Written - A Flash Fiction Trilogy

Pay It Forward

The best musings simmer inside you until they spill over as tears of both happiness and sadness. I wiped away a few reflections as I taped up the last of the boxes from the house Jack and I had called home for nearly twenty years. I couldn't help but think of the things I couldn't pack; the spice cabinet door that would never close, the doorjamb in the first-floor bathroom that had a height chart of our children, and the hole in the backyard that could never be properly refilled after one summer day Sarah and Ben were convinced they could dig through the world. My mind lingered on my bedroom ceiling, where I spent countless nights staring as I worried about Jack traveling for work, Sarah's first pimple, and Ben's first varsity soccer game.

"Are these the tears of realization that you have to spend all your time with me?" Jack teased as he looped his arms around me.

"Oh, hush." I swatted his arm playfully and wiped another errant tear. "You know I'm excited to be an old married couple."

"Mmhmm, I'm not sure if I'm ready to be one half of Archie and Edith. I think I have a few more silver fox years left in me before I settle into my easy chair and complain about the world today." He mused as his arms popped around me as a chuckle rolled through his chest.

"I happily second the silver fox." I craned my neck to give him a peck on the cheek. "Aren't you a little sad?"

"Of course, this was a wonderful home. But we'll make the new condo a home and create as many memories there with holidays, grandkids, and not shoveling the driveway."

"I never minded shoveling the driveway," I noted.

"That's because you never shoveled, dear." Jack kissed the crown of my head before returning to move boxes out to the truck.

I tucked the last few books into the last box as tears blurred my vision again; as I reached to wipe them away again, the top book slid from my grip and landed with a soft thud at my feet. I cursed myself as I threw the rest of the stack into the box and stooped to pick up the errant book, but it wasn't a book at all.

It was an unassuming notebook in remarkably good condition, considering its age. I let my finger glide over the cover before opening it to find a page where I had scribbled, 'I'll meet the person who overwhelms me with love and live happily ever after' six times. The night I wrote it, I knew my Jack was out there, and I knew I wouldn't meet him at a bar or club, despite the best efforts of my best friend, Amanda. I wrote the words in a mix of humor and loneliness, and the following day I met Jack at a coffee shop.

My finger floated to the crease where a few jagged pieces of paper still clung to the binding from the page I ripped out. I let my mind wander to the first time I used the notebook. I was so confused about life and pinned my entire future on a single interview. A smile danced across my face at how young and silly I was. But after writing that I'd get the job in this notebook, I got the job.

"What's that?" Jack asked over my shoulder.

"Oh, an old notebook," I sighed.

"Yeah, you want me to toss it into the recycling?" He absently asked as he assessed how many boxes of books he could carry without throwing out his back.

"No," I said quickly, pulling a confused look from Jack.

"No sense in wasting the paper. I'm sure I'll find someone that can use it," I smiled back at him.

He nodded and headed out with another box, leaving me alone with my memories again. This time my mind clung to the woman that had thrust the notebook into my hands on that summer day. I had thought of her as old at the time, but I doubt she was much older than I am now. Time has a way of changing our perspective. She had thrust it to me so confidently, as though she knew I needed it, and then moved along without a glance back.

"Last box?" Jack asked as he looked around the empty study.

I glanced around to see the only item left out was the notebook in my hand. "Yeah, looks like it."

"Hey, why don't you go on a coffee run? Clear your head. I can take the last couple of boxes out." Jack let a gentle hand caress my cheek as he spoke.

"Yeah, I think I might take you up on that," I agree, as I clutched the notebook to my chest.

People sparsely populated the café on the summer day. Most were getting drinks to go as they bustled back to work or to enjoy the summer sun. I lingered in the window, letting my eyes pop from one person to the next, not quite sure what or who I was looking for or if I was looking for anything.

Then my eyes fell on her. She was waiting at the bus stop in an ill-fitting suit. She was me twenty-five years ago: eager, excited, and scared out of her mind. My feet were carrying me before my mind caught up.

"Excuse me," I said as I tapped her shoulder.

She turned to look at me but didn't see me. Her mind was too distracted with trying to figure out all of life at once.

"You dropped this," and just as the woman had done to me, I thrust the notebook into her hands.

The girl's face dropped to the item she was now holding. I didn't wait; I turned on my heel and paced quickly away from her and the future about to be written.