The Notebook

May 29, 2008
By Kristian Cantens, Doral, FL

You are exhausted. You have walked a long way and are in need of somewhere to sit, if only for a while. You pass by an empty bench while going through the dark park that is surrounded by old apartment buildings. You decide to sit down for a while and take a little break. There are massive amounts of bread crumbs surrounding the chair. There is a notebook lying on the ground. You pick it up as you have nothing to do while you rest and begin to read:

I know how you told me to write to you every week, but… I don’t know, I guess just procrastinated to the point of compiling 2 whole months into one journal, so yeah, whatever that’s why you haven’t gotten anything the last couple weeks. Sorry.

Since I had arrived in the winter, which is summer back home, I had an unusually long summer/winter break because I had to wait until school starts in February. Any regular guy would read this and say “damn, this guy is so lucky!” but to be honest, I was terribly bored and lonesome. Besides Lucille and my demented substitute parents, I had no one else to talk to. There was this guy we met, though; your average everyday prick you might say, Steve was his name. Anyway, Lucille would always invite him to come with us as we walked around and explored Townsville (which is a ridiculous name for a city by the way) and he would never come, always come up with some excuse like “oh sorry dudes, just that I gotta go study n s***”. I really never had any hope in him but poor Lucille would always keep insisting.
Oh yeah, and the house we’re staying in (an apartment really) is near the beach so it only takes us about a few minutes to get there, not that I’d be willing to go in now, with the temperature being in the 40’s. Anyway, the apartment is in this massive brick building, that seems to have been mass produced, since all the apartments I see when I pass through the park are the generally the same. So as you can probably already tell, life’s becoming pretty depressive down here; although Lucille always seems to see the shining light at the end of the tunnel or whatever.
The first couple days we went out into the pier were they had this good ice cream that some old lady at the park recommended to us, so Lucille made us go the next day, and I mean it was good and all; but she would take me every single day! Sometimes she wouldn’t even get ice cream but sit around and walk towards the pier. But I guess it gave us something to do in our spare time, which was all the time, unfortunately. Oh and we met this woman there one time that said she was from Seattle too. Pretty big coincidence, no? That day we both probably spent two or three hours talking about Seattle and how different it is up there. The weirdest thing is, is that she teaches at the school were going to, so you might hear me talk of her again. She seems pretty nice so hopefully they won’t be complaints.
Around the second week we met up with that old lady in the park again, she’s completely mad by the way. She’s always there so every time we pass by the park we come across her, and Lucille always begins to talk to her for hours. The old lady just sits around with a bucket of bread and feeds the pigeons that flock all over her. I have to admit, though, its pretty interesting how she claims to be able to talk to pigeons and recognize every single one of them by name. Lucille is fascinated by her, and I seriously don’t know what she sees in this lady. Here let me write down a conversation to the best of my ability, because, after all, it was some time ago that it happened, to show you just how crazy she is:
“Aww, it’s you again Rebecca” said the old lady
“Oh no, it’s Lucille”
“You know, names don’t really matter. People are always so fussy when it comes to names and remembering them but it’s the person that matters. It’s the person that’s the most important and I remember you Rebecca. I remember you oh so well. I always recognize people, you know?”
“Yeah, that makes sense” Lucille responded trying to sound nice
“Any who, it feels like yesterday that I saw you”
“It was yesterday” I mumbled, which made Lucille giggle and quickly hush me up
“So how is Roger doing is his leg still hurt?” Lucille then quickly asked
“Oh no, Roger got so much better. He’s like a little kid again, hopping and jumping all over, all the time!”
“Oh that’s wonderful news!”
“I know I know” she said cheerfully “Hey John! How’s everything going sweet heart?”
“Oh, just fine”
“I remember you too, you know? You have such a sweet face, like a little boy. And your eyes, they’re so magnificent! I don’t think I will ever forget your eyes”
“That nice” I said, stepping back a little in hopes of avoiding further attention
“Even Stephanie, you know. I think she likes you; because of your eyes, of course. You two would be such wonderful couples” she then started laughing like a lunatic. “Stephanie is really old, you know, I was expecting her to die any day now but I believe your eyes will keep her alive till the ends of time! I’m sure of it. God forbid Stephanie died, who knows what all the other pigeons will do without her.”
And that’s when she appeared remotely sane! I don’t even know why I still remember that conversation, it’s just so creepy.
Before I go on I’d like to add something here, something I was very reluctant to add before: one day as we walked through the park this man in an amazing car parked at the edge of the park with a suitcase. He appeared to be a wealthy businessman, very calm and smooth. But it wasn’t that or his wealth that caught my attention; it was his glasses, a pair of reflective aviator glasses. They were astounding to say the least and I couldn’t help getting the feeling that they were meant to be mine... I don’t even know what I’m writing. Sorry for bothering you with these trivial thoughts and feelings, just forget about it.
Anyway, on the third week we (me Lucille and the subs) went to the opera house. Our subs made us go

You stop reading and begin to flip through the next couple of pages until a different style of handwriting catches your attention:

I feel my journals need to take a new route from now on. They will be written for me, for the most part, instead of my mom. The reason why? Well, i just felt I needed some questions answered and some doubts resolved.
My concerns came about yesterday. It was raining as we ran back from the bookstore, and as we usually do, we passed through the park near our home, which seemed completely deserted at the time. Halfway through it we began to hear a woman cry, a cry so filled with pain and agony that we became suddenly concerned about this unknown person… We approached the woman and soon discovered her to be Maurice; she was sitting on a bench and in her laps lay a pigeon, her beloved Stephanie.
“They all left me” she sobbed “Stephanie died and they all left me. All gone.”
“Oh Maurice, I’m so sorry.” Lucille said as she sat next to the old lady and comforted her “It’s all going to be ok.”
“No it won’t be ok! I have no one left.” She responded.
i began to come closer to her and unwillingly whispered to her a few words I do not recall but she immediately after pushed aside Lucille and sprang up and clutched me in her arms.
“I felt so lonely” she said crying “I have you now, though, just like old times.” This sudden affection took me surprise and I am still not sure what to attribute it to. i’m guessing she became delusional over the loss of her pigeon, though I don’t know for sure. Now as to what happened next i have no memory of. To be honest, as of late i have been having difficulty remembering things while I write secretly by the lamp light. It is only during the rest of the day when I can fully function as a normal person.

Today was an average and ordinary day. Lucille and me went to the beach, although she was hesitant to go. I also had Steve meet us there, which was mostly just to encourage her to accompany me. Lucille spent the whole journey over there scolding me over that mirror i threw out the window. To be honest, I don’t really know why i did it. Just a random jolt of anger I assume… i’m also having a strange urge to look in that mirror now for some reason. I don’t recall the color of my eyes… irrelevant. Anyway, i’ll write down the conversation here:
“Seriously, why did you throw that mirror out the window?!” she asked with a hint of anger
“I made me jealous of myself every time I looked into it”
“Oh, ha ha, that’s so funny” she said with a small smile “I seriously don’t understand you lately. Those damn glasses are messin with your head or something”
“Oh, but I understand you, Lucille” i said “and I know exactly why you decided in coming to the beach” I said ignoring the remark about my head
“Just wanted some sun, you know”
“Oh yeah, that’s what it is, the sun.”
“Ok, why don’t you shut up” she said beginning to blush “you owe me a mirror by the way”
“Why are you changing the topic?”
“What topic? We weren’t talking about anything”
“Whatever, but just so you know, that mirror was evil”
“Oh god, here we go again”
“Hey you’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”
“Just forget about it” she said
We then realized we were already at the beach and stopped talking for a second to examine our surroundings. The sun was still not fully out and so it was rather gloomy as the air was filled with a thin grey mist that had yet to be cleared away by the sun. At this time the beach was usually deserted save for some joggers than pass by every now and then. The mist was very comforting. Steve then jumped out from behind me with a board in his hand and saluted me and Lucille. He startled me.
“What’s up man?”
“Nothin much” i responded
“Hey Steve” Lucille said kindly
“Oh hey” he said without looking at her.
“John,” Steve said “look, that guy over there is amazing. He’s like a legend over here.”
“Looks like a pussy to me” i believe i responded
We then headed over to the guy Steve was referring to, and as to what happened to Lucille i can’t say; i believe she went to go see Maurice but i am not sure for she hasn’t gotten home yet. Anyway, we then began to surf and i befriended

You realize it is 12:21 AM by glancing at your watch and quickly resume walking, taking to notebook with you all the time thinking of what you’ve just read. You stop at the street that separates the park from the apartments for there is a car coming. Sounds of footsteps are nearing you. It is too dark to see. A young girls comes into view, face streaked with tears. You feel you know her. She shyly looks down as she notices your gaze and she hastily crosses the street. The car hits her. You run over to her but she is dead. You call the police, feeling guilty that you had not stopped her and prevented this. Tears begin to form at your eyes. You open the book as you wait for the police and read the last couple of sentences in search of some explanation for all this:

I’m feeling bad about Lucille, she hasn’t gotten here yet and I can’t help but feel it is my fault. I will go now to look for her in the park and leave the journal there for her in case she comes across it, maybe then she’ll understand. I’m so sorry Lucille; sorry about everything.

As you tear your eyes away from the notebook you notice a young boy with sunglasses on, wearing pajamas. He does not know what is going on and nears the source of commotion as there is now a crowd of people surrounding the girl. The second he realizes what happened he rips his glasses off, throws them and shoves the people surrounding the girls to get nearer. The glasses fall near you and do not shatter, as you had expected them to.

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