Friday, July 12, 2013

Lost Journal: You Are Mine Now

Hundreds of bits of cottonwood fluff floated in the late day sun, suspended and protected from the flow of traffic beneath the bridge. Utterly serene. A perfect afternoon for a jog on the Oak Leaf Trail.

While plodding along, pink and sweaty,  I found treasure: a soggy open field note book. 

Without breaking pace, I scooped it up and continued down the path. A little rush of panic bloomed at the thought of losing my own journal and then my thoughts scuttled to remembering its exact location.

What if it's a list of people to kill? 
Or the beginnings of a novel? 
Last Will and Testament? 
Or the Kobainesque confessions of a mad genius living with a brutal disease?

I decided not to open it until I was in the privacy of my home, just in case there was something truly odious inside.






































 I opened the cover, disappointed to see that the author hadn't scribbled their name in the line provided beneath the words "In the Event Of Misplacement Contact:".

It was mine now. This is lawless frontier. 

Inside were scribbled lists of comic book titles, three sentence synopses of stories, area-code-less phone numbers with no indication of who they belonged to, and anxious contours of the same panda again and again...

"90% of Bands never make it. the other 10% also never make it."
 Written at a 45 degree angle, melting off the page.

"I admit it, not a week goes by when I don't think about buying a skateboard. Now, I have insurance. But no insurance will make up for brushing your teeth."

This was my favorite drawing:






























It was between this drawing and a doodle of a dinosaur with a mustache, but it's drawn in blue ink.

And blue ink is wrong.

Perusing the choppy lists of movie titles, books and authors, I looked them up one by one. While imagining owner and investigating their love of dark science fiction and the psychedelic, there was a twinge of shame in exposing them this way. But the excitement of a secret squashed it quickly and I went on snuffling about in their transom.

And then: nothing. Pages of static.

Until the very last page, the author gifts us a knock-knock joke ending.

A fudge recipe.








































A fudge recipe that I will make in honor of the Owner.

Wishing you a Sweet and Scandalous weekend,



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