Normally, when I venture out to a coffee shop to write a piece, I look for a seat where I have an adequate view of the room. Then, I can gather writing material by just glancing up from my computer now and then. However, today was not one of those days.
It was typical Oregon weather. The sky was a blanket of gray, with the occasional teasing spot of blue. The rain had brought a crowd to my usual place, and every seat was filled, save one facing the wall. I tried my normal trick of looking around the room sporadically. Somehow, it felt creepier when I had to actually turn around in my seat to see anything.
And so I sat memorizing the formations of the bricks against the wall. Then I noticed it: a tiny bit of green paper, squeezed into a gap between two bricks. And then there was another just a foot above the first, and another, and another. The entire wall was filled with little messages, notes, encouragements, and comments. Everything and anything a person could want to say was contained within this wall. Who could resist?
Rising from my seat, I strolled, casually of course, toward the wall, and plucked the green note from its home in the brick. Nothing strange about that. Just taking a message out of a wall.
I held the note gently as I returned to my seat, barely able to contain my curiosity. What would it say? Would it be a profession of love? A secret that could no longer be contained? A message waiting for its recipient? My pulse quickened I unrolled the note, taking care to not tear its damp and weathered edges.
And . . . . nothing.
I looked closer, holding it to the light, squinting at it, trying desperately to see what was scrawled upon the worn scrap of paper. Still nothing.
Admittedly, I was a bit disappointed. I wanted another note. In fact, everything within me was dying to retrieve the next scroll over, but that one was out of reach, and it would be hard to be inconspicuous while hopping up and down next to a brick wall.
So instead I retrieved a pen and wrote my own message. Something short. Something vague. Something that sparks the imagination, and leaves the finder in suspense for a response that will never come.
Then, I folded the paper carefully, and returned it to the wall, where it waits to be discovered by another nosy writer.