"Thank you!" I murmur, grasping my journal I had left at the coffee shop just a week before. "I can't believe I didn't notice it missing until yesterday, thanks for keeping it safe."
The barista nods, smiling mischievously. 'Okay, that's weird,' I think, slipping my leather bound book in my purse. 'But it's nice to have it back. Now I can actually start my writing goal again. Every day, Ronnie, you're going to write. Promise yourself.'
I continue my walk to work, and, sipping my latte, I soon forget about the recently recovered book.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Did you have a good day, Ben?" I ask, snuggling into his chest.
He twines a piece of my hair around his skinny finger, sighing. "It was okay, I guess," he answers, leaning on my head. "Yours?"
"I got my journal back!" I reply, grabbing it off the coffee table. I flip it open, and scrunch my eyebrows up. Every page is filled with varying kinds of handwriting.
"What the hell?"
"What?" Ben asks, glancing over my shoulder. "That's interesting."
I open up to the final page of my last entry, rereading it:
"Last night was pretty fun, I do admit. I think Ben is going to ask me something big (hopefully not marriage, eek!)
He wanted me to move in with him. I did.
I'm not ready for that commitment. I'm a big baby. Whatever.
Marissa is getting on my nerves, though. Ugh. It's like being a teenager again. I thought we grew out of talking about eachother behind the other's back, but I guess not. Whatever. If that's how she wants to play it, then it is on.
She better watch herself.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
We slide into our usual booth, me on one side, Kristine on the other. "Hey look, Rollie," she exclaims, pulling a little black book out from her bench. "Someone's journal."
"It's probably Tom Riddle's! Put it down!" I scream, flailing my arms, jokingly.
"Oh, you- Hey! There's writing in here!"
"Obviously, Kristine, it's a journal. Gasp!"
"Shut up, let's read," she grumbles, winking. "Ben is pretty cute. Maybe he'll ask me out-"
"BARF!" I scream, taking the book from her. I flip to the latest entry. 'Commitment troubles, I see,' I think, pulling a pen from my pocket. I quickly scratch a message on the next page, signing it with a quick "Yours truly, Rollie D."
"Shit," Kristine mutters, staring at her phone. "Mom needs us home. Now."
"Why?"
"She's crazy, remember? We probably didn't put the laundry away or something."
I nod, capping my pen and putting it in my pocket.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Marry Ben. If you're scared he's gonna ask you something like that, you want it. Don't worry. It'll be fine.
Marissa's a bitch.
Don't pay attention to her.
I had bitchy friends.
Ditched 'em for my sis.
Love her.
Yours truly,
Rollie D.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"Boys, look at this!" Katie yells from the back of the shop. "A book!"
"Like you've never seen one before?" I ask, meeting her at one of the more popular booths. "Oh, it's journal."
"With writing in it!" she cries, tucking her wavy, red hair behind her ear. Her bright red lips grin, revealing her sparkling teeth.
'God, she's beautiful,' I think.
"I saw some kid drawing in it earlier," I explain. "It's probably his."
"No, he was probably Rollie, who signed it. Before that, a girl was writing in it. It's girly handwriting," she explains, showing me. I quickly skim over the last entry.
"She's just some young chick, scared of committing to some dipshit boyfriend," I mutter, throwing it back on the table. "She'll be here tomorrow to get it, probably."
I return the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes we used this evening shift. I hear Katie scurry around the sitting areas, cleaning as fast as she can. She wants to write in the journal. I know it.
I feel kinda bad for being a dick about that chick's problems. Aw, hell, I'll probably write something, too.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I found your notebook, Ronnie.
Ben sounds great.
Honestly, don't worry about the future. Live in the now, and you'll feel better.
I want to talk to this guy, but.... It's a work buddy. I doubt he even likes me. But I love him.
Oh, well. Living in the now means we're just work friends.
I'll take my own advice.
Keep my mouth shut.
Keep living, lovely..
Katie R.
[Next entry]
Holy shit. Katie likes me.
Best day of my life.
Ha. That's what she gets for leaving early.
I'll read her secrets, and I'll ask her out, and she'll say yes, and I'll dance in the kitchen.
She doesn't get to know that last part.
Don't tell nobody, kay?
I'm in love with her.
I'm living in the moment.
I better groom my beard.
and shine my shoes.
and polish my glasses.
and look good.
maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll say yes.
Thanks, Ronnie.
- Joel P.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I found it sitting on the magazine table in the middle of my favorite group of chairs. It was just sitting there, so I opened it.
And now, here I am, reading along, when, suddenly, the hand writing changes, and strangers are writing in this young woman's diary. Seems rather strange to me.
But, I might as well join the fun.
I've got nothing better to do.
That's what getting laid off does to you.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
At least you have a job, Ronnie. At least you have a fucking job.
All I do is skim the want ads.
I'm willing to do anything.
I leave the house everyday, telling my wife I have interviews to go to, but, really, all I do is wander these streets, hands shoved in my pockets, my feet dragging. I get a lot of time to think.
To think about the shitty life I'm about to give my kids.
Lucille is six. She's just started first grade. She's a lovely girl. She laughs at everything, and thinks I'm all that.
Johnny is four, ready to start preschool. But we can't afford it. He's going to be so disappointed. He's been dreaming of preschool ever since Lucille started.
God, I'm a terrible father.
I don't know how long I can hold up this facade, honestly. For God's sake, I'm sitting in a coffee shop, writing my problems out to a stranger. Four strangers, actually.
It's nice to see love still exists, but I resent Katie and Joel. I hope it fails.
It's spiteful, yes.
But, honestly, if they were in my situation, they would feel the same.
You would, too. You know you would.
I'm here every day.
For an hour.
I sit in this soft chair, sipping the cheapest thing here, watching people.
Well, today, I've buried myself in this writing project. It's a clever idea.
I like this, actually. It's relaxing.
Writing is good.
Ronnie, I hope you keep it up.
Katie, Joel, I'm sorry. I hope you do fine.
Rollie, well, you seem pretty well off. I can't wish you anything except a happy life.
Too bad mine's going to suck.
Allen C.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I didn't even read all of Allen's. I just pull out my pen and scribble in big letters my phone number and a short note on the next page.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
ANYBODY WHO NEEDS WORK, LISTEN HERE. ALLEN, I HOPE YOU COME BACK TO READ THIS.
I HOPE SOMEBODY PASSES THE MESSAGE ALONG.
I'M HIRING THIRTY PEOPLE.
FOR A CONSTRUCTION BUSINESS.
NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED, I'LL TEACH YOU ANYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW.
CALL ME AT FOR MORE INFORMATION.
-PETER F
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
The book is almost full, only about fifteen pages left unfilled. Allen's note took up a lot of space. He writes big and loopy, with lots of space between the lines.
All I know is I'm writing in it. All of a sudden, I just want to meet these people, but there's no way I'll ever get in touch with them.
My only connection is this pen on this paper.
I'm going to write to them like there's no tomorrow.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I write for a living. A little pamphlet published every month.
I'm not going to share with you.
It's political, but I know very little. I just grab the headlines and paraphrase the words in the newspaper.
It's bad, I know.
But I don't want to do this.
Ronnie, I don't want you to get caught in some shitty writing project like this.
If you want to write, go write. But don't get tied down by something you don't absolutely love. Write a novel.
As for Ben, I think you like him.
You should give him a chance.
See where this secret question takes you.
If it's marriage, the answer you'll want to say will be there instantly.
In fact, I hope he asks you to marry him.
Just so you can find out if you're serious about Ben.
I think you like him a lot.
A lot.
But, I get it if you want to focus on your career first. I'm doing that exact thing.
Precisely that.
But I'm lonely as hell.
I want a husband.
I'm insanely jealous you get to have someone you think would want to marry you.
I'd kill for that opportunity.
But, y'know. Whatever.
I'll get over it, eventually.
Whatever.
Whatever.
I might call Peter for a job, I dunno. I don't want to lie about my work anymore.
I'm going to.
I've decided.
Hopefully, he'll accept a woman.
I hope you listen to my advice. Think about it.
Rosie K.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Ben looks mildly upset after reading the entries with me.
"Ben, I can e-"
"Ronnie, don't," he mutters, pushing me off of him and standing up.
"Ben, I like you!" I exclaim, trying to hold his hand.
"That's just it. You like me," he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He takes them immediately out to run them through his hair.
"Ben, I- I love you," I whisper, a few tears trickling out of my eyes.
His features soften for a moment, taking in my words.
"I wrote that a week ago, and, sure, I felt the same, even today," I sigh, wiping the streams away. "But, in the last hour, reading those with you, made me realize how much I love you. I want to be with you forever, Ben."
"Ronnie," he answers, sitting down again. "Are you asking me to marry you?" He cracks a grin, joking with me.
"You know what, Ben, eventually, I will," I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck. He kisses my lips softly, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"C'mon, let's eat dinner," he says, pulling me up gently.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I got an idea.
All those people gave me an idea.
I left another journal at the coffee shop.
First, I wrote an entry about life. In general.
My life.
Ben's life.
How I'm going to marry him.
Then, at the end, I wrote, Please continue this collection of lives, for me. Ronnie S (soon to be , Ronnie D).
Hopefully, it'll work again.
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