Dear John

Grandpa sat in the brown chair as he usually did, jotting down random things in the little black book he always carried around. I asked him once why he never seemed to be without it, he just gave me a grunt and mentioned something about thanking him one day.

A few years later, he passed. I was twelve. He wasn’t a man of much, leaving only a few things behind: an old pipe, a trombone, the ring Grandma Polly gave him on their wedding day fifty years ago, and his black notebook.

I was sitting in the back of the car, overhearing Ma and Pop talk about things that didn’t make much sense to me. Ma sobbed a few times, still upset over the passing of Grandpa. I was upset too, but crying hurt my head too much.

“Hey,” Pop called back towards me. I looked up from the book I was pretending to read, I couldn’t focus amidst their grown-up talk.

“Pa left this for you,” he said while handing me the little black book Grandpa carried around. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to be rude; but of all the things Grandpa could’ve left me, he just left me with this book. Disappointed, I threw it in one of my drawers when we got home, not bothering to see what he was writing in it all these years.

She was a dream to look at—Shelby. Big, bright eyes with hair full of life and a smile that made you question if gravity even existed. I remember the first time she looked at me with eyes full of so much pride. Pride in being someone seen with me. But now I’m not so sure if she even wants to be in the same room as me.

On the far end of the couch, she sat looking over the pile of bills I never told her about. We were in debt. I wanted to tell her, I swear I did, but I just couldn’t. I was afraid to admit that I screwed up, things just got hard after we were all let go from the factory. Of course, I had a few jobs here and there. But not enough to cover the house, the car, the lights; I also had to prioritize taking care of our baby girl. But the silent tears that streamed down her face made me realize that all my logic didn’t matter—I should’ve just been honest from the start.

The silence between Shelby and I was becoming unbearable, I decided to take a step outside for some fresh air. The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky into a canvas of deep orange hues. A ray hit my face causing my breath to slowly slip away, vocalizing a wordless groan too deep for words.

Shelby left town for a few days, leaving me alone with baby girl. Not sure if she was coming back, although I hoped she would. Baby girl cried for the majority of the days, not used to Momma being gone. It was hard to focus on the writing I was trying to get done—letters. Letters to everyone I knew, trying to see if they might be able to spare a few bills to keep us afloat. It was only a matter of days before the bank claimed our house.

Around 9 p.m., baby girl started winding down. I gently laid her in her crib putting her to sleep. The only thing keeping me company tonight was the bottle of pop that was sitting in the fridge waiting for me to drink. I cracked the top open and sunk in the sofa, taking a good look around the home I might soon lose.

On the bookshelf, I noticed a familiar black notebook that I hadn’t seen in ages. I walked over to the bookshelf picking up the old thing, realizing that I hadn’t gotten rid of it. After all these years, I still hadn’t bothered to read it. Memories of Grandpa Joe started to flood my mind as I pictured him jotting things down whenever he could. One time, we were driving back home from the creek and he pulled over to write down a thought he said he just couldn’t get out of his head. The pages were old with the ink ingrained in the pages causing it to crinkle as it turned.

I read over each page, laughing at some of the things he wrote until I reached the last page which simply said, River Creek, John’s gonna need it someday. I closed the book, feeling special that Grandpa Joe’s last entry was about me, unaware of what that would even mean.

A few days passed, Shelby finally returned back home to me, said something about having a revelation during her time out of town. We had a passionate night. I missed her, and she missed me; our bodies made that known. The morning after, we decided to take a drive somewhere, she casually mentioned that we should take a drive down to River Creek.

River Creek, I thought it funny, remembering Grandpa’s last entry. Thought I might take a look around while we were there, wondering what I might find. It took us about an hour and a half to arrive at our destination. Shelby sat with baby girl on the bank of the creek. I watched as the sunlight hit her golden waves, causing it to shimmer like the finest gold. Baby girl was seated on her lap like a perfect cherub. My head leaned back against the oak tree that was next to the creek, grateful for what I had while it lasted. Things weren’t good, but they could be worse. As long as we had each other, I thought.

“There’s a J there, Baby,” Shelby said while taking a seat next to me.

I turned around, looking at the tree where there was a carved “J” which looked like it had been carefully inscribed there twenty years ago. Huh, I thought to myself. Another thought told me to look around the tree wondering what Grandpa might’ve left me here all those years ago. I walked around the tree a few times finding nothing in particular. Kicking the dust in frustration, my foot hit a rock buried deep within the dirt. As I kicked it, it revealed a hole small enough to fit a dusty, black box that must have been buried years before. An inscription let me know that this belonged to Grandpa Joe. Opening the black box, there was a glimmer of a stone I had once seen in my childhood nestled on the fourth finger of Grandma Polly right before she passed. Shelby and baby girl were laying against the picnic blanket taking in the sun. I looked over at them wondering if maybe this treasure could buy us some time.

The drive home was quiet, I drove a little over the speed limit, wanting to reach the shop in time before closing. Shelby didn’t comment on my driving, figuring maybe I was itching to get some food. I wanted to tell her, but at the same time, I wanted to surprise her. To see her look at me like she did all those years ago as her hero. The car screeched to a perfect stop in front of our home. Shelby was getting out of the car when I called out to her, “Baby, it’ll be alright.” She looked at me with those honey-like eyes and smiled, “I know.”

God, I loved her. After I saw they were safely in the house, I raced over to the trusted pawn shop a few towns away. The door chimed as I entered in right before closing. The man behind the counter had a scruffy beard and a leather apron as if he was getting ready to do some heavy work.

“How can I help you this evening, sir?” he greeted.

My hands fumbled in my pocket trying to find the box. I placed it in front of him, wondering if it might be enough to buy Shelby and me some time. He grunted as he opened the box and his eyes widened. He took out some special glasses to get a good look at the iridescent sparkles that were emanating from the crystal-like stone.

“Where did you get this, son?” he marveled, still unable to believe what he was holding in his hands. I didn’t know much about diamonds and things, I just knew I had one more day until the bank was coming for my house. “It was passed down to me. Is it worth anything?”

He looked at me in disbelief, wondering if I was being serious. It took a few moments of silence for him to understand that I was genuinely unsure of how much this rock was worth. I figured maybe a few hundred. “Son, this is well worth a little over twenty thousand dollars.”

When he spoke those last few words, my knees buckled from underneath. Twenty thousand was more than enough to save our house. It would pay off the debt, pay the bills, and allow us to have a warm meal again. I tried as best as I could to hold back the tears, but they streamed down my cheeks unapologetically.

That night I went home to Shelby and baby girl with twenty thousand dollars in my hands. Shelby thought I had committed a grand theft; never had she ever seen so much money. Her face lighting up with joy knowing that we were going to be more than okay is something I often replay in my mind whenever I’m feeling down. The next day we stopped by the bank and called up all the folks that we had to settle our debts with. By the end of the week, we were debt free. On my drive home from the last debt collector’s office, I decided to stop by the store. I walked through the aisles trying to find the section where you bought notebooks to write in. I scanned each shelf, unsure of which to choose from, until something caught my eye. My hand reached for the little black book that looked much like the one my grandfather left me. Since that day, I’ve written thousands of words. So much that Shelby suggested I be a writer. I didn’t think I would be any good, but a few years later someone thought my story was worth telling. I’ve published a few books since then and the thought of losing our home is no longer a fear. I think back often to what might’ve been if my grandfather hadn’t written down his thoughts or if I hadn’t followed in his footsteps. But then again that’s a reality I don’t really want to imagine and neither do you, now is it?