Chance encounters.

Theodore sat on a bench in the enclosed bus terminus - earphones in ear - head bopping slightly to the rhythmic thump of the bassline to Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’. He was lost in his own world of catchy punchlines and enticing ‘bars’, but not so lost that he didn’t notice the old lady who had recently arrived at the same terminus and was waiting outside in the winter cold hunched over her walking stick.

His upbringing made it such that there was no way he could see her standing there in the cold while he had a sheltered, somewhat comfortable seat inside the terminus, so he did what he thought any respectful young man his age would do...he stood up and walked over to offer her his seat. Upon reaching her, he couldn’t help but notice how diminutive she was. His 5’9 lanky frame seemed to tower over her frail, grey haired figure. 

“Would you like to have my seat Ma’am?” he asked in his soft, baritone voice with a tinge of an English accent. She looked up at him and for the first time he noticed her startling blue eyes, made even more so by her otherwise nondescript features and dressing. It was as if everything else about her was in greyscale, and her eyes were splashed on with highlighters.

Lost in wonder for a moment, he didn’t hear the first part of what she said next, but only the finishing “...nice young men like you.” Not having heard what she had said, but also not wanting to seem as if he wasn’t listening, he fell back on the good old ‘smile and say thank you’ when what the person said was probably a compliment. It seemed to work because she smiled back and quickly trotted to his now vacant seat and sat down.

Her bus arrived first and as she was walking past, she paused next to him, smiled a big beautiful smile and said, “be careful what you wish for” before moving on to catch her bus. An odd and vague statement. Still confused by what she had said, he turned back to the now vacant seat to see that she had left behind a little black book. He quickly checked to see if he could try to wave the bus down, but it was far gone by the time he noticed the book had been left behind. He picked it up with the intention of immediately checking for contact information, but was struck by the book’s strange and elaborate design. Its cover felt like leather, but a soft and supple kind like he had never felt before...so soft that he was afraid heavy contact would start to wear it thin. The leather itself was etched with small, diamond shaped markings scattered across its entire surface. The cover’s only other adornment was a golden circle intricately embroidered on the front cover with what seemed like silk string.

He opened the front page to see if there was any contact information but all he found was a yellow note stuck to it. It read, “For the small kindness you showed me, I repay in kind Theodore. This book is now yours to write in as you please.” He looked around, perplexed. How did she know his name?

Puzzled, he turned the note over in his hand to see it had more writing on the other side, reading “P.S. the truth tends to work best.” Filled with curiosity and slight apprehension, he flipped through the pages to see what the book was all about. The pages were all devoid of lines and writing, and their texture was similar to that of the pages in a sketchbook...thick and calloused. 

To write in as he pleased? 

Theodore didn’t journal much and even if he did, he knew having lines was an immediate advantage for any type of notebook, so this gift seemed lackluster to him. Not being one to turn away gifts however, he pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket and started to write his Instagram name @cool.theo3 on the front page. The pen wasn’t writing. He shook the pen while holding the bottom to try and get the ink to flow to the tip, then tried writing again to no avail. 

Slightly frustrated, he turned to the back page and scribbled on it to get the ink to flow over the air bubble and reach the tip; failing for a third time. He could see there was ink in the pen’s refill but it was refusing to write. No matter. He pulled off his backpack and dug blindly for a spare pen somewhere below the mess of books inside, feeling for it with his fingers as a monkey would feel for insects in a dead tree hollow. First contact made, he wrapped his fingers around the stem and pulled it out. Mission accomplished, he was back to trying to make an identifying mark on the book.

He nearly threw the pen away in frustration as it failed to make a mark. He once again tried the methods of making an uncooperative pen work and still it did not write. A thought struck him that it might be the pages and not the pens that were making writing in the notebook so difficult. At first glance, they looked just like any sketchbook pages and on closer assessment, nothing changed. There was no reason writing in it should have been a challenge.

In a last ditch attempt, he took up the first pen and started writing his first name and to his surprise, the ink flowed and it wrote out beautifully...well, as beautiful as his scarecrow handwriting could be. He smiled at himself, pleased at the minor accomplishment of making a pen write. It occurred to him that this time round he had written his real name and not an internet stand-in for it. The thought ‘the truth tends to work best’ floated to the forefront of his mind as that realisation hit home.

To try out his theory of 'truth writing', he began to write “I want $20 000 to buy a car” and simultaneously, an unfamiliar notification pinged from his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket and looking at the notification, his jaw dropped as he read its contents. $20 000 had been deposited into his bank account. 

What fun he was going to have with his little book of truths.