Your Words Matter

The day started out like any other. Cassie stirred in her sleep as her body awoke her from her slumber. Instinctively she reached for her phone. 6.35am. She sighed and rolled back over. She didn’t need to be at work for another two hours. She sat up, stretched her arms above her head and pulled back the covers. She reached for her make up bag and began her morning routine. Cassie was relatively pretty so her routine did not take long. She carefully placed a light layer of foundation over her olive skin, and applied mascara to her dark eyelashes. She pondered the day ahead of her as she brushed through her mousy brown, wavy hair.

‘Damn another meeting with Sophia and her parents’, she remembered. Sophia was a fifteen - soon to be sixteen - year old girl who was possibly the most spoilt teenager she had ever met. Her company had assigned her to manage her upcoming Sweet 16 party and to say that the parents expected nothing less than the world for their daughter was an understatement. Cassie knew she had been assigned the job because her customer service with second to none. Although Cassie was good at her job, event management was not something she saw herself continuing into her future. She, an English lit major, was searching for something more fulfilling to her.

Noticing the grey clouds in the distance, she grabbed her umbrella as she left the house. It was not long before she was thanking herself for packing that umbrella, for no sooner than she reached the foreshore walk, the light sprinkle began. It was then, that she saw it out of the corner of her eye. Nestled into the side of a bench, wedged in between two panels of wood; a small black notebook.

It was easy enough to overlook, even for somebody who sat on the bench. At first she intended to pass it by, what importance could it really have? But the further away she got from it, the more a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach grew. As the metres between her and the book grew, her mind ran wild imagining what that small black book could contain. Could it be notes - whether from a lecture, or training at work? A weekly planner filled with school appointments and the never ending to do lists of a busy working mum? Or what about a financial log of a small start up business?

‘Don’t be silly Cassie, nobody keeps written financial logs anymore - no matter how small a business is’, she ridiculed herself.

Curiosity got the better of her. Within a split second, she turned on her heel and marched directly towards the book that drew her. She figured she would glance at it, determine what it was, and then proceed to get on with the day ahead of her. She opened to the first page and began reading:

‘I feel inspired by a Van Gogh exhibition I went to today. He was such a tortured soul, but there was so much beauty & genius that came from his creativity. I wish I knew how to express my creativity in the ways he did. As time passes me by I feel as if the purpose to my life is dwindling and that I will never find it.

Van Gogh didn't realise the impact of his life, words and art - that we would still talk about it in hundreds of years to come - yet we do. Will one day my words be out there for the world to see? Maybe this here, this journaling, is the purpose of my life, and maybe I won't be around to 'realise it' or 'see it’.

She looked up from the bench and saw a ray of sunshine pierce through the clouds and hit the beautiful turquoise water which lay before her. ‘Not a bad place to ponder life’, she thought to herself, as she imagined the author sat down on this very bench looking at the same view as they wrote. She continued to read, but her phone vibrating in her pocket jolting her back to reality. She looked at the time as it rang “Shoot I’m late for work!”, she exclaimed as she jumped off the bench. She held the book in her hands contemplating what she should do with it. She knew it wasn’t her property, but she could not shake the words out of her mind. There was something about the written word too she found fascinating. Words, hand-written, rather than typed are a rare occurrence to come across nowadays.

“I’ll take the book, read it, and drop it back on my walk home”, she negotiated with herself. “I’m not stealing, I’m borrowing!” She stuffed the book in her bag and continued her commute.

Her morning passed by uneventfully but she couldn’t stop thinking about the book. She found herself opening it at her desk under the table and sneaking to the bathroom to read another entry. Lunch time rolled around and she took herself to the nearby gardens to continue her reading uninterrupted.

An hour later, she called her assistant and cancelled her afternoon meetings. “Yeah, I, uh.. I’m not feeling too well. I’m going to go home and work from there for the afternoon”, she fabricated.

She lay back down on the soft grass and opened the book back up to the page she had been on. By the time she reached the end of the book the sun was noticeably lower and there was a slight chill in the air. She couldn’t believe the magic that lay inside this book. Magic that quite easily have been completely lost if she were to not find the book. Memories, experiences, life lessons, reflections. So much had this individual to share with the world, yet her words were hidden away in this little black book. For the first time in many years, Cassie felt inspired. She wished she could tell the author what her words had done for her life. She flicked to the last page and saw an address:

Alice Owen

62 Ocean Parade

She knew what she must do and soon enough found herself walking up towards a big yellow door with the number 62 nailed into it. She hesitated as she reached out towards the rusty metal doorbell.

'What am I doing?!' she thought to herself and turned to leave the property. As she reached the gate, she heard a lock being opened from inside the house.

“Excuse me!”, the deep male voice rang out.

“Oh.. hi!” Cassie mustered as she turned back around. She hadn’t thought about what she would say to Alice, let alone to the young guy that stood at the door that lay before her. He was tall - maybe around 6ft. He wore beige chinos and a light blue linen shirt which hung loosely. It was obvious from his messy brown hair and un-ironed clothes that he had not been expecting company today. “Who are you?”, she blurted out.

“I should ask you the same question. You’re the one that came up to my door”, he curiously responded.

“Oh, right, yes. I’m Cassie. I’m looking for somebody called Alice..?”, she queried. “Alice Owen?” His face dropped.

“Maybe you should come in”, he responded with a pained look on his face. He held the door open and waved her inside.

The house itself was old. The floorboards creaked as she followed him into what was left of a living room. There was a red leather sofa and a small wooden coffee table, surrounded by big brown boxes filled to the brim with books, candles, and other household goods. The high ceilings exposed the emptiness of the room.

“She had a lot of stuff”, he stated the obvious as he caught me looking around. “Truth is, I don’t think she saw it coming. 94 years old and convinced she was still 65,” he chuckled. Cassie returned his gaze awkwardly. “So how did you know Alice?”

“I didn’t.”, Cassie responded quickly, catching on to the fact that she had passed. He looked at her quizzically. “I found this..”, she searched her bag as she spoke and dropped the book as she pulled it out in a hurry. She lent down to grab it, but before she could reach it, he was in front of her picking it up off the dusty floorboards. Their eyes met, they were so close that she could feel his breath on her face. Peppermint, she noted. At least he hadn’t let his personal hygiene go despite his disheveled appearance. She noticed his deep blue eyes and realised how attractive the man before her was.

“What was your name?” Cassie asked in an attempt to shut down the moment.

“Noah”, he responded as he stood back up, not breaking his gaze. She cleared her throat and nodded towards the notebook.

“I found it on a park bench this morning”, she explained. Noah opened the book, carefully examining the pages before him.

“My grandmother’s diary..”, he spoke quietly. “My grandfather told me about her writing, but she never shared it with us. You’ve found a gem.” He looked up at her. “Why did you pick it up?”

“Something, drew me to it..”, Cassie started. She proceeded to tell Noah about her days events and what the words of this little black notebook contained. The golden nuggets of advice and secrets of a life well lived, and lastly about how Alice had wondered whether her words would have an impact. “If it’s any console to you in your time of grieving, her words did matter. Her words do matter. They have woken me from my mediocre life and inspired me to go out and chase my dreams.”

“And what are your dreams?” Noah queried.

“Well I’ve always wanted to be a publisher. Finding this book reminded me of the magic of the written word. Alice wrote every thought she had, every lesson she learnt. I want to be a part of sharing people’s words with the world.”

Noah jumped up abruptly and took 4 long strides to the other side of the room where he picked up and opened a brown envelope. He looked at her and squinted, his eyes deep in thought.

“What’s that in your hands?” Cassie broke the silence.

“Alice was very well off. She was not short on money.” He pulled out a list of check points from the envelope along with a cheque. “I found this when clearing out her belongings. It was her bucket list. There’s only one thing left incomplete.” He held out the list to Cassie and pointed to number 100.

“Help someone else achieve their lifelong dream”, Cassie read out loud.

“She left this with it - a $20,000 cheque to help make a dream come true. I guess she never found the right person to give it to in her final days, but I have found the right person.” He proclaimed smiling. “For your publishing dream”, he said as he held out the cheque to her.

“Er, erm, sorry?” Cassie responded. “Not me?”

“Yes! Why not you? You connected with her words. You have been inspired to chase your dreams by them. Alice has helped you, let her help you in return.” Noah spoke calmly.

Cassie thought for a moment, maybe several. How could she accept this gift from a complete stranger? But then again, how could she not?

“The first book I’ll publish will be her words”, she nodded towards the notebook and quoted Alice, "Van Gogh didn't realise the impact of his life, words and art - that we would still talk about it in hundreds of years to come - yet we do. Will one day my words be out there for the world to see? Maybe this here, this journaling, is the purpose of my life, and maybe I won't be around to 'realise it' or 'see it’."