Cross-Country

Chapter 1

When everything around you is gray and everything in your life makes too much sense, why would you refuse a splash of color, no matter how small, when it is offered to you?

So when I was walking home from work one day and came across that little leather-bound book lying in the middle of the sidewalk, wet and smeared with mud from all the footsteps which had fallen on it, I hesitated. It seemed to call out to me, drenched in shades of red and blue and purple, so I picked it up and put it in my bag. No one around me seemed to notice or care. I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried on my way home.

I'd almost completely forgotten it by the time I made it back to my apartment. Only when I'd already kicked off my shoes, changed into my favorite pair of sweatpants, and curled up on the couch with my computer and a bowl of leftover Chinese takeout did it pop back into my mind. I groaned and tried to forget about it, especially since my evening was already booked full with several hours of Netflix, but to no avail. My curiosity had been sparked.

Defeated, I retrieved the book from my purse and flipped it open to the first page. It read:

Property of Samuel Johnston

July 10, 2010

If found, please return to 528 Clairmont Street.

A diary, then. I hesitated for a moment. It was a horrible breach of privacy for me to read something so personal, but really I didn't mean any harm by it. The date was from years ago, I reasoned, so what did it matter, really? And I really was interested. I considered it for a few seconds and read on.

I soon found myself engrossed in the pages. It was as entertaining as any novel I'd ever read. I laughed and shook my head in disbelief and twisted my lips in sympathy. Whoever this "Sam" was, he seemed both funny and kind, and I found myself wanting to get to know him.

528 Clairmont Street, huh?

I laughed it off. It was insane - a fool's errand. Who knew if he even lived there anymore? Who knew what kind of a freak would open that door if I knocked?

And yet.

I went to bed that night with the tiniest seed of an idea planted in my mind, and I found my thoughts flicking back to it often throughout the next day.

It got to the point where I was barely listening to what my coworkers were saying. And they noticed. "Hey, are you feeling alright?" Louisa asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

"What?"

"You don't look really good, that's all."

Well, if that wasn't the perfect opportunity, I don't know what was. "Actually, I'm not really feeling well," I lied, "I thought I'd be okay coming here but I guess not, if you noticed."

If Louisa suspected anything, she didn't show it. "Oh you poor thing," she murmured sympathetically, "Well, there isn't much to do today, and I can probably cover for you. Why don't you just head home?"

I nodded, trying to look especially pale and sickly for extra effect. I kept it up until I'd gathered all my things and made it safely into my car. Then, I let out a breath of relief and took out the journal one more time. I flipped it open to the first page - heaven knows why, since the address was already emblazoned onto my brain.

528 Clairmont Street, here I come.

~~~~~~~~~~~

July 10, 2010

This is sort of weird, but here goes.

My parents wanted me to have something of my childhood that I could think of fondly when I grow up, I guess, so they gave me this journal. I tried to tell them that if there was anything I didn't want to remember about my life, it would be high school, but to no avail.

My name is Sam Johnston, and I'm a sophomore. I have two pretty cool parents and an older sister - why am I writing this? It's not as if I'm going to somehow forget these things about myself when I grow up. Well, I guess that could be a possibility.

You know what? Scratch this. I don't like writing and even if I did there are like five essays that I have due at the end of this week, so why would I be wasting my time on this?

See you (but probably not).

- Sam