Lingerlust

I

A child lays on his bed, waiting for his grandmother to tuck him into his covers.

Jnu

Bubi! Could you read me a story?

Bubi

We’ve made a habit of it; this is the fifth straight for the week.

Jnu gives a heartwarming giggle.

Bubi laughs.

Bubi

Alright, Jnu.

Jun, bright-looking, remains attentive to his grandmother. His eyes follow her as she sits alongside him.

Bubi

There was a young girl who lived on a small island. She enjoyed collecting shells from the beach to create jewelry that she could wear. One day, her father arrived home from work to find his daughter completing her newest set. Her father praised her work in astonishment and insisted that she share them with everyone on the island. She was open to the idea.

The following day, before she set out to share her creations with the island’s people, her father stopped her and handed her a rock. She stared at it blankly and wondered why he had given it to her. Her father said that it was a unique rock, then he told her, “You will kindly decline any form of compensation offered to you for your pieces. Instead, I’d like you to ask them to pour a single water droplet on this rock.” Confused but eager, she agreed and began her trip. The young girl spent that entire day visiting the islanders, who were ecstatic to see her and receive the beautiful jewelry pieces. They pleaded with her to accept their various forms of gratitude, but she humbly refused and asked them only to place a single droplet of water on the rock.

A year passed, and the young girl remained consistent in her craft. She paid regular visits to the islanders and accepted the water droplets as the only form of gratitude. Upon returning home from handing out her last piece of jewelry, she found that the rock had begun to crumble. Overwhelmed by the thought of destroying what her father had entrusted her with, she rushed home to tell him. Her father reassured her that it was natural, merely the result of the consistent water droplets that, over time, wore away at the rock.

He took the crumbling rock in his hands and broke away the outer shell, and he showed her what lay within the core. The rock he gave her was kimberlite, and inside were diamond deposits. The young girl, agape, immediately worked on her jewelry. Her father asked her what she was doing. She replied, “Now that I have those diamonds, I can create even better pieces. You think I can sell these ones to the islanders?” Her father smiled. “I was hoping you would. Of course, you can.”

Jnu

Does she still make jewelry?

Bubi

Oh no, her days of making jewelry are long over. She made enough money at a young age to travel the world and eventually decided to settle down and raise a family.

Jnu

I love your stories, Bubi.

Bubi

Do you, now?

Jnu

Mmmhmm. I want to create stories just as amazing as you.

Bubi

You know, storytelling comes from a level of wisdom. What wisdom do you possess?

Jnu thinks deeply.

Jnu

Hmm. Well, if wisdom is found in stories, then they have depth and meaning. Depth and meaning come from the storyteller’s ability to reflect on their own identity.

Bubi draws back in amazement.

Bubi

And you’ve formed an identity?

Jnu feels discouraged.

Jnu

I don’t think I have, but I will work on it.

Bubi leans in to kiss Jnu’s forehead before making her way out of his room.

Bubi

I know you will. Good night.

The room goes dark.

II

Morning breaks, and Bubi enters Jnu’s room with enthusiasm in her tone and a tray of breakfast in her hands.

Bubi

Happy Birthday, Jnu!

Jnu groggily wakes up to the sudden startle.

Jnu

I’m not hungry.

Bubi places the tray down on his desk and motions towards the window, opening the curtains. The sunlight blinds Jnu.

Bubi

Well, work up an appetite cause it’s hot, and I made your favorites.

Jnu gets out of bed lackadaisically.

Thank you.

Bubi reaches into the pocket of her cardigan to pull out a wrapped rectangular present.

Bubi

This is for you, Nu.

Jnu’s curiosity washes away his apathy. He rips through the wrapping, revealing a small black book and a pack of pens.

Bubi

I figured this would help you on your journey of becoming a storyteller. The key is to write all of your thoughts and experiences, and only when you fill it up will you be ready to create your first story.

Full of joy, he runs up and hugs her with all of his strength.

Jnu

Thank you, Bubi.

Bubi

Oh, you’re welcome. I can’t wait to see your progression. Now, go finish your breakfast. Let me run downtown to grab a few things. I’ll be back a little later.

Jnu

I love you.

Bubi

I love you, Jnu.

Bubi leaves.

Left alone, Jnu sits and ponders the first thing he’ll write in the book while eating his breakfast. Finishing up, he comes to a decision. He grabs the black book, opens it to the first page, and writes on the top.

Jnu

Identity: I am a writer. I create stories.

Jnu glances at it and then repeats the same claim on the following pages. Time passes before he reaches the last page of the book.

Jnu feels content.

Jnu

A reminder of who I am at the start of every page I write on.

The doorbell chimes. Jnu becomes wary of who could be at the door. Walking out of his room, Jnu peers through the window to see two police vehicles parked out front. He opens the front door and is met by two police officers.

Police Officer

Hi, is this the residence of Euphony Nader?

Jnu

Yes, that’s my grandma.

Police Officer

Are there any adults that we may speak to?

Jnu

No. Besides my grandma, I am the only one who lives here.

Police Officer

So you’re Jnu?

Jnu

Mmmhmm.

The police officers take off their hats and reveal a cake with writing on it:

“Happy Birthday, My Beloved Jnu.”

The officers then tell Jnu that his grandmother was involved in a car accident; she died from her injuries on the way to the hospital. In denial, Jnu runs into his room, awaiting his grandma’s return. The reality sets in when she doesn’t, and it begins to overwhelm him. Outraged and no longer able to hold back his emotions, his expression takes on the form of violently wrecking his room.

As his eyes meet the black book on the desk, he unwittingly slings it across his room. Instantly regretting it, he picks it up to find the back cover partially ripped from the spine. He stands in grief as someone knocks on the door. Jnu opens it to find a social service agent ready to comfort him.

III

Jnu relocates to an orphanarium, where Jnu organizes his room similar to his at grandma’s house. Sorting through a box of miscellaneous items, he grabs the black book that his grandma gave him. Melancholy weighs heavily on him at the sight of it, so he decides to put it back into the box and slides it underneath his bed.

Losing his grandmother takes a toll on Jnu, so he turns to find solace in books, but they do not elicit the same feelings as his grandma’s stories did.

During his creative writing class, Jnu’s teacher hands back packets of graded writing assignments. Reaching Jnu, the teacher hands him his previous work with no grades, only a comment in red ink stating ‘stay after class for a discussion.’

When the bell rang, all of Jnu’s classmates leave the classroom, and he remains.

The teacher sits on the edge of his desk.

Jnu

I want to start by saying that you’re doing a phenomenal job in this class, Jnu. I mean, your creativity grows with each writing assignment, but what astonishes me is your fundamentals of writing. I’ve never seen progression at the rate you’ve shown from any of my students.

Jnu is shocked. He was expecting the opposite, so he says quietly:

Jnu

I hope you don’t take offense, but couldn’t you have commented that on the assignments?

The teacher walks over to Jnu and hands him a flyer.

Teacher

None is taken. I wanted to tell you that I am on the board of a highly exclusive writing contest, and you’ve shown me that you deserve an entry spot.

Jnu’s eyes light up as he reads the flyer.

Teacher

The entry fee is $1000, and the submission must be presented at the end of the month. Keep in mind that the entries...

Jnu

... won’t just be viewed by the judges of the contest, but by publishers as well. The grand prize is $150,000!

Teacher

You catch on quick. Well, I suggest you get a move on. You don’t want to lose what limited time you have.

Jnu

Right.

Jnu runs out of the classroom to catch the bus back to the orphanarium. Once he’s back in his room, he grabs the black book from under his bed and sits at his desk to write.

IV

For the next month, Jnu takes the black book with him everywhere he goes. Jnu was willing to lose sleep; his newfound drive allowed him to save all the money he needed to cover the entry fee. At the end of the month, the black book had gone through its wear and tear; it fulfilled its purpose for Jnu, and he completes his story.

As the bell rings to dismiss the students, Jnu walks to his creative writing teacher and hands him an envelope containing his submission and entry fee. His teacher wishes him luck and informs him that he’ll receive the results in a few weeks. The exhaustion catches up to Jnu, and he spends the weekend asleep.

The weeks pass slowly, but eventually, the teacher calls Jnu aside and hands him an envelope.

Teacher

Open it once you get home. I won’t spoil it, but you made a heck of an impression. I knew I made the right choice.

Once he is back in his room, Jnu nervously holds the envelope in front of him. He pulls out the contents and lays them on his desk. The first page is a certificate recognizing his work for placing fourth. Bummed-out, Jnu takes a moment to accept the outcome.

Looking beyond the certificate, Jnu’s heart suddenly leaps at the sight of the propitious contract offers from all of the publishers that viewed his work. Jnu reaches for the black book inside of his backpack. Yanking the book out, the inside of the bag catches the back cover, completely ripping it off the spine.

He grabs it and notices a hidden pocket. Inside, Jnu finds a letter, a check for $20,000, and a photo of his grandma when she was younger.

The letter reads:

Jnu,

If you’re reading this, you have found the diamonds within the rock I gave you. I want to let you know I’m very proud of you for having gone through what you did. You’ve stuck to your word, and this book is now a testimony to that. I’m more than certain that you’ll create a vivid identity, not only for yourself but one that’ll reflect in your stories. As a reward for your accomplishment, I’ve enclosed a check. I leave it to you to decide how you intend to use it.

Forever with you,

Grandma Euphony

Jnu wipes tears from his eyes. Looking at the picture, he notices the seashell necklace on the girl, smiling at him from the island where she grew up.