The List

Chapter 7: Levi

Chapter 7:

Noteworthy. Life is all just a jumbled puzzle of moments. Each moment swiftly swinging into place bringing together life. With a missing piece the world can be confusing and hard leaving you to feel empty. Emptiness is an easy feeling. We've all felt empty before. Sometimes the missing piece could be your Dad missing your chess championships or meeting your dream girl.

Now some would say life is more like a smoothie all muddled together in a blender. Like a twister ripping through everything and tossing it up in the air. Catching everything might be hard, but not unattainable.

The puzzle people seem to have it right though, but I'm still on the fence.

Who would have thought that an amazing, confident woman would climb into my truck on the final night of my boring high school life. After four years of a bland, unimpressive and seriously redundant life I've reached an unknown peak of uncertainty.

She was my Loch Ness Monster. My Bigfoot. My Chupacabra. A mysterious beast lurking in the depths of my imagination. Anonymous fiddled away at the very seams of my being. Thoughts of her ran wild as I coasted along the freeway towards my house. Nothing could take my mind off of this moment. Nameless, number-less, but incredibly noteworthy.

The balmy air filled the truck. The night was starless due to the smog. The ghostly moon hid slightly behind the clouds as it waned away. Nights like these reminded me of when my Father would take me to baseball games at night. As a child sports enticed me. Drew me in wearily. The games usually ended with fireworks even if it wasn't the fourth of July. Cheers and drunken brawls usually filled the night as I sat on top of my fathers shoulders taking in the game. The players were my role models. The way they zoomed over the bases. Not until I first met Mark had I fully understood what running the bases meant. Veronica was the first one to let me run home. The base terminology is all eighties thinking, but the idea is still there.

Wind whistled within the truck. The truck slide slowly down our road. Nothing nearly phased me. The milky moon soon appeared behind the cloud yet only to say hello before disappearing into the night.

The moon wasn't the only thing to slip right out of my grasp. I glanced over at the empty, unaccompanied seat to find a journal on the floorboard. Thick like an encyclopedia, but flimsy like a children's book. I pulled into my driveway quickly before shifting and snapping up the unknown journal. A ribbon fell out of the journal. The cover was broken leather, random pieces of duct tape loitered the front. I flipped open the cover in hopes of finding her name or her number. The inside of the cover was filled with doodles and loops. Near the top corner read, "If found return to For the Roses florist." There was a little business card taped beneath it with an address and number.

The house was dead. No lights were on, no sounds crept out of the walls. I shuffled out of the truck clutching the journal. The little path led me up to the door. Sometimes the house reminded me of a whale's stomach.Consuming all who inhabit it.

A soft snore poured from the house as I crossed the threshold. The clock chimed in at three am. A stupid cuckoo clock my mother decided to hang by our door. I plodded down the hall to my bedroom. Ugly baby pictures scattered the hallway walls.

With a twist of the handle my door swung open. I crossed the threshold clutching Anonymous' journal. The night was slowly fading away from me as I threw the journal on the desk soon stripping down to my boxers.

A warm wind whipped through the room as I climbed into bed. Nothing felt the same. Nothing felt plain. My mind felt awake. Awakened by the thoughts of Anonymous, of pixie cuts, of flower shops, and of thick journals. The question of whether or not to read her journal toyed with my innerbeing.