The missing piece

A breath of fresh air. That’s exactly what I needed. After spending endless hours stuck at my utterly uncomfortable wooden chair and half-collapsed on just as unbearably hard school desk, my back cramps are worse than ever. Three more years and I’ll be glad to leave this place.

I am about to enjoy taking a slow and grand step through the school gate, when I feel somebody grab my backpack and pull me forcefully back onto the school premises. My life flashes in front of my eyes, even the moments I would rather not remember if I am about to be abducted, but as I turn around my heartbeat slows down.

“Sorry Sid, I didn’t mean to.”

“You sure didn’t,” I respond to my neighbor Blakely sarcastically, knowing that she certainly wanted me to get scared to death. I’ve known her for all 15 years of my 15-year life and one thing I learnt about her is that she will do anything to make a fool out of me. I still like her though, her presence brings me calmness in a very weird way.

“You didn’t wait for me, I’m disappointed,” Blakely says exaggerating the fake sadness in her voice while placing her hand under my arm. I’ve already been through all that boyfriend-girlfriend trials and I can say it ended miserably. That was one of those unwanted moments that I vividly recalled in the instant of dread provided by Blakely herself.

“Excuse me, but you were the one chatting to your ‘besties’ for the past half an hour. I have better things to do than watch you laugh over the fact that Chloe bought an auburn-colored lipstick instead of a carmine one!”

“Well, your loss,” she responds. “Oh, by the way, you left the class before Ms Laring could stop your dashing self, but here you are.”

“Umm thanks, I guess. What is that for?” I say as she hands me a little black book that does not look any different from any other notebook I had ever owned.

“Just to take notes about your day. What you are happy about, your worries and all that. She will check if we have done it every day, so remember to keep it busy,” Blakely says and as she does, I hear a loud piercing “Chicaaaa” and she is off to her besties leaving me all alone again. At least she sends me a kiss as a way of saying goodbye.

I’m confused about the book. I don’t remember Ms Laring ever mentioning the task, but if Blakely says so it must be so. Nevertheless, I don’t really feel like my scribbles will be any good. I’m not that interesting after all, as opposed to the rest of my class who will most probably talk about how they had a great time socializing and being irresponsible as always. Not really my vibe.

After a very uneventful evening and equally normal and dreamless night, I wake up in a panic. Obviously, I overslept again. I could have predicted it, but I still have too much hope in myself and the fact that I will actually manage to get to school on time even once. I already know my day will be bad and even though I try to stay positive the fact that I won’t have time to pull myself together and eat a proper breakfast (who am I kidding, I would end up eating a pack of crisps anyway) is not aiding at all.

When I finally get out of the house, after what has felt like being in a sprinting race, I continue running through the well-known alleys and shortcuts in the hope of getting to class before Ms Laring appears. She hates when I interrupt and gives me detention, which means even more wooden chairs and back cramps.

Oh no. Ms Laring. The book. Damn.

I rummage my backpack begging to find it and when I finally feel the rugged paper, I feel a tiny fraction of relief. Step one done. I start scribbling down simple sentences like “I came home”, “I ate” and “I went to bed”, which are not appropriate for the task given, but who cares at this point. At least it’s done.

My watch says two minutes until nine. Nailed it. Then I suddenly feel a sharp pull and a tug on my backpack leading me to a darkened alleyway next to the school grounds.

“Blakely stop, it’s not funny, you’re going to give me a heart atta…” I don’t get to finish as I fall harshly to the ground wincing in pain, the book landing next to me. My backpack is gone. I kind of wish it was Blakely who attacked me again, I won’t lie, at least I would have an explanation for all that, but for now I definitely do not.

Silence. Not even a soul in clear sight. I guess I am late again then. Bearing that in mind I don’t bother standing up. Instead, I grab the notebook and have a brilliant idea of commemorating this moment in the history of my life as an utter failure for future generations to reflect on. Maybe also for Ms Laring to have something absorbing to read, different than my tedious scribbles from before.

I rip the page with my extra 'unique' evening routine out and am about to scrunch it when a beam of light from a single streetlamp falls on the paper from behind.

“What the …” I can’t stop myself as I realize the notebook may not be as ordinary as I thought it to be. Hundreds of miniature letters appear on the page upon encountering the light, some less clearly visible because of my illegible writing. Reaching to my left, I grasp the black book and hold each of the pages to the light. Every single one is fully packed with writing.

From my basic knowledge of science, I deduct that what I am seeing is invisible ink. Although at the same time I also can’t believe I am actually seeing it. I’ve only ever made it from lemon juice at home and I am not exactly sure it would be used to write, what looks like an ancient hieroglyphic document.

On closer inspection however, I realize I can read what is written. Although visibly aged by time, the lines slowly form letters, letters come together as words and words as full sentences. I am just as confused about that sudden discovery, as I am about the whole situation and I start questioning my entire existence when I stumble across a verse that particularly catches my eye.

“These words are addressed to Sigmund Anthony Newembath and he is to be the one to read them first.” That is me, but nobody calls me Sigmund, I just go by Sid. The situation is getting even more unbelievable but sitting here in the damp alleyway the only thing I want to do is to continue reading.

“I have always wanted to be a part of your life. Unfortunately, I never got to. I have never doubted you would grow up to be an admirable person and I cherish the thought that other people get to spend each day in your presence, marveling at the gift life has brought to us. Know that I am so proud of who you have become. I do and will always love you.

With all my heart,

Dad”

I start tearing up. My brain is like a muddled mess right now and I can’t think straight. Before I can control it, tears start falling down my blushed cheeks and I unashamedly cry. I never got to meet my dad, who passed away just before I was born. Nevertheless, I still feel like I know him just as well as I would if he was still alive. I’ve admired him all my life and now…

Beneath my dad’s hand-written words there is an officially sounding statement.

“This will is to certify that all the earnings and funds I possess listed below, I leave to my son, Sigmund Anthony Newembath, who I adore more than anything else in the entire world. Let this be the best start to his future life I could have ever given to him.

With all due respect,

Peter Aldrich Newembath”

Below, prominently visible is a sum of money with 4 zeroes clearly emphasized at its end. $20,000 is beautifully written in cursive.

My jaw has dropped to the ground and I am so shocked I don’t even realize I had been holding the piece of paper so strong that my hands have gone all white. The little black book is a testament. A will from my dad addressed to me. A will leaving me with an unbelievably large sum of money.

Going to school that day was not an option. I have already managed to forget about the stolen backpack and the rambling stomach that has not encountered anything edible since the morning, but the only thing I want to do now is ask Blakely about the origins of the notebook. Ms Laring could probably be a better choice as she was the one giving them out according to my friend, but the school is definitely too far away, and I have already seen Blakely return home. I run up to her door, ferociously press the doorbell and storm in when I don’t get an immediate response.

“Blakely,” I say while she is walking down the stairs. “What… How… The little black book you gave me.”

These are the only words I can muster up. To my surprise Blakely doesn’t show any signs of surprise, she only smiles.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” She says leading me to the back of her house, to our common garden. Sharing that space has always been nice, especially during warm summer evenings when we would camp and picnic there.

“Here,” she says.

We stop at the far end of the lawn, where the flowerbed has bloomed in all possible colors already.

“I was gardening one day when I stumbled across a wooden box hidden under the ground. Obviously, I had to open it. The book was in there. I was as confused as I imagine you were, but by complete accident I found out the secret message from, you probably know who by now,” Blakely says giving me a warm look. “I didn’t read anything more than the first line. I followed the instructions for the first time in my life.”

We both laugh knowing the quick-tempered and scatterbrained nature of Blakely.

“Thank you. That means a lot. More than anything else.”

“Who was it from Sid? Can you unravel the mystery now?”

“My dad. I have officially become the heir of all he had ever owned. Including the missing piece that had always been present in my heart. It is now complete.”