A Moleskine called Molly

The dust drifted in the air like snow flurries on a late fall day, harbingers of harsher times to come. John surveyed the attic that had served the dual purpose of storage and study in his parent’s house. One half jam-packed with boxes and the other held a desk, filing cabinet, bookshelves, and a well-used recliner. Accumulated layers of dirt proved how long it had been since anyone had sorted out this space. No matter how committed he had been to clean, something would always distract him. Time had caught up with John; and now there was no backing out. The auctioneer was arriving in two days. John promised his sister he would handle the clean-up of their childhood home. Preparing for the sale should be a piece of cake compared to the daily care Pam had taken of their Mother and Father. In fact, John had dumped everything on Pam’s shoulders as their parents had gotten older. Taking responsibility of this was the least he could do.

He turned his attention to the latch on the small window, twisting it open to let in fresh air. The temperature was rising, the air stuffy with the lingering smell of old spice which only added to John’s feelings of unease. He was having trouble getting to work, remembering the last time he was in this room consumed his mind. It was the weekend before he had left for Princeton. His father had demanded that John move out of the attic, the bazillion boxes of Christmas decorations into his now empty bedroom closet and put the yard junk in the spot his rusty chevy was leaving in the garage. The two worked side by side the entire day, and not even once did his dad act as if he would miss him. He appeared only to be interested in the vacant space that would house the furniture in the attic. Sweat trickling along his back, John wondered how his father had endured the extremes of heat and freezing temperatures in this makeshift office? John’s room was open. Why hadn’t he moved the desk and stuff there… what had his father been doing up here, and why hadn’t John ever asked him?

Wisps of dirt wafted up resembling breath from his feet as John traveled to the monster of a desk so reminiscent of its owner and investigated its contents. Two drawers were essentially empty, with just a few stray paperclips and pencils. The bottom drawer held several file folders with a few papers. But tucked in the back, he discovered a small journal. Plucking it from its hiding place, John saw a frayed elastic band keeping it closed-the leather binding worn and faded from use. Someone’s fingers had worried the edges of the front and back cover. Where had he seen this book? John’s mind flew to the Christmas he couldn’t find anything to get his father and then he recognized the little black book. The salesperson told John it was a Moleskine notebook. It made John think of those nasty critters’ dad hated in their yard. He imagined dad would enjoy that they made something out of them. The guy said no they don’t make Moleskine’s from moles; this is a journal where a man can dream. It sounded like a nice enough gift, so under the tree it went. Funny thing after his father opened it and said a simple thank you, John had never seen the book again. From its dog-eared appearance, it looked as if his father had carried it through a war. John undid the closure and turned to the bookmark. The words jumped off the sheet of paper.

“Dear Son, this letter is a long time coming, and if you are reading it, I must be gone.”

A shock wave rippled through John’s body and it knocked him off his feet right into his father’s waiting chair. Dear Son… I must be gone. His father’s words echoed over and over. His father’s handwriting covered the page, undeniable proof he had been the author. With numbness in his fingers, John held the book so that the words burned bright in the light from the solitary bulb swinging from the rafters.

“When a man gets to my age, you turn to look back. You see clearer the mistakes and victories of your life. I don’t know how long my old friend has been waiting on you. But I would like to start out by thanking you for this wonderful gift. I did some research on Moleskine’s after the Christmas you gave her to me (I think of this book as her, not just an object) I learned about the type of men who owned Moleskine notebooks. The men I idealized, writers, musicians, artists, and world travelers, they had their beloved Moleskine’s too. Somehow you knew my responsibilities kept me from pursuing my desires. You need to know I never cheated on your mother, and love her very much, but sometimes a man likes to share what’s in his heart with someone soft and yielding. The pages of Molly always welcomed me with open arms, beckoning me to reveal more. More than I ever did with anyone. Except you, you must have seen right through me. To have given me this treasure, a companion, a good friend.”

John read these words in a state of disbelief, shaking the cobwebs from his head. Seen his father? He had never witnessed this man. His father’s letter persisted in this vain definition of how much John must have known the hidden man inside his father.

“How having Molly gave me a place for my wanderings. She would lead me away. Away from the work and concerns of my everyday existence. My job was how we lived, but Molly gave me a way to express my joys, and frustrations. As you look through Molly, you will see your influence on each page. You were always an inspiration to me. My victories and failures are quite clear, but I count you as my shining achievement.”

A small tear fell on the yellowing paper. How had this man been his father? John always thought his father was too busy making money to care about anything else- a rough rogue of a man, uncultured, afraid of living. Had he said shining achievement?

“I was so proud when you pitched the shut-out for your Little League Baseball team, 23-0! But I was more honored by how you showed your team how to handle the times when you didn’t win. You, my Son are a true athlete. Watching you rebuild my old Chevy Camaro, putting so much time and effort into keeping it alive for me, brought me such joy. The day you received not one but 4 acceptance letters from Universities across the country, I thought I would bust. You were the first in our family to graduate from college, at the top of your class, with Honor Cords to boot! I never let your mother repurpose your bedroom, I always wanted you to know there would always be room for you in our home. It broke my heart when Sally left you, because I could see how in love with her you were. However, her leaving opened the door for Rebecca, and that union gave me a grandson. You are a great dad, and Johnny is growing into a fine young man. Just like his dad. Your life has its share of happiness and sorrow. But Son, that’s how a man marks the passage of his life. From my perspective, I see your life from birth to just last week when I heard you finally received the credit you deserved and got the promotion that includes the corner office. You have a life worthy of a Moleskine. So, it’s with love and a hope that Molly will be a comfort to you, as she has been to me all these years. I will leave her here in my desk to wait for you. The second half is blank and ready for you.”

John was sure he had his father pegged, but he had been wrong. As he flipped pages, there was story after story about himself and Pam, and their mom. His dad had logged in every memory with the care of a master painter, the laughter, the tears, they were all there. His dad had been an active and present force in their lives. How was it that John had missed the whole thing? Desperate to hold his emotions together, he went back to finish his dad’s letter.

“Besides Molly, I wanted to leave you a little something to help you pursue your desires. Every time I cashed my paycheck, I would buy you and your sister a couple of silver dollars. After 10 years I had to stop, but all things considered, I think they should add up surprisingly well. There are around 500 coins for each of you. Do you remember the treasure hunts I would set up for you and Pam? I loved seeing you both race around the yard looking for the clues. Because I couldn’t just leave the coins up here in the attic for anyone to stumble on, and it wouldn’t be too likely that any clues I left in the open would still be there waiting for you, I have left all the hints you will need right here inside my Moleskine Molly. Happy hunting, all my love, Dad.”