Twenty-one Years

I have had it so long, I didn’t really know him that well, though he still meant a great deal to me. This is what I had left, all I had left.

I’m not boasting wealth, I’d be lucky if I were lower class. But, I have this, from my own father. I have flipped it open five times now in the past 21 years. It’s silly, but I use it like a crystal ball, I will run my fingertips over the page’s edge, feel them softly slide over my thumb, take a deep breath, clear my mind, and open the book. I guess it’s just his personal journal, when I open this black book, I get to read about a day I never lived, but my father did. It helps me feel rooted in the world. It also helps me feel far away.

Times are tough, though they’ve always been that way. There’s been a few days I wasn’t sure if the sun would ever come up, those are the times I’d go for the journal, I had been unemployed for a year and a half, sleeping on couch’s, sleeping on sidewalks. There was a night I just didn’t feel much hope, through my 37 years I can confidently say society put me through the ringer. When I was wondering how long my life would last, if I will feel comfort at any point. I grabbed the journal, it was my 5th time using it. I closed my eyes, ran my thumb back and forth slowly taunting each page’s blade, cleared my mind and opened it.

February 19, 1988

Today I saw Henry, my college roommate. Man we haven’t talked much since graduation, thought I’d be embarrassed to see the old guy, but boy I smiled ear to ear.

We chatted, caught up, turns out he settled down a town over, started a grocery store. Crazy how life is, we went to college together on the East Coast and to see Henry here in Idaho. It’s great. Anyway after the interaction I decided to take the kiddo grocery shopping in the next town over at Henry’s place, The Neighborhood Market, and what a fun day we had. Grabbed fixings for milkshakes, stopped at the park on the way home and Lisa saw a friend from school.

God bless you, Henry

I remember that day slightly, I must’ve been four. This journal entry didn’t seem significant to me, I was a little disappointed with a sour taste in my mouth, I carefully put the notebook back in my backpack. I was really relying on my dad to get me through the night. He didn’t, it didn’t help at all, I still got through it regardless, it just turned out I didn’t need my dad. The next day, I woke around 2PM, my whole body felt heavy so I went walking to shake it off. I was walking the sun to it's setting, and realized this part of the county was rather new to me, though vaguely familiar. My feet hit the ground one after another, I prayed the rhythm would chase away my thoughts.

Tears came, the rock was in my throat, strangers all around me. I just cry. I cried it all out, everything inside me. I lifted my head and found myself at a park, the same park my father took me to in ’88, I remember the darling wooden structures. Emotional weight had been taken from me after a good cry, and I start to get curious about The Neighborhood Market. I spent the next three hours walking around the town of Silverton, looking for The Market. I found it, same spot, actually an easy five minute walk from the park. I walk in embracing the nostalgia, smiling and nodding at those around me. Such beautiful produce, it really looks like it gets loved a little extra here. I grab a Golden Delicious, finished walking in my four year old self’s footsteps, and proceed to check out. Feeling good I found the place, I tell the checker the very short version of my story:

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Henry is my father, he’s told me some about your dad, he sure does miss him.”

“Please, if he ever wants to reminisce, call me.” I gave him my phone number, even though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pay my phone bill, I was hoping he’d call before my plan was up. I went back to the park, sat on a swing and held my apple, contemplating it, when I got a call from Henry. We talked briefly, he was concerned about me. About how I was doing, without my parents for so long. I haven’t been doing good and I told him that. Henry, such a fatherly voice, gave me the news, “The Market is needing some extra hands, if you need a job, you’ve got one here.”

Here I am, home from my six month anniversary. Things have been great truly they are, I went from staring at the ceiling on my friend’s couches, to falling asleep while watching TV on my own. Even if that couch is shared in-between five people, it’s a huge step for me. Though the job is great, lately I have been feeling over taken by the world, I’m so happy to have security, there is a part of me who missed the freedom of unemployment, how I could wake and sleep when I wanted, walk as far as I craved. There were no responsibilities, there's something nice in that. I had time to explore myself, the things I took interest in. One of my favorite things to do with my time is going to parks, noting how they’re constructed, I’d love to build a park one day, a park for poor kids like me. I would draw pictures, I had some ideas. Besides my father’s journal that dream was one of the only motivations to get out of bed. I’m so happy for my job, the security, I just feel run down, exhausted continually doing a thing I’m not sure I want to do. These thoughts have been coming to me more frequently, and they bother me a lot.

I watch the sun set, eat my dinner, go to bed wake up and go to work.. but I can’t stop thinking of the other things I want to do. I’m not having the best day, I dropped a pack of soda which exploded all over, dropped a carton of eggs and screwed up three people’s total while ringing them up. The store has been slow for the past month, not close the shop slow, but maybe let a few people go slow. I can tell when bad news is around- I just know. People act differently when they have to say something they don’t want to say. Henry called on me, in the middle of my shift, I’ve been struggling to look busy the past hour. I know what this is, and I’m right. Slowly comes off the smock, the name tag, the hat. Now I’m just a middle aged woman in non slip shoes, with no job.

The Neighborhood Market helped me a lot, helped me realize security is possible no matter where you stand in society, it’s always an option, but beware, it can be taken away just as easily... Slumped. Bummed. What am I going to do. Back to the sidewalks, back to Trish's fold out. I didn’t think I’d be going back to this way of life so soon. Just a taste is what I got and that hurts. I’m one hundred feet from The Market at this point, I feel like I’m walking under water, what a day. What a shitty day, my life, my whole life, my home, my roommates, over so soon. Almost a success, almost a lower class success. I just can’t take these emotions, I can’t keep walking. I duck away in a bus stop, I stare at my feet, I stare at the gum on the ground. Fuck.

If there has ever been a time I needed my father, now is it. Just to feel better for a second. I take my backpack off, but the notebook isn’t there. I keep it in the same place in my backpack, I can’t believe this. The one thing that keeps me here, the one thing. I’m on my knees, ripping through my bag, crying, hyperventilating, this can’t be real. By the time my back pack is upside down and I’m shaking it on the sidewalk I notice a rip in the bottom seam. So, I shove my scattered belongings right where they came from, and carried my backpack like a baby… Tracing my steps for the notebooks. I need it, I need it more than anything.

Looking ahead, scanning the ground like a machine, I see my beloved black square, sitting calmly under the feet of society. My lord, what a truly horrible day it almost was. I don’t care what I’ve lost, I don’t care about the job, my relationship with Henry, I just care about my book. I’m running towards it, yes and here it is my fingers brace the straight edges, and I raise it off the ground. During all the glory, I notice a piece of paper underneath, I was curious enough to pick it up. First thing I notice, my own father’s signature, it’s so smooth, so nice to see- I haven’t in so long. The house fire that took my parents took all those petty memories; I haven’t seen his signature in twenty-one years, I can’t really remember the last time, it’s just so nice to see now. I’m in awe, people hustling around me, if they could only feel the happiness I’m feeling. After tracing my dad’s signature one thousand times with my eyes, I look more at this piece of paper… it’s a check. It’s a check for me, from my father, dated for my 18th birthday, a little more than two yers after my parents passed. He must’ve been planning this one. I can’t believe this, my last birthday present from my dad! I thought the notebook was all I had. My father always gave me a seventy-five dollar check on my birthday, I tucked this one in my back pocket. I’m never going to spend this money, I always want to remember the last present from my parents.

Here I am at my nearest Goodwill, trying to decide which secondhand frame I want to keep my eighteenth birthday present in, I’m framing it and I’ll have it forever. Trying to pick the right size frame, I pull out the check to compare it to the squares and rectangles, and all of a sudden something catches my attention… was that four zeros… without a decimal?

We weren’t rich growing up, far from it, I’ve never seen my father write four zeros behind any number when it came to finances, both my parent’s always wanted to see me go to college, one of the themes of our savings. When they passed, there was no finances left to me, i figured the bank kept on to it. I rub my eyes and try to refocus, yes, yes it’s four decimals. Starting with a two, an eighteenth birthday present of twenty-thousand dollars, and I’m finding out 19 years late. I just can’t believe the power within this little book. I haven’t cashed a check in years, when I went to the bank, I was told that all my parents finances are still in their accounts and retrievable by me.

I get to open my first bank account, after my parents passed I belonged to the streets, I’ve been fighting to get out of it since they have been gone. This world hates poor people. But, here I am, four zeros later, my first bank account and the courage to do what I need, I haven’t built a park, but I did pay rent a year in advance, a home for a year. I bought myself a bed, my first mattress in over 20 years, blankets, socks without holes, I can buy dishes. I haven’t built a park, but I have my essential needs, a new part time job and I’m taking the beginning classes to become an architect.

This little black book saved my life, I used it like it was magic, when I needed, I’d open up to something that helped me. I found the ultimate assistance, and I decided I didn’t want to use the notebook like that anymore, I just wanted to learn about my dad. We didn’t spend much time together, little trips with him were my best memories. Now I read an entry one every once in a while just to see what he was up to, what was worth putting on paper. The day I found that check, I decided to start my own journal as well.