Long-Distance Relationship

June’s life sucked. At least that’s what she told herself as she seemed to wallow in her own self-pity. It had been a year since she finished college, and, as she perceived it, she seemed to be stuck in an eternal rut. After graduating, she hadn’t been able to find a job and was forced to move into her grandmother’s aging mansion, a property passed down through generations of her family, in order to save what little money she had left in her dwindling bank account.

Just five years earlier June had been accepted into her dream school, studying creative writing under some of the world’s most renowned authorities. She set her sights on becoming the next Pulitzer Prize winner, but her dreams had proven much harder in reality than within the limitless expanse of her mind. After several odd jobs following her graduation, June was now pushing papers at the local law office­–not the ideal role for a burgeoning New York Times Bestselling author.

June contemplated all of this as she stood in the attic of her grandmother’s home, searching through relics for a photo album that she had been sent up to fetch. As she looked around, she was shaken from her thoughts by the overwhelming feeling of grandeur that must have once emanated throughout the house based on the elegant furnishings that now decorated the attic. Each one covered in its own thick layer of cobwebs and dust. In other words, the lasting signs of former prosperity—a prosperity that had not trickled down to her.

Thinking of her family’s prior wealth only deepened June’s frustration at her current situation, she decided it would be best to focus on the task at hand—searching for the hidden photo album. With more than a dozen boxes rummaged through, she was about to give up when she spotted a leather chest clad in the protective layer of dust keeping objects hidden from the view of the outside world. As she opened it, June realized that it was filled with notebooks, ledgers, and the photo album that her grandmother had described.

Lifting the album out of the chest, June noticed a black leather journal sitting beneath. The notebook struck her as odd because it had not collected any of the antique dust as the other items in the attic had. Feeling her curiosity piqued, June raised the journal out of the chest and began to leaf through the pages—but they were empty. The lack of writing only seemed to make the journal that much more peculiar, and decided that its black luster might inspire her to write the next great American novel. So, clutching it under her arm she left the overcrowded room, shutting the door on what remained of her family’s treasures.

June then dropped the photo album with her grandmother, said her polite hellos to the guests in the sitting room and quickly hurried away to the solitude of her room.

Once in her room, she placed the glistening journal on her desk and sat staring at the newly unearthed treasure, thinking of the words to grace the first page. Slowly June opened the cover, grabbed a pen, and began writing. What poured from her wasn’t a beautiful piece of prose, but instead a rush of garbled emotions in regard to the mishaps taking place in her life ­– things that she had kept locked inside as she had no one to share them with.

After what felt like hours of mad scribbling, June dropped her pen and felt relief sweep over her. She then closed the cover of the journal, leaving it to ponder the words she had just shared.

The next morning June lay awake in her bed contemplating what she had written when a feeling of embarrassment washed over her­—she had to destroy the pages.

June jumped up, hurrying to rip the pages from the black journal. However, she was startled to see that her writing had disappeared and was replaced with an elegant scrawl. As June sat reading the new words, what unfolded was an enthralling adventure through the sands of Egypt on camelback.

With each exciting word June wondered how the tale had gotten there. Had she missed it upon her first inspection? Had she somehow written this herself? Was she becoming delusional after all of these years? However it happened , June was delighted, so she kept the pages intact and went about her day, reminiscing on the story as she went about her mundane life.

June later hustled home to reread what had taken over the pages. But once she opened the journal the text was gone, and a blank page lay before her. Thinking that she had officially lost it, she began frantically writing down her thoughts and raving at the absurdity of the strange story that had appeared. When she was finished, she slammed the journal closed and continued on with her evening.

Once again, in the morning June felt a sense of shame for her textual outburst so she went to remove the pages, and once again the strange handwriting had appeared, seemingly erasing all of her thoughts from the paper. Only, this time, the words in the journal seemed to be a response to her emotional sentiment. The words written on the page assured her that the tale involving the camel and the desert had been very much real and it was insulting to so rudely imply that the author had been a liar.

At that moment June had no doubt that she had cracked—the stress of her subpar life had finally broken her, and this was her descent into madness.

Shaken, but intrigued at what her subconscious would concoct next, June responded to the outraged writer, explaining that she was sorry for making insinuations and hoped that all could be forgiven. She then encouraged the author to continue on the story as she was thrilled to learn what had happened next in the adventure.

As she had done before, June closed the journal and left it to be scavenged the next morning.

Waking up and running across her room in record time, June threw open the black journal to find pages of beautiful script laid out. Devouring each syllable, June read the intricate continuation of the mesmerizing tale presented earlier.

Each day following, June read as the narrator told of breathtaking travels through foreign lands, exciting adventures with eccentric characters, harrowing run-ins, and of the invigoration that came with each. She was in awe of the beauty and power that emanated from this life so deeply lived—even if it was just her imagination.

In return, June relayed the details of her life and her misgivings about her situation. Rather than being met with pity, the writer on the other side of the page was equally astounded by June’s life as she had been with the authors.

Eventually the writer named herself: Eleanor. She explained she was a self-made woman of great riches, a rarity in her time, which June later came to discover was the year 1894. It was upon uncovering this detail that she officially declared her lack of sanity.

As Eleanor professed, she was astounded and pleased at the rights of women in the future. Instead of gawking at June’s life, she was thrilled at what women could do, Eleanor’s dissection of June’s issues began to change her mindset, and she started to feel a shift in her happiness. Could having this mental break actually be the thing that transformed her life for the better?

Over the next year the pair corresponded every day, sharing intricate details through the pages of the journal. Along the way June learned that Eleanor had no children and had begun writing down her adventures as a way to preserve her legacy for future readers, allowing them to be inspired by all that she had achieved. Upon learning Eleanor’s motivations, June started transcribing every story to be documented forever.

One evening while sitting at the dinner table, June’s grandmother asked her what the stack of pages she had been reading were. Instead of detailing her suspected breakdown, she explained that they were letters from her friend Eleanor. Upon hearing the name, her grandmother let out a reminiscent laugh and told June that the name had always reminded her of the story of her great-aunt Eleanor who had angered the family by hiding her fortune that was supposed to be passed down to her relatives. In fact, the house they now lived in had once belonged to great-aunt Eleanor.

June’s grandmother then got up and brought her the album she had been sent to look for in the attic. She pointed to a dark-haired woman with glittering eyes posed for a photo in the stiff style of centuries past. June could see the resemblance and wondered what made her aunt hide such a fortune. Maybe insanity ran in the family.

The following morning, June began her day by reading what Eleanor had written the night before. The text she found was shorter than usual, and she soon found that it wasn’t a story, but a goodbye. Eleanor revealed that she had fallen ill and due to her advancing age, she thought her last days were approaching. Although still suspecting that she was hallucinating, June couldn’t help but shed a tear at the loss of such a deep connection.

As she wiped her eyes she continued reading on, only to find a strange set of directions and coordinates. Eleanor went on to write that once June had reached the mysterious spot she was to begin digging, and there she would find $20,000 in gold coins buried in a locked metal box to which she provided the combination.

The letter ended with thanks from Eleanor for companionship throughout her final days. She told June that she must defy the odds and follow her dreams at whatever cost, for life is only what one makes of it. The final words read:

Perhaps we shall meet again in another existence and once again share the sweet memories that make life worth living.

With love, Eleanor

Stunned, June sat at her desk and stared blankly at the page. How could her subconscious create something so vivid and heart-wrenching? It made no sense.

After what seemed like hours, June decided to type the coordinates into her computer and wait for the map to load.. The pin dropped right in the center of her backyard. Now was the time to test her delusion.

Scoffing at her ability to create such an intricate story, June went to grab a shovel from the garage, went to the backyard, and started digging.

June followed the directions and dug a hole to what she believed was three feet deep, then got down to use her hands to lift away chunks of earth. Just when she had resigned herself to this all being a fantasy, her hand touched something smooth: metal.

June frantically uncovered what was buried beneath the ground, and to her shock it was a large metal box just as Eleanor had described. This couldn’t be real.

The box featured a combination lock to which she entered the numbers that Eleanor had shared. Closing her eyes, she heard the lock click as the lid opened. When she opened her eyes, June was astounded. Before her sat a heap of shining gold coins. She gasped as she touched them, assuring her that they were real—everything was real.

As June began crying out in joy, she noticed what looked like a piece of paper. She reached out and grabbed it, bringing it closer to her face. What she saw then was truly shocking and confirmed the reality of the situation. In her hand was a picture of a familiar dark-haired woman writing in a black leather journal. It was her great-aunt Eleanor, and the journal was currently laid in the grass beside her. Now her own adventure could begin.