The Little Black Notebook

From 80 yards away, I saw her get up, blazing braids beneath a mustard beanie. As I walked toward her gate, the place of my next flight, she stood in line dazed and swaying to invisible music. She disappeared down the airbridge at the same time I took a seat where she once had.

Settling in for a 45 minute wait, my green tweed jacket lay over two small brown leather bags, a gross contrast to the worn royal blue of Amsterdam's airport carpet. While scanning my surroundings, contemplating who would be the next victim of intense people watching, I saw it. There next to me, more complimentary to the dingy sea color, a little black notebook. Simple. Moleskin. Bound by one band vertically. Smooth cover, if not for dings and impressions made by keys and bag things.

Logically, I knew it was hers, but denying my desire to reach out and open the pages was a preposterous idea. Maybe I could identify that it was, in fact, this girls’, despite not knowing a thing about her. Perhaps it was just a book from the store down the hall, in which case it would pass the time. If luck had it, my winning lottery ticket was hiding inside.

My mind was made.

Denying: Preposterous.

I grabbed the chair arm for support as I leaned forward to scoop the book from the floor. Stretching the black elastic off the cover, I heard an announcement overhead, only to look up to the gate door closing. If this little book was hers, she was gone.

The hard cover opened directly to the front cream colored page with which “Wanderment” was written across in clear, swirling letters. Intricate designs and triangle structures played with bubbles and flowers across the paper. It was hers.

Everything was done in black ink. Excitedly flipping through this new discovery, I saw the theme rang true throughout. Never once did she stray away from the same black ink, but she did change the font in which she wrote. I stop on a page in which first she writes:

Perception

L I E S

In the eye

Of the Beholden

Only to follow with:

The universe is infinite,

Yet your existence is ephemeral.

A lifetime is nothing in comparison to a thousand more

And though your world may revolve around you

Our world can’t seem to fathom that idea

For the rock we stand on revolves a ball of fire

That is lost in space

Compared to a thousand others

And in all those lost galaxies

It is wondrous to think

That maybe

Just maybe

There is another being out there

Who feels as ephemeral as me.

Breath was gone.

My eyes flittered, scanning the room in silent bewilderment. Wrapping and re-wrapping my thoughts around how those words all found the same page. I read it twice more before sinking deeply into my mind.

There was no way a seemingly simple, hardly post-high school girl with fire hair and cozy clothes had that kind of grasp on life. And if she did, how could she have figured it out so fast? I’ve lived through love and loss, bliss and heartache. Trials and tribulations formed grooves in my life plan, and I taught myself to reach a goal. Warmth and comfort existed solely within a wardrobe and I- I’d never once stopped to ponder if maybe... just maybe... others also felt finite.

I was beside myself.

I wanted more.

Flipping from the back forward, the book wasn’t finished yet - merely three quarters full. The last page had only a simple doodle of a plane window. The page before, however, was littered edge-to-edge with scattered writings, loose scribbles of letters mixed in with harsh, bold statements. Amongst them was:

I dare not read ahead,

for the future is not mine to know until it is passed.

The way people make you feel,

you make people feel.

Words:

it’s such a fancy when you get them right.

“Don’t do drugs, kids”

Immensity isn’t Nefarious

this little black book binds a block to each blank page

that carries away thoughts I’ve yet even to say

Repeat: I am loving awareness

And in the bottom right hand corner, a box that read:

If lost; please publish.

Chuckling to myself at the absurd blatantly that this page was a product of some psychedelic session, I turned to the very back only to be met with more wall-to-wall doodles and, this time, a cardstock pocket. Curiosity once again capturing me, I unloaded the contents into my lap. There were at least five little notes of various scrap sizes, two full length letters, one black Vans sticker, a few bobby pins, and lo and behold, one lottery ticket.

Colorado Lotto+

8 11 3 5 37 24

Monday, June 14th, 2021

A subtle shock overtook me. Had luck had its way? The tickets’ pull date was set for that Wednesday, or in other words, yesterday in America.

The thud in my chest grew heavier just thinking of looking up the results. Sweat in my palms accumulated, thick and sticky, as I typed, “Colorado Winning Lottery Numbers,” into my phone's search bar. Clicking on the link sent me into a spiral of could-it-be’s and what-if’s. As the loading circle spun, my eyes and thoughts followed, growing more mesmerized by the moment.

And then it paused. And with it my thoughts. And I settle into one in particular.

And if it is? When the website loaded, my heart dropped..

Bold and glowing sky blue from inside the screen:

8 followed by 11.

Wait- What?

3 then 5.

No way...

37.

Is this happening?

24.

Holy shit.

$500,000.

If I thought breath was gone before, now I think I’m dreaming.

Blurry vision, deep breathing, and many hard blinks later, a mid-tone ping echoed through the air. “Boarding for flight 7-2-0 to Denver, Colorado is now open.” It was time to get up. I refilled the pocket of stuff with everything I had once spilled, including the winning ticket, grabbed my jacket and bags, then walked over to wait in line. As I stood, the journal once again found itself open in my hands with thumbs fiddling the corner of page June 12th, 2021. The nonsense page. My eyes stared at the words in the corner:

If lost; please publish.

I knew what to do next.