NYE: Entry #40

Lost & Found

The morning that welcomed Ekerö was not a gray one for the first time in what felt like a decade. Snow had trickled down covering the pavement and trees perfectly, coating them as if their place was meant. It wasn't an extraordinary day at all, nor was it expected to turn out a little more than ordinary. It was simply that on this day the woman who sat beside the large window of her bedroom with a mug of coffee beside her was reminded she was due to write an entry in the aging journal she had begun years ago.

The elder woman debated on whether she should continue writing anything at all. Had she much to say? What could spill about this year that is any different from the past 40 years she had written? She changed her thought and knew what to write. For today was already a different day, and will be nothing like the past 40 years.

She picked up her black ink pen and put in the date– December 31, 2018. Really there wasn't anything significant about this date, except what's hidden between her and herself. She flipped through 40 entries beginning from December 31, 1978. Nostalgic polaroids poked out of her worn notebook, little hand notes, letters of a long lost love that dated back to '68. The journal was stuffed with sentimental memories and locked away, only ever taken out on this one day, annually.

She was midway through the first paragraph when she was interrupted by a call on her iPhone. She answered without a second thought, for she had missed whoever waited at the other end of the call.

"Look who's calling!"

"Oh, Agnetha, you act like it had been a lifetime since we've talked."

"Feels like it," she answered the woman who's voice was as soft and deep as a mother's hum to an infant.

"Don't exaggerate," Frida laughed. "It's only been a week."

"Miserable one," she joked. "How's Mallorca?"

"Hot," she teased. "Just wanted to check in on you. I know you were stressed about today."

"Mm, it's started. I'm sure it'll run fine." She said, mostly in hope that it will– a self-reassurance.

"Of course it will. And if it makes you feel better, you're not the only one anxious."

"What do you know?" the blonde woman asked curiously. There was a brief silence from both ends of the phone.

"Oh, you kno–"

"Mama," Linda opened the bedroom door and quickly poked her head inside. "Do you mind helping in the kitchen? I could totally use another hand. I might poison everyone by accident if this recipe goes wrong."

"Yeah, darling, one second. Frida, could you repeat that?"

"It isn't so important," she replied. "I only know he's looking forward to seeing you again. It's been some months."

"I don't know if it gets easier to see him over time, or harder," Agnetha admitted as she recalled the times they spent working together again from a few months ago after so many silent years. An audible smile came from Frida.

"I could say the very same. You'll let me know how it goes?"

"Of course I will."

"Grandma, mama's calling for you." Agnetha closed her notebook quickly and sighed. She hurried to the door where she found her her granddaughter stepping inside the room.

"Your mother doesn't know patience, does she?" Agnetha laughed.

"You're impatient."

"So is your grandfather," she said, putting her hand on Signe's back. "Let's go see what your mama needs."

Between pies, pastries, and chocolate truffles Linda and Agnetha lost track of time. The house was hectic, just as it always had been. The kitchen was blocked off until their work was done.

It was nearly 6 PM when Agnetha decided it would be a good time to get ready. The kitchen was cleaned, the baked goods were in glass containers, and the room smelled delicious.

It had been many years since a New Year's Eve gathering was hosted in her residence. Usually all the families had separate invitations, but this year had already been set different. Instead of a traditional Christmas dinner, a New Year's Eve party was organized instead by her children, inviting their father, his wife, their children and their families.

Agnetha entered the bedroom finding her mug of coffee, which she had neglected from the morning, was still there and had remembered what she was doing before dessert duty called for her. Her strong heart quickened when she didn't see the journal where she had left it.

She looked all around the desk, the floor, behind the book case, and nearly all of her room. Her secrets, her memories, her stories and her heart were in the open within those nearly 100 pages of writing. Images. Cherished letters.

A moment of panic fell into fear that everything she had kept to herself was being read by another. The entire bedroom became a mess and there was nowhere else to look because it hadn't seen life outside of her bedroom since she moved into the house.

She believed that time wasn't on her side that day. Each tick of the clock was engraved in the back of her mind. Agnetha had no time to waste. She had to get ready. She had to, but she couldn't help but suddenly feel overwhelmed and cry over her stupid letters to absolutely no one, and the old photographs carried in between the pages. Those were the most important.

Agnetha pulled herself to shower, get dressed and ready for the evening and every quarter hour, she would continue to search– right up to the moment she answered the door bell.