Five

All I wanted was a journal that day. I had no intentions on any major life events on that crisp September afternoon.

That changed when I walked into the Last Drip bookstore.

Basketball practice ended early that Wednesday afternoon.

Maybe I should’ve played worse defense today. Maybe I would still be practicing. And I could delay going home.

“You’re walking really slow to your car Josh,” Benny joked. “Avoiding studying for the Calc exam?”

“Oh yeah,” I tried to joke. “Don’t want to get in too big of a hole already.”

I got into the car and started it at a snail’s pace. I would say that I’ve never driven slower but that’s a lie. Since I’ve gone back to school, I haven’t wanted to leave. My house was the prison and school was the closest to home I got.

The yelling stopped but the tension was still there. So just like mom and dad, I wanted to practice avoidance too. Avoid my house for as long as I could. Avoiding is my biggest fault and an earthquake was on its way.

As I was driving like it was a Sunday and I was the only one on the road, I knew I did not want to go back.

Hmmmmmm…. How do I kill another 25 minutes?

My eyes locked on to the Last Drip. I decided it would be a good call to stop in there for a bit.

Why not kill some time? Even if I don’t see anything I like, I can buy a book for Sarah.

The bell above the door alerted the books that I had arrived. I felt the spines of the books staring me down. Judging me even. They were clearly confused with me at the bookstore. To tell the truth, I don’t blame them.

Why did I ever stop reading? Once high school started, the pages ended. It’s not like I couldn’t balance basketball and reading books.

My thoughts were gladly interrupted by the autumn haired cashier whose wolf lanyard read “Alice.”

“Welcome to Last Drip,” Alice greeted. “Can I help you find anything?”

“No,” I muttered. “ I am just looking around for something to catch my eye.”

“Well if your eyes need any help, just let me know.”

I politely waved and went on my way. The fantasy section was calling my name. Fantasy had always been my favorites growing up. Even though my world was perfect, I always wanted to go through a closet or wall to a different world.

Why is it now that I am not finding my way into these worlds when my life is falling apart?

Some of my old favorites popped out at me like Winter Wars by Mallory Jormon and Knight Mode by Bobby Jason. Of course the classics were there as well. As I stared back at the spines, one looked completely different. The coal spine had nothing on it. Completely blank.

Hmm.. That’s pretty cool. I’m intrigued now. Let me check this out and see what it is.

The coal color covered the rest of the book. While it looked coarse, the smooth leather felt comforting in my hand.

I don’t know what this is but I can’t really put this down. It just feels too smooth in my hand. Maybe I should see what it's about.

And that’s when I finally saw the name etched on the front in a bright yellow.

Five.

When I opened Five, I was greeted by emptiness. Nothing but lines.

This must be a notebook. The therapist my parents have me call told me to write my thoughts in a journal. It can’t hurt I’m sure. I just don’t want any of the guys to see it of course. Most of them wouldn’t care but I don’t want to deal with John’s awful jokes. He always thinks he can bully us around just because he won the New England Basketball Coalition Contest. He went around bragging about the cash prize afterwards. Although, I’d rather be at his place tonight for our team dinner than at home.

When I went up to the counter, Alice was perplexed.

“Where’s the price sticker on this thing,” she wondered out loud. “Mr. Worth and I never forget about it.”

I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard her say “There’s not even a title on here so I can’t even look it up.”

“Wait, doesn’t it say Five on there?”

“No, there’s nothing on it.”

When I looked again, I didn’t see anything on it. There was nothing.

“Well, since it’s not in the system, just go ahead and take it.”

I thanked Alice and went on my way reluctantly. When I held the journal, I forgot all about my rush to avoid going home. I can’t really describe how that happened but it did. Maybe this journal would help with some of that avoidance.

However, the journal did not step on the gas pedal. I crawled through the intersections, making sure to wait a full three seconds at each stop sign. When I pulled onto Skyhill Terrace, my wishes came through and I had a delay. My car just stopped.

Great. Be careful what you wish for I guess. This isn’t what I had in mind for a delay getting home.

I knew mom or dad wouldn’t pick up so I went to look myself. Not that I had or have any idea what I’m doing with cars. It isn’t even my car, it’s my grandfather’s that he lets me drive. Well as long as I bring him to Bingo on Wednesdays at 6.

I do know that some light smoke can’t be a good thing. Under the opaque haze, I saw a belt hanging down. Under my desperation, I decided to try to reach down to fix it. Big mistake.

As soon as my hand went in between the ever shrinking crack, I felt a sharp sting. My reaction was to pull my hand right up. Of course, the sting spread and soon my hand was rose red. The scratch wasn’t severe but at the time, my hand felt like it went through a meat grinder.

Shit. No car and a bloody hand.

I went in my passenger door and put an old shirt over the cut. There was still some blood dripping but not as much. I grabbed my journal and went to lay down in the grass next to my car. I was defeated. I took the journal out and decided to why not now?

I hate that I have to deal with this old piece of shit car when mom, dad, and Becky get to live like nothing is wrong. All I want is a new car. As I said this, blood dripped on the journal. Oh and my hand stings like Hell. Wish it was better.

As I closed the journal, I felt the dam that are my eyes about to break. I closed them to prevent that from happening. About thirty seconds later, I opened them to see my car gone. In its place was an ocean colored Subuaru.

“Where is the car?” I asked myself as I took my keys out.

Wait, my bottle opener from grandpa isn’t on here anymore. These are different keys?

I hit the unlock button and sure enough, this car beeped. I went in to look at the registration. It read “Adam Brake.” My dad’s name.

How the Hell did this happen? I wrote in the journal and…. The journal. I asked for this in there.

Sure enough, the journal was blank. No words, no blood. Nothing.

Once I got home, I began writing for the next few hours about what I wanted. A hot tub. A new house. My parents to stop fighting. And once I did that, I sat in my same room, no hot tub outside and the constant screaming from downstairs.

Why isn’t this thing working? I asked myself as I was chewing gum. I decided I’d try it one more time tonight.

It would be really nice to have a lot of money. $20,000 would be nice. I could save that to move out the minute I turn 18.

As I was thinking of the places I could go with that money, my gum was replaced by my tongue.

I hate this iron taste in my mouth, I thought as I spit it out. It landed right on my journal. I tried to dry out my journal and then closed it.

Oh well, at least there’s a new car.

My eyes were not far behind the journal. When they opened again, I realized it was almost time for the team dinner at John’s. As I went to put socks on, I found an envelope my dad must have left on my desk. I didn’t notice the NEBC logo on the front. Instead, I fell to the ground when I saw $20,000 addressed to me.

I ran downstairs to a peacefulness that has not been in this house in years.

“Hey Josh, where are you headed?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, the team should be here any minute!” Mom gleefully stated.

“No mom, the team is going to John’s,” I corrected. “I was going to drop gramps off on the way.”

Mom teared up.

“That is not funny Joshua. Don’t make us cancel your team dinner,” Dad demanded.

Confused, I went to call Gramps. His number wasn’t in there. As I was scrolling through, I didn't see John's number either.

“You know I still miss your grandfather every day,” Mom cried.

I ran upstairs and laid on my bed. Just then, I noticed the laminated card on my desk.

Jason Bradley 1952-2020.

When I looked through my photos, trying to find gramps and I, I saw the screenshot.

John Ryser sentenced to 20 years in botched robbery resulting in two dead.

As the confused tears streamed down my face, the black journal stared at me.