A Journey in Need

Grace District was my home, my paradise for the majority of my existence. When I was accepted into the psychology course, a unique and rare opportunity, moving closer to the capital of The United Nations of Strail was my only option. It was the start of a new chapter. Like the caterpillar when emerging from its cocoon to become a butterfly, city life enveloped me in new beginnings.

Since my grandfather passed, negotiating whether we should stay or leave made for an uneasy topic in the home of the Nestor family. The farm's paid for and there's enough money to support our next three generations.

Mum and Dad are quite brittle now but they've led a good life. Some parts came with difficulties but that's part of the journey.

My fondest childhood memory was of mum rocking me to sleep one evening and singing, My Blue-eyed Little Bean, when another figure approached.

"Her hair comes from your mother,” Dad whispered.

"Perhaps more golden than orange,” Mum corrected him. It was not long before the darkness cocooned me.

My big day arrived and one trip was all it took to maneuver my belongings to my new place.

Dad had said I'd need more furniture. I didn't fully understand what he was saying then as I was worn out and looking for a place to rest. We had no choice but to use the stairs. Tomorrow would be my first day at The University of Essere County and feeling nervous, I was half ecstatic and half dreading it.

I got lost. I'd passed the university the first time round, confusing the building with an old abandoned church. I circled three blocks, unconsciously navigating my way back to the main road, to the beginning. My search revealed a bold, block lettered sign stating this was where I was meant to be.

Like most facilities, the administration office marks the entry. As I approached the desk, the lady behind enquired, "Your name and date of birth?"

My voice crackled, "C, Ca, Calypse Nestor, 11th of March… 2030," was all that was exchanged before she returned to clacking away at her keyboard. She paused and I assumed she had accomplished her goal but then she stood up, turned and walked away. This made me nervous.

A couple minutes later, my worries diminished. She returned and scribbling on her paper she asked, "Can you confirm for me your parents’ names and your course of study?"

My reply was instant. I gave my parents' names and finished with, "Bachelor of Psychology." She confirmed my place. I was given my criteria and ushered away.

The first session of the day flew by. "Cafeteria's located on the second floor for those who don't already know," the professor relayed, dismissing the class.

The cafeteria was buzzing. As I looked around for a seat, I could see every table was occupied.

"Lipsie!" I heard someone call my nickname. I shrugged it off.

I heard it again, only this time louder.

"Lipsie, Lipsie! Over here!" I searched in the direction of the sound and I spotted my childhood best friend, Chance. Relief flooded through me and I took a seat opposite her.

"Girl… I'm so glad to see a familiar face,"

I noted her excitement. "For sure!" My gratitude obvious.

"It's been forever since I saw you last," That was an understatement.

"Yes! Last I remember, you moved away and stopped talking to me." My statement dulled the atmosphere.

"Well, I couldn't help it, Mum shipped me far away." She paused… "Anyways... What are you studying? I'm doing a Bachelor of Psychology."

"The same. I'm surprised you didn't see me there." I responded.

During the rest of lunch, we bantered away like old times.

Walking to class, Chance asked, "Do you remember when we were twelve, when we did those time capsules?" I racked my brain.

She must have noticed my puzzled look and added, "The letters we wrote to our older selves?"

And like a light switch igniting, my mind flashed back to that day, "Oh, yes, I completely forgot about them."

"I dug mine up not long ago and found our friendship bracelet! Maybe it's a sign!"

I was expecting a house of emptiness when I reached my new home that evening. Instead, I was caught in a cloud of confusion. Perhaps I was in the wrong apartment, I thought. Then I noticed a note from Dad lying on the new hardwood table. I remembered his words from yesterday and appreciated his generosity.

I was exhausted and it would not wane because I’d had little sleep last night due to my excitement. My mind had been busy on my trip home and I couldn’t wait.

I arrived around midday. The sun glared down as Mum welcomed me at the door. "What’s brought you back home so soon darling?" She seemed worried.

"Has something happened?"

I hesitate.

"What's happened, darl? Is everything alright?" Mum’s usual panic kicked in.

I reassured her all was fine so she settled and I got a chance to thank dad and explain my reason for visiting.

The walk through the farm stretched on for a millennia before I spotted the ancient oak tree. Five feet west, minus a foot from the growth is where I'd planted the box nearly a decade ago. I dug into the earth, until I hit a hard spot and I stopped to look; the stench of the murky mud hit my nostrils. The mud refused to let go. I was forced to thrust the shovel harder into its solid clay base and finally, the mud gave way and released the box into my possession; the wet, sucking sound a relief to my ears. I attempted to lay it next to its unearthed grave but failed. The wood was a soft, black mass my fingers sank into and the box crumbled before my eyes What was once a brand new, hardwood box was now a lump of moldy, rotting sawdust.

Fortunately, its contents were undamaged as I’d had the sense to seal each item in cling wrap. On unwrapping each one, that musty smell reached out to my nostrils again, reminding me of the years that had passed since I was twelve. The contents remained a piece of my hair, a letter to my older self, the friendship bracelet and my old diary with its set of keys.

The weekend finally arrived and I could turn my spare room into a study because a pile of my university paperwork and books had piled up on the new dining table. I escorted worksheets, lecture notes and the time capsules treasures to their new home. Then I noticed something unfamiliar. A closer inspection revealed a small black notebook, spiral-bound with words written on the cover page.

Reading its cover, the hairs on my neck stood on edge:

"Beware: this book may undo the doer.

Caution: this book, unhooked, is you who I took.

Danger, this book may seem stranger than one's first look.

Mind how you go, and this book can take you to an excellent show.

Look before you spring, and think twice before you leave.

This book might reward you, or woe will become your deathly throw.

The hands of fate shall decide, My Chosen Little Bean."

Baffled, I threw the notebook down and searched for my diary – Grandfather must have had dementia. Coming up empty, I checked upstairs but unable to find it, I finished what I'd started; setting up my study.

The next morning the small spiral-bound book was lying in the same place I had left it. My curiosity spiked again; I grabbed the and inserted it into the lock. Nothing happened.

Lifting it into my hands, the lock rattled. I pulled at it and it fell off. “Odd”, I thought but I was free to open it. More poetry lay before my eyes. This time I read it out loud.

"Once upon a time,

I created a rhyme,

That just came to my mind.

It could've been something kind, better it's confusion when I say count from one to five or five to nine.

But here I am,

Writing from me to you a dialogue or twenty-two.

When you read this masterpiece,

Keep in mind you may translate these, the unprecedented fantasies,

The one that's important comes from your own relatives.

Meanings and revelations,

Between guidelines and outside influences,

I'm the hand of fate's choices,

Never in possession of unwanted presidencies.

Follow my clues and it'll lead you through the right hoops.

One mistake and you'll never partake,

Count your rows and don't undermine,

Caretakers are known to define the next clue in line."

I read over and over again. "Count from one to five, then five to nine," I mumbled to myself, counting each word then the rows. I pondered over the word ‘relatives’; in short, it was gibberish. Flipping the page, I hoped for an explanation, but finding it blank, I closed the book and put it away.

The next day the usual chatter filled the cafeteria.

Finding Chance, and handing her the book of poetry, I asked, "What do you think this means?"

She reads it over, pondering, taking her time to respond, "I don't know… it's something to do with defining something."

"Maybe…" I was hoping she would recognize something in it, she was the expert in cracking rhymes.

Sleep came easy to me that night; darkness seeped in and I was cast into a distant memory.

"Why do we have to move back so suddenly?" Mum questioned Dad.

"I told you, and also for dad, he needs all the help we can give." the conversation became a mumble as I was in hiding. It had been way past my bedtime. I awoke to their yelling and needed to use the bathroom.

The coast cleared and I ventured back to my room. I heard Mum screech, "Like the one who returns from their travels, perfect example of what the Nestor name means."

It jostled me from my sleep. One question lingered on my mind. Could it be?

On weekends the traffic from the city was relaxed

As I arrived unexpectedly Mum asked, "What brings you home, my darling?"

"Well, I thought I'd come for a visit and see how you're doing?" was my response.

"We're always fine, sweetie. Dad’s mowing the back of the farm where the cows used to be."

Just then the back door banged shut and the smell of cut grass enveloped me.

"Lipsie!" Dad pulled me into his embrace.

"I think I left something in that thing I buried."

"I just came from there; you left it a mess!" For a minute I thought he was going to lecture me but then he said, “Luckily I saw it! I found a book lying underneath everything… must be the diary you spoke of."

“Thanks Dad. I’ll be off now. See you soon.”

Diary in one hand and keys in the other, I turned the handle of my apartment door, my sanctuary. The diary fell, revealing an envelope. I picked up the envelope; it was addressed to me. I recognised my grandfather’s hand writing. I opened it to find a note:

"Dear Calypse, I know this seems crazy. If you're reading this now it means you have found the notebook and followed my first clue correctly. I saw this as a golden opportunity. The first step was a test to determine if you're smart enough to receive my special gift, my little bean. The next step is simple: on the next page you shall see a map of where it's hidden. Keep in mind I also kept this hidden.” It was signed Grandfather.

There was no other page, and the spiral bound book only revealed a blank page. An idea flooded my mind, I searched for my blue light Grandfather had given me years ago. Shining it on the page it revealed a blueprint of the farm with arrows and where ‘X marks the spot’. I thought, “That must be the attic.” I decided I would leave it until the next day to explore, when Mum and Dad would be out grocery shopping.

The next morning with Mum and Dad absent, I pulled into their usual parking spot. Winter’s chill was evident. Its fog spread across the farm, creeping up on me as its icy hands clawed at my face. Fighting off the chill, I searched under the pot plants for the emergency key, found it and made my way inside.

The attic was tiny; crawling through was difficult. Halfway through, I got confused so I grabbed the map from my pocket to guide me. I eventually found the spot marked ‘X’ and picked up a box with my name on it.

Once out, I stole away to my old bedroom and opened the box. My eyes popped; there in front of me lay bundles of cash. I fumbled around, tipping the contents of the box on to the floor and I counted them until I reached twenty. My mind took a few moments to register. Then I counted one of the bundles; it contained one thousand dollars. Unable to contain my excitement, I cheered loudly, "Woohoo! Thank you, Grandfather."