Drawn to it, he walked over and took the book’s place, looking around to see if anyone would claim it. It looked like a journal. Private. Yet he felt the need to open it. It felt strange at first and voyeuristic, so he looked around once again as if to receive an okay from the world around him. Perhaps a name is inside, he told himself, as a reason to open it. He opened the book on the first page. No name, but something much better - a sketch of a small bird on a tree. Lovely. He turned the page and there were more smaller sketches in the margins alongside someone’s thoughts and prose. Now he truly felt like a voyeur and closed the book. But he kept it and slipped it into his messenger bag as if it was his own.

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It was a gorgeous day in New York City. Fall was just about to begin, so it was crisp, sunny, and perfect. She stepped off the final step of the Lexington and 77th stairs and onto the sidewalk, headed home. Home was a strange word because she always felt like a stranger there. She was a trust-fund kid from the Upper East Side, given nothing but the best that her parents believed was the best, and never given what she thought would have been the best for her. The only thing that gave her any comfort was to pretend. To get on a subway train away from black cars and silly parties to escape to new locations with her precious little black journal. She walked into the building where, of course, was Joe opening the door with a nod.

“Hi, Joe.”

“Hello Miss.”

She did not like Joe because he never acted as if he had known her for over 20 years. So pretty much her entire life. He knew she hated it and yet he did it just the same. One day she would love to run into him at a bar and strike up a conversation about his life and yell at him to stop calling her Miss. She had a name! Walking into the apartment, which took up half of a floor, she heard nothing but music coming from the kitchen. Mona was probably making dinner. Luckily she did not see or hear anyone else and quickly walked down the hall to her bedroom. Her mother hated her room. It was covered in drawings, paintings, and poems taped to the wall. She had bought her own paint and roller and covered the boring beige with bright yellow. It was a terrible paint job. She loved it. Her room, and the fact that her mother hated it.

She opened up her backpack (her mother hated that, too) to take out her journal to write about her afternoon. It wasn’t there. She turned the backpack upside down to let everything fall out, kept looking inside and rummaging through as if it could possibly be in there, but it was gone. In a state of shock she stood up and looked around her, pacing back and forth, just hoping it could have jumped out or that she had taken it out without thinking. She thought back. Could it be at Prospect Park? Oh no, no, not the subway. Grabbing her phone, she frantically began to search for how to retrieve lost items from a subway train. Of course she knew it was not going to be found and actually turned in, but she had to do something.

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When he got home his cat Jo was there to greet him. Jo was a fat, black and white cat who didn’t do much other than sleep and eat, but she was always a source of comfort and companionship. Much needed comfort since his full-time job was cut to part-time. He could barely pay rent, but he never let Jo go hungry. Some days he laughed at the thought that her dinner was probably better than his own. After plopping Jo’s food into her bowl he plopped onto his couch and turned on the TV. He didn’t have the mental energy to do anything else these days. The motivation he once knew had been drained from him. Everything had been difficult since the pandemic hit. Life all around him came crashing down and he was struggling to escape from the rubble. As he sat scrolling through the guide, not really caring or paying attention, he thought of the little black notebook. He grabbed his messenger bag, and while taking the book out he once again felt as if he was doing something wrong. He told himself that maybe a clue as to who it belongs to would be hidden inside. A mystery to solve. A new motivation. He opened the book in the middle this time. The words were beautiful. Of longing, wishing, and wondering. The style of the writing and the print told him it was written by maybe a woman? A young woman? The prose spoke to him in a way he never thought it could, and every page contained more small sketches of people on park benches, landscapes, and children playing; making him wish he had been inside these drawn moments.

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“Why don’t you just get a new journal?” Her brother George was never helpful.

“I will, but this one has been with me for years and means more to me than you will ever get.”

“I guess so.”

She got up from the kitchen stool and stormed out of the apartment. Yes she could be dramatic at times, but no one understood her. No one.

Strand Book Store was her favorite indoor escape next to a museum or library. She always went straight to the fiction section, searching for the oldest editions just to pull them out from the shelf to touch the pages and let them breathe. She had a brand new black journal in her hand, but it felt so, so wrong. Like an unwanted puppy following you home. How can you love it if you do not truly want it? She thought about everything she had written in her journal. The sketches. All lost. Staring numbly at the books, tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her blurry eyes fell upon 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. 20,000. 20,000!! For once being rich may pay off! She smiled to herself and then walked out after placing the un-bought notebook on top of the used ones.

“$20,000 dollars?! Are you completely insane?! There is no way that is happening.”

“It’s my money, isn’t it? I can do what I want with it.”

“A reward for a stupid journal? It’s crazy. You are crazy.”

“If it’s really completely gone for good then the money won’t be spent. If someone has it then this will give them an incentive to give it back!”

“Well, I’m fine with it because I doubt anyone has it. I agree with your brother that it is silly and ridiculous but I will never understand you anyway so do what you like.”

“Thank you, Mother!” Her mother always gave in. She never cared enough to fight her on anything.

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He was sitting at the dive bar a block away from home, on 7th Avenue. He arrived right when it opened, so he was the only one there besides the bartender and his usual whiskey and beer. He was not doing well. Lately the only thing that gave his mind any peace was that damn black notebook. His stress, loneliness, and thoughts were taking over, but the words and drawings in that book were making him feel less alone. An episode of Star Trek ended on the TV and the local news began. Ugh, the news.

“And later on - a $20,000 reward for a woman’s journal. A Manhattan woman is desperate to get it back.”

His head snapped up. The bartender was pointing the remote at the television.

“Hey can you keep it there? Just until that story?”

“Sure. I heard about it this morning. Some woman lost her journal on the 6 train. Twenty thousand bucks to the person who brings it back to her. Must be nice. To have that kind of money to throw around. I wonder what’s in that thing.”

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“What’s in that thing? The cure for cancer? Or COVID?”

“Shut up, George.”

“You know it’ll be like Willy Wonka, right? Everyone will say they have it and look for it.”

“It isn’t as if they can replicate my journal, you idiot.”

“Just wait. People are desperate right now. I still do not get why it is so important to you.”

“You won’t understand…I bought that journal and it kind of gave me permission to....to be someone else. I started taking the subway wherever I wanted to go. I would just get out and walk and find a place to sit. When I look through it I am reminded of who I really am. It sounds stupid to you I am sure, but that journal is now me. Not someone else. So I just have to try.”

“Ok. I get it. More than you might think.”

Her phone rang. A 718 number. Brooklyn?

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. Is this Ms. Johnson?” The voice was of an older man. Not old, but older. He sounded nervous, with a hint of sadness.

“Yes, yes this is she.” She looked at George with wide eyes.

“Yeah, um, I think I have your notebook.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She was about to get her journal back. She had the check ready in her hand, standing out in front of her building. George and Joe were both standing on the other side of the doorway, watching and waiting to see who would show up.

She could not stand still, doing little jumps up and down in anticipation. After a moment she noticed a man walking toward her with a purpose, but a bit disheveled and nervous with his walk and how he held onto his grey messenger bag. He looked to be in his 50’s maybe? Average height, with loose jeans and a button-up shirt that was almost too tight around the middle. He looked up and noticed her, then stopped about 2 feet away.

“Ms. Johnson?”

“Yes! Hi! Olivia. William?”

“Will. Well, here you go.” He pulled the little black notebook from his bag and handed it to her. She instantly knew it was hers, but opened it and shuffled through the pages.

“Don’t worry, it’s all there.”

“Oh I know, I just want to take a look. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. Well, actually you do!”, she laughed.

Will laughed, “yeah. I do.”

Olivia handed him the check.

“You know I don’t need it. I mean, I need it. The money. But I hope you don’t mind...I looked through it. It kept me going. So I should thank you.”

“I’m glad. It does the same for me.”

Will folded the check and put it in his shirt pocket. “Maybe I’ll buy a notebook of my own now.”

They smiled at one another and nodded.

“Thank you again, Will. Maybe I’ll see you on the 6 train someday.”

“Maybe. Bye. And thanks.” He paused, then turned and walked away.

Olivia looked down at her journal and brought it to her chest. She watched Will walk down Lexington Avenue until he disappeared among all the other people going about their day.