Black Book Honeymoon

I sat by the bookshelf, and saw it— that book. I feel my eyes dart down in shame, and the heat crawls up my spine. I look again once a few seconds have passed.

Like a magnet, I feel myself grabbing for the notebook. Time and space manage to stand still, getting heavier and more dreamy as

I reach out, feeling the leather, and how smooth it was, and—

No. I know this is wrong. It’s evasive. I feel like a colony of some beautiful animal, a posse of aphids, a singular rat. Something about this feels dirty.

I felt the black elastic pluck beneath my fingers, ricocheting and rippling from my fingers to its soft surface. Electricity. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this.

I flirt with the elastic, playing with it a few more minutes. I slip the band from the cover. Inhale. Let it out.

I open to the cover. I see the date scrawled in black ink, top right corner. I recognize the handwriting. “9/14/19.”

I begin to read:

“I am so grateful. I am so full of gratitude in this present moment.” The handwriting is dark, it’s messy, and it’s written in that familiar handwriting. It’s mine. I even know the exact brand of pen that I used (it’s my go-to).

See, there’s certain traits we’ve all had ascribed to ourselves going through life, and some of these quirks do not seem to leave. My handwriting happens to be one of my idiosyncrasies. It has followed me from grade school, to college, to my wedding when I wrote my husband a letter: it was sweet, but entirely illegible.

Although messy, and short, and uneven— I can read all of this clearly. The smooth black notebook: my words brimming and bubbling all over the pages, expressing the entirety of my gratitude. I keep reading.

“I am so happy and grateful for my marriage. I love being married to my husband. I love being an international gallery artist. Everything is always working out for me.”

I feel the heat on my cheeks, I laugh at the red they become, and I smile. See, at this point in my life, I had left the USA to move to Budapest by myself— a fresh 23, full of faith and adventure, yet none of these journal entries were yet true. While reflecting, I feel tears in my eyes— tiny tears like human hugs, and they drop onto my collarbones. I feel a sense of rebirth.

Now that a year and a half has passed, and all of the statements have became true: I’m married to the love of my life, I am a fine artist who does galleries globally (full time), and I am SO grateful for my life. Seeing the words on the pages erases any shame or alienation I had felt.

I flip through the pages of the Moleskine, reading of all of the “now-truths” I had written while flying on the plane. The week I flew, and the following week when I decided to return home, truly transformed my internal landscape, my external architecture, and my belief in myself. I read through all of the pages, flipping slowly, savoring each intimate moment with my thoughts.

I reach the back of the notebook, and I realize that one page is indeed left blank. I smile peacefully, and I start to wrap the elastic around the smooth, soft surface.

Instead, a jolt of electricity!

My eyes flit and flicker across the room. I find my focus point, focus, strain—

I dart across the living room, jumping over the mosaic of paintings, and reaching for something else entirely— the same sort of pen!

I giggle, almost elfishly, and tip toe back over to our cognac-colored sofa. I start bubbling with laughing. I date the page, 2/20/21.

I start “I am so grateful. I am so happy in this present moment.” I feel my smile stretching from ear to ear.

I continue, “I am so happy and grateful for winning the Vocal contest of $20,000.” I already feel it in my body, the energy swimming and playing with my own, interacting in the most exciting way.

I see the money in my bank account so clearly, the email in my inbox, and all of it’s joy. I already am the Madison who has won, and I feel myself transform. I smile, I close the notebook, and I place it on the shelf. I take a moment to return to the couch. I feel my eyes get heavy.

...

I’m walking in some sort of festive square, and I feel my legs sway as I hold my husband’s hand. We’ve decided to use the money to go on our honeymoon. We enter the restaurant and tell the host “Gravelle, party of two.” We smile, we walk towards the table, and we give our gratitude.

...