Not Yet Written

Brandy opened the mail that day. Her spontaneous, and frankly hilarious, vulgarity over seeing the certified check for twenty-thousand dollars was unforgettable. It only took her a moment to run into my office with a look of puzzled shock upon her face.

“Is this a scam?” She held the check up for me to see. Flipping it over to the back, and inspecting it, she continued to grow more excited. “For real, is this legit?” I offered to look it over, and she stood behind me as I read the enclosed letter.

“Seems I won the contest,” I explained, calmly. “It is definitely legitimate, yes.” Handing it back to her, I looked over the entire contents of the letter. My submission had been awarded the grand prize.

“You aren’t even acting the least bit surprised!” She was dumbfounded by my calm demeanor. “This is amazing!” Giving me a hug, she was near the point of bursting with excitement. “What did you write about? Can I read it?”

“Evidently,” I began with a grin, “I wrote the best love story they had ever come across.” Standing up from my desk, I walked over to my bookshelf, and picked up a small black notebook. Opening it to the first page, I smiled to myself, before tucking it into my breast pocket.

“Is that the story?” She asked, desperate to know what I had submitted that would be worth twenty-thousand dollars. Refusing to hand over the black book, I instead offered to take her out to dinner, and a night on the town. Not willing to concede entirely, she made me promise to tell her the story while we were out, if I was adamant about not sharing the notes from my book. I agreed, and we both readied ourselves for a night out.

“What’s the story about?” Brandy asked, as we stepped onto the subway. I thought for a moment, and determined that it would depend wholly on the reader.

“If you have someone you love,” I began, “The story will be one of romance, and the emotional connection shared between two people.” I ushered her towards a pair of seats, offering her the one nearest the window. Sitting next to her, I continued. “If you have lost someone, the story will be a somber reminder of them. Not necessarily sad, but more a beautiful glimpse into the past.”

“And, what if you’ve never loved, or lost?” She asked, still eager to know more about the mysterious story.

“Ah, well,” I started, “Then it’s a story of hope. It’s a story that gives the reader those wonderful butterflies we experience when we first meet someone.” I held her hand as I explained, enjoying the moment we were sharing. “The story can change, even for the same reader. If you were to read it today, you may experience it one way. If you read it in a few years, it could be different.”

Rattling and squeaking towards midtown, the relatively empty train car would be coming to our stop in a moment. I had chosen a favorite steakhouse of mine, just off Broadway. Brandy held my arm as we stepped out onto the subway platform. In her eyes, I could see her trying to navigate the explanation I had given her about the story. With an unsatisfactory result, she continued the playful interrogation.

“I’m going to read that book before the night is over,” she said, tapping my jacket pocket where the notebook rested. “If it was so good that it won a contest, I’m sure I will absolutely love it.”

“It is my best work,” I teased. “Simple, powerful, and with so much room for your mind to run wild within it.” It was only a few weeks ago that I had sat down in the coffee shop below our apartment to write it, so the words were fresh in my mind. Every new notebook I purchase is always acquired with purpose. This one was purchased to capture the greatest love story ever contained inside a few thousand words. To put down on paper something universal. A story that made each individual who read it feel something powerful, but unique. No two experiences would be identical. I remember thinking all of those thoughts as I stood in the bookstore, deciding upon the lucky notebook that would receive the honor of this project. I can say with certainty, and the verifiable proof of a twenty-thousand dollar check, that it was a success.

“Once we order, will you let me read it?” I knew she would not be able to hold out much longer, before the excitement overwhelmed her entirely.

“I promise,” I replied. The restaurant was not overly busy, and we were seated as soon as we entered the lobby. Our order was taken promptly, though I believe Brandy would have agreed to anything the waiter suggested if it meant she could get her hands on the story in my breast pocket. She looked across the table at me, after the waiter excused himself, all but begging me to hand her the book.

“So, we’ve ordered,” she said, coyly.

“It’s important that you understand,” I began, “This is the most important story I’ve written. It means a lot, to me. The emotions it conjures are potent.” Reaching into my pocket to retrieve the book, I sat it on the white linen tablecloth in front of me. Her eyes were fixated on it’s black leatheresque cover. Sliding the book across the table to her, she took a deep breath before opening to the first page.

Written on the cream colored paper, in a fine black ink, was the entirety of the story. A story of the start of a life-long love. A glimmer of hope for the hopeless romantic. The vivid memory of someone lost to time, brought back in an instant. An emotional journey whose beginning, and end would be crafted by each reader who opened the little black book.

And then, she smiled.

Brandy read the words, and then looked up to me. Blood had rushed to her cheeks as she understood what I had explained about the story.

“It’s perfect,” she said softly. I could tell she had crafted a love story framed upon her utterance of just four little words. “It has a happy ending.” Reaching across the table, I held her hand.

“Turn the page, Love.” Picking up the book, she lifted the last written page, revealing behind it a small hole carved into the remaining pages of the notebook. In this void, the glimmering white gold and diamond of her engagement ring sparkled once the light hit it.

“Oh my, God,” she said, stunned. Covering her mouth with her left hand, she took the ring from the book. “It’s so beautiful!” I held her hand and placed the ring on her finger, watching her eyes glisten with tears of joy.

“It would give me no greater pleasure in life, than to live out the rest of my love story with you.” I spoke softly, and sincerely. “Brandy, will you marry me?” Time felt frozen for a moment. The ambient sounds of the restaurant faded, and it felt as if only the two of us existed. Her hand clasped in mine, my pulse was racing. I had asked her to commit to a lifetime of my joy, my pain, my successes, and my struggles. To be the person I woke up next to every day. To be the person who would see me at my best, and most certainly, at my worst. The flurry of thoughts brought sweat to my brow, and dried my throat. I looked into her eyes, knowing she too was racing through these same considerations. Analyzing every emotion she had ever known or felt that related to me. Arriving at her conclusion, she met my gaze.

And then, she smiled.