Book of Lies

Book of Lies

By LaShawn Baker

John watched the little girl skipping on the sidewalk from his upstairs window; her brown curls and blue polka-dotted dress with a white apron brought a smile to other wise sadden features. He smiled at her and stopped chattering to her invisible friend. From what he could see, her conversation seemed intense. He could not help but think back to a time in his life when he wasn’t like this. Her voice broke through his pity party. “Momma don’t want us talking to strangers.” Her invisible friend supposedly replied. Her little voice said, does he know you? Again she waited for a response. He laughed at the exchange thinking he wished he could return to childhood and his imaginary friend.

At that moment, her oddly colored eyes met his, her smile was knowing as if she recognized him. He stepped back not in fear but in shock it was like he was looking in the eyes of his past.

The little girl skipped on stopping at his gate. Her pale hand reached for the cold metal of the latch, again a chill ran up his back. The hairs on his neck stood at attention. Slipping on his house shoes he took to the landing outside his bedroom door. Gripping the old rotting railing to keep from falling. Stepping over the last whole he made on the first step. He made his way to the door.

Waiting at the door he was expecting a knock on the faded red door. The doorbell stopped working years ago. A few minutes passed and nothing came. Pulling back the tattered curtain and broken mini blinds he looked for the brown curly hair. Nothing? He rubbed his unshaved face, and matted hair. Pulling on the rusted door knob that tended to stick. Using his hip he pulled the door open to a small crack. Still he did not see her standing, on the old welcome mat.

Pulling the door open a little further and he stuck his head out to see if she was in the rusted swing. Still, nothing.. stepping out the door there were no signs of the little girl, stepping into the sun hurt his eyes and he was not sure what became of her. Turning to return to his cave he slipped ever slightly, on a little black book.

The book was old and frayed. The once rich black leather was faded. Picking it up he turned it over in his hands. What in the world he thought turning around he glanced up and down the abandoned street. No children, no cars, not even birds were singing.

The chill he felt earlier was no in his bones. Pulling his father’s old robe closed he closed the door with a slam locking the three locks he returned to his room.

Dropping the book on the bed he just stared at it. Walking to the window he looked once again for the little girl. He took a deep breath when he saw children and cars appearing on the once abandoned street.

He couldn’t put a name to the emotions he was feeling. He continued to look at the book like it was a , holding a conversation of what if’s in his mind. He questioned the appearance and disappearance of the child. He questioned the abandoned street and the reappearance of the cars and people. Again he looked at the book picking it up he turned the tattered and book over. The yellowing pages called to him but fear called to him even stronger.

Placing the book on the bedside table made of old phone books he said later I will look at it later. The sound of his voice seemed hollowed to his own ears. He retreated to the kitchen to make a microwave dinner.

As the sun set John made his way back to his room. He removed the book once again from the bedside table. Laughing out loud at his own action of the day he placed the book on the top shelf of his closet determined to put the day's event out of his mind.

Turning out the single light by his bed John drifted to sleep thinking of the little girl with the brown hair and hunting eyes, again he felt like he was looking into his past.

Two days passed before John saw the book again. However, it was not on the shelf in his closet but on the dining room table. Rubbing his hands through his thick wiry graying hair. The nagging chill that has lived with him since finding the book increased. Removing the book from the table John felt the pit of his stomach flip. Be it nerves or butterflies he could not look in the book just picking it up he felt as if the leather was burning his skin.

John threw the book in the trash, deciding enough was enough and he will not entertain whatever this was. Stepping to the already overflowing trash receptacle he pushed the book down as deep as he could. Pulling the red ties he closed the bag and sat it in the garage with the twenty others of bags he failed to take out on trash day. He added the book to the collection of bags. turning around he closed the door latching it three different times for security. John took a deep breath and walked up the old staircase overstepping the holes he put in them by accident. Sighing, he turned and looked at his childhood home. The once vibrant home was now reduced in a dilapidated condition that made the home truly unlivable. Even after neighbors voted to have the city demolished he was able to stay the home execution by proving its historical status in the community. Even though he never followed through he was saved from demolition. One day maybe but not today he said out loud to the faded photo of his father.

Looking closely at the photo John was struck with a feeling of awe . In his fathers pocket was a little black book.

No, it can’t be the same book! The book he tossed out was smaller, searching his mind as his thoughts raced he felt nothing but uncertainty at what his eyes saw and what his mind knew left him feeling unsure of what he needed to do next. He climbed the stairs slipping on the third step he fell forward trying to brace his fall. He failed slamming his head into the old banister losing consciousness.

He didn’t know how long he laid on the staircase, the sun was gone and the streetlight in front of his home was on. Pulling himself up slowly he ran his hands over his face he noticed a large knot, and tried blood. Some alarm rose in him but not enough to make him call someone. Entering into the bathroom he took in his appearance. his unruly hair, unshaven face, and the new knot was showing his neglect of his daily care. Turning on the tap of cold water he dabbed at the blood and winced, fuck that hurt, he said out loud. Throwing down the towel he stumbled to his bedroom and fell on the bed. Glancing around the room he took in the peeling wallpaper, and yellow ceiling. Turning on his side and sleep claimed him. That night he dreamed of the black book and brown curls.

In the dream the little girl with the brown curls and strange colored eyes was giggling and dancing around the bed chanting get up, get up, its time, its time! The little girl stopped her chanting to turn and look him directly in his eyes. Startled, he woke up sitting straight up in bed. What the hell? Looking around the room as if searching for her to be real. He turned to sit up, reaching for the glass of water he kept on the side of the bed his hand knocked off the black book. Pulling his hand back as if he was burned, his eyes rested on the book he threw away. Looking around again that feeling with

no name was back creeping its way up his spine. He reached out to retrieve the book he realized the book was opened to the first page.

Hello John, if you have this book you have a great journey to complete. Follow the signs and instructions of my journal and you will find my pot of gold.

John recognized his grandfather's handwriting. Getting out of the bed John ran to the photo he found earlier. I Need proof his mind was screaming. I need proof. Pulling to photo out again. He looked at the book and then at the photo. It was the same book right down to the gold writing on the front of the bound leather. “Journal of Jonathan Wyser Sr.”

John sat down in the broken arm chair. Looking in the end table he pulled out the last bottle of scotch. Not bothering with a glass he turned up the old bottle dust and all and drank the remainder of his fathers old habit. The burning taste set his empty stomach on fire. John never had a taste for alcohol before and this time was no different but he felt he needed to wake up from whatever nightmare he was in.

Looking at the clock on the wall 530 am and he was not sure if he even went to sleep. Taking a fade piece of paper and a pen he scribbled to make the pen produce the blue ink.

He began with writing down everything that happened to him since the little girl appeared in front of the house right down to the fall on the stairs. Figuring he had nothing to lose at this point he looked at the book turning to the next page of the book.

Get Up John, clean up, shave, and get your haircut for Christ sake. You look a mess. John felt that feeling again had the feeling but this time the feeling was not just eerie it was hunting. Those words, “for Christ sake cut your hair” was something only his grandfather would say. Turning to the next page it was blank an hour had passed and his curiosity of what next came up on him.

Stepping over the new hole he produced yesterday he went to shower and do just as his grandfather’s message stated.

Turning on the shower that had no hot water, since the gas had long been shut off but he had become used to the cold water. Showering and washing his hair he layered his hair and body with the same slim bar of soap he has been holding onto for the last several months to keep from going out. Stopping out of the shower he started to dry with the same towel he never washed. Preparing for the next step he pulled out his dad's old shaving kit taking the scissor he cut the beard down . He then took the straight razor. He lathered his face and prepared to shave away a year's worth of beard. His green eyes watched his face come alive, the dark brown curly hair was thick and the razor was dull, nicking his skin on more than one occasion. His transformation was not great but it was a start. taking the dull scissors and clipped as much of his unruly curls as he could without it being screwed up. Searching in his closet he found a pair of his fathers old Levi’s and a flannel shirt. Looking at the clock again the time was now 10 past the 11 o’clock hour. Searching for his worn out shoes, he knelt down and searched under his bed encountering years of dust and cobwebs, cursing at all of the mess he was seeing. He stretched until he could reach his shoe. Sitting back on the bed he dusted the dirt and cobwebs off of his shirt, knees and hands. He looked at the book on his bed. Turning to the second page of the yellow pages he found another inscription addressed to him. This time it read “Dear Stringbean, good job you look somewhat better in order to complete this journey you have to follow the instructions as they apply. Do not try to read ahead the way you use to do your reports for school. This is not a quick fix it's a process. The next step will appear as you complete each process. Go to our fishing spot and take a shoval.

John stood up, picked up his jacket and walked to the garage and found the shoval under all those bags of trash with each bag he moved he said a curse. Some of which he sounded like his grandfather papa John.

Starting his car John pulled out of the driveway, with the little black book. He drove to the old lake house and parked the car. still thinking what he was experiencing was a joke but what the hell he did not have anything else to do since losing his job.

Inhaling the scents of the lake he felt clearer than normal he smiled to himself and removed the shoval from the car; he thought of all the memories he made with his father and papa John. He felt the loss of them daily and of how much he missed this spot how much he missed them. He took the old boat to the other side of the lake to their spot and opened the book.

“Stringbean, under the bench I left you something. It's very important that you follow my instruction otherwise there will be nothing but your sweat to answer for and of course the memories. “

Taking the shoval to the old bench he helped build he started to dig, not really sure of what he would find but he followed papa’s instruction digging until he hit something. Pulling the item from the ground he dusted the dirt away with his hand. John read the inscription, to my future John II.

Brushing away the tears he sat staring at the book and the box. That unnamed feeling once again came upon him. Still disbelieving all he has undergone in the course of three days his hand began to shake.

Whatcha doing? a little girl's voice broke into his thoughts. Jumping up he dropped the book and the metal box to the ground. She had the same dress and shoes on. Her curly hair mimicked his same color, same curl pattern. He once again felt the sense of familiarity. She was sitting next to his vacated spot on the bench swinging her legs back and forth looking at the water.

Sit down I am not an alligator crocodile I won’t bite. She picked up the box and the black book and placed it on the seat next to her.

The phrase she used struck a nerve and a memory he had long since forgotten.

Finding his spot next to her he said, I am digging up a treasure. The little girl started laughing yep I guess you are. Who are you? John asked.

You don’t remember me John? He shook his head not trusting his voice or what he was seeing. Handing him the book she said, Papa John wants you to read what's next.

Picking the book up he opened the book to the next page that had writing on it.

“By now you are probably doing what you do best, doubt. Don’t fear and trust me like you did when you fell off the dock. I didn’t let you go then and I am not going to let you go now. Open the box and see the truth of who you are. “

John’s tears came as everything he said started to sink in. Papa John’s nickname for him was always Stringbean because it was the only vegetable he would eat as a kid. The fishing spot and the inscription in the book and on the metal box were things he would only know.

Looking at the little girl and her paler than pale skin, and the dark brown hair. said, who are you? looking at him for the first time she smiled. She did n’t say anything. She glanced at the box. Open it. ‘

Turning the box over he looked at the lock. I don’t…. his voice trailed off as she handed him his key ring.

Taking the tiny key he always wondered about was the exact match to the metal box. Opening the top he inhaled the musty smell of the contents.

Papers and pictures? he looked at her and back at the contents. He removed a photo of the little girl, she wore the same dress and shoes. It's you! he said louder than he should have. Turning the picture over he held his birthday on the back. Wait, that's my birthday, he said to her. She once again smiled up at him.

Pulling out another paper he saw an obituary with her face on it. Reading it he realized that she was his sister, his twin sister she died when she was four according to the obituary. Once again tears started to flow from his eyes. He had forgotten her; how did he forget her.

Her tiny hand took his and said read the book.

Wiping his nose on his sleeve he opened the book again. to the next page

‘’Stringbean, by now you have seen your sister and know you were a twin. When she and your mother died your dad came to live with me. I am sorry I could not tell you before now but I had to wait for the right time and it's important that you know your birthright. Your mother Lilia and sister Jessica were lost to us on your fourth birthday. We, your father and I felt it necessary to remove all thoughts from you by burying the past. When I lost your father a year later I never got around to telling you.

Much to my dismay I could not process the loss of your father, my son, and my granddaughter. I decided to bury everything including your memories. In this box you will locate my will and the key to a safe deposit box.

I am sorry for the lies but your pain of losing your sister and mother was so great we had you hypnotized to block the memories.

In the box you will see a photo of both your mother and sister as well as their obituaries, I will not go into how they died just know they loved you dearly.

I need you to go to my bank and ask to speak to Nadeen. She will provide you with my instructions.’’

Closing the box he looked at the spot Jessica occupied only to find her gone. looking at his hand and then the paper and photos in the box he was sure his mind would not break. Shaking he returned to the boat, making his way back to his car he sat and stared at the words. He wanted to turn the pages again but her ghostly white hand stopped him,

“Don’t brother, or you will not go any further on this journey and what is yours will not be”.

Looking at her face every memory that had been erased was now being pushed forward. Her bluish brown eyes showed him all he needed to know. Once again his tears were overwhelming. He was sure he did not know how to remember starting the car or driving through town. All he knew was he was sitting in front of the bank. Wiping his nose once again on his sleeve he hit the steering wheel. How could they do this he cried out.

People along the sidewalk stopped to look at his behavior, some pointed some laughed while others showed concern. He finally noticed people watching him and he pushed his hair back from his face and got out of the car. Walking into the bank he asked the guard for Nadine.

Standing by the door of her office he waited for her to acknowledge him. Mr. Wyser, please have a seat. I know this is very unexpected but I want you to understand that your grandfather was very specific in his request. Can you produce his little black book?

Handing her the book she turned to the last page of the book. Sir can you read the final inscription for me. Retrieving the book, he read out loud please?

“ Stringbean, I want you to know we did the best we could and all though I did not handle everything the way I should have with you. I die with regrets and loss and I hope this will make up for the life you are currently living. All my love Papa John’’

Nadine, never made eye contact with John, she walked to the back of the bank and returned with a safe deposit box. Closing the door to her office and pulling the blinds closed, she sat behind her desk and had him sign a receipt for the contents of the box.

John looked at the box, at the moment Jessica appeared at his side, her eyes met his for the first time he could place a name to the feelings he has been experiencing for the last few days. Hope, fear, confusion, and loss. As much as he wanted it to be one thing he realized he was that four year old child grieving the loss of his family, the pain and confusion of why he was the way he was. Her eyes displayed everything he was feeling. He teared up but refused to let them fall.

Her small hand touched his. Open it brother. Open it.

Pulling the top open, he stood up and backed away from the desk. Nadine excused herself from the office, gently pulling the door closed.

Jessica, encouraged him to sit down.

It's for you, Papa John wanted you to have everything Momma left you. He invested in it, he said, so you will have a better life.

Looking at Jessica he said, how much?

I didn’t tell you Papa would not tell me.

Looking at the receipt on his desk. He gasped, his voice was at a loss. Nadine reappeared with a large bag Mr. Wyser, I need you to make a few decisions concerning this account. Your grandfather transfers the balances to your own account. He has allotted a substantial amount to repair the family home.

I just need you to sign a few documents and the work can begin.

John looked at the pen with many more questions than answers.

Jessica, appeared at his side once again. Don’t ask, she whispered. You will only know what has been written. nothing more. Sign the papers brother.

Seeing his reflection in her eyes he knew she was right.

Signing the papers John's mind was reeling and he knew that his life was going to change.

As soon as the papers were signed Jessica curls disappeared. The black book vanished and Nadine walked him to the door. Instructing him to call her if he needed anything. She handed him a black leather briefcase stating that everything he needed for his new beginnings.

John walked to the car still in shock of everything that had transpired in the last three days. He once again returned to his home. Walking into the kitchen he placed the briefcase on the kitchen table. Saying out loud I need coffee. While waiting on the coffee he stared at the briefcase. Tilting his head to the left he had that feeling come over him once again. He recognized it. J.W. was stitched on the outside of the case just over the gold latch.

Opening the briefcase afraid of yet another family lie, he discovered photos of his family with a withdrawal receipt from Nadian, Mr. Wyser, I have enclosed $20,000 for personal needs according to your grandfather's wishes.

John took the money out of the bag. He wasn’t sure of what he was going to do next he just knew he would start with the garage.