The Magic Notebook
If you know anything about me, you’ll know that I’m nothing special. Just an average Joe who goes to the gym, works from 9 to 5, vegetates in commute traffic, and doomscrolls on my phone until I pass out. A perfect existence which, I’m proud to say, I designed myself.
An average guy like me had no business being in therapy last week. I only wound up there because there was road work on my usual route home. The traffic was horrendous because of the detours and you know what, I’m a sensitive guy with an active bladder. Somehow, pulling into an office parking lot to take a piss turned into me sitting on a couch across from the hottest shrink I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met any other shrinks.
I don’t know why you want to talk to me, I told her. I’m happy. My life is stress-free and I earn enough to eat and pay the bills. I explained that this is all I had ever wanted, all that anyone had ever expected of me. Why bother wanting more or trying harder? It’s a waste of energy. Thankfully, I learned that lesson early in life. My parents didn’t care if I brought home A’s or F’s. They never noticed when I’d miss the school bus just to sneak back into the house. Oh yeah and one time, in 3rd grade, I wrote a letter to my first crush, Mabel. Love-at-first-sight kind of thing. She took one look at it and all she said was, “You spelled Valentine wrong.” Gave up on my feelings right then and there. I still thought about her over the years, though. She was an authentic overachiever, the girl who’d put Burts Bees on her eyelids to stay awake in class.
Ms. Hot Shrink watched me with her beetle-black eyes while I ranted. I hated it; it felt like she could see right through me. Gave me the creeps. The only time she said anything was at the end of our chat, when she slid a beat-up leather notebook across the coffee table with the flair of a poker dealer. “Write another letter to Mabel, in the voice of your younger self.” I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but I still felt some weird, wicked energy coming from her direction. So I snatched the notebook and sprinted right out of that stupid office.
When I finally got home, out of spite, I wrote a stupid letter in that stupid notebook. Hey Mabel, you’re a turd and the way you rejected me was mean. You were my first crush. Who cares if I can’t spell ‘Valentine’. Hope you’re happy. Have a smelly life. You suck, Joe from 3rd grade.
Heh. I slammed the notebook shut and tossed it into my briefcase before tucking into bed, feeling light as a feather. Didn’t think about it again for a week, until I nearly bulldozed through a grown Mabel on my front doorstep. “Joe!” she shouted. Her eyes, framed by oversized glasses that made her look like a clueless owl, locked onto mine. I haven’t seen her since high school. She’s dressed in a smart suit and skirt combo, which means that the rumors about her landing some bigwig law job are probably true. Her socks are still mismatched though, like they always were when we were kids.
“I got your letter! I mean, I’m sorry I’m a turd. But I’m happy to hear from you.”
I dropped my briefcase and almost shit myself. The fuck did she mean, she got my letter? That stupid letter I wrote in that shrink’s stupid notebook? No way would I have ever actually sent–
“I wanted to apologize. Also, I thought it was very brave of you to write to me, so I wanted to return the favor - I actually had a crush on you in 3rd grade too. Can I buy you dinner?”
For the first time in my life, I was speechless. Also for the first time in my life, I thought it might not be so bad to give this “trying” thing a try. I swear I saw that beat-up leather notebook sparkle in the pocket of my briefcase.
Preamble
Model: Opening of “XO” by Jennifer Egan
Narrator: Unreliable first person narrator, present tense
Mood: Joy | Tone: Conversational
Posts in this series
Butterflies
Sweet Everythings
The Magic Notebook
chrononaut
Closing Time
Both of us holding our breath