Austentatious

for a ballpoint.

While flipping pages in my quest for an empty one, my gaze fell on the most recent excerpt, a definite contender for the most confusing: life is full of surprises—surprise it back. The fragile reality of my current sucker-punched state—surprise!—just fueled my ire. And I wielded my pen like a weapon.

You’re suddenly bearing a remarkable resemblance to the interfering, bitchy fairy godmother in Shrek. Although, I’ll admit, I can’t imagine how the kerfuffle you made of my life fits into any kind of agenda. The man you’ve been hyping for the past week is gone—back across the pond (really a ginormous ocean) to Scotland. Color me surprised! My little adventure is over. What else could you possibly have in store??

One solid benefit of a ballpoint: It barely smears when wet—the words just go a little wobbly. I’d never before had to dash away angry tears, but here I was, dealing with another first.

But before you answer that (or not), I should probably tell you flat-out that it’s going to be damn near impossible for me to trust you now, seeing as you’ve proven yourself woefully untrustworthy. I’ve considered giving up on you entirely, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Lucky for you, I never figured out how to work my Ouija board. But just so you know, this time I’m on to you, and blind acceptance of your particular cheeky brand of advice is a thing of the past. You, Dear Journal, are on probation indefinitely....

It felt very empowering to snap the journal closed and banish it once again to the bookshelf, pushing it far, far back this time until it was completely hidden from view. Best I’d felt all day, not counting the time I’d shared with a cupcake. So I suppose it was a tie.

The rest of the weekend was consumed with a Lord of the Rings marathon, my objective no more well considered than to crowd my mind with Aragorn and leave no empty spots for Sean. Success eluded me, possibly because I could smell Sean on the pillows—and because I could imagine him speaking elvish sweet nothings to a pointy-eared version of myself. It was late into day two when I finally dredged my groggy, tear-stained self from the sofa to trudge off to bed.

As I crowded the popcorn bowl onto the counter, along with a trio of cups from my hours in front of the television, my eyes strayed guiltily to the bookcase. Damn it if I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t help it—I wanted to see her response to my little on-paper outburst. So stalking across the living room, I yanked the charming little book with its little brass doorknob and key plate and all its secrets and attitude out of hiding, and I looked.

life surprised you, and You ...

I could actually feel my body clench, ready for a fight. This little snippet was more in-my-face than any of the others—it was taunting me. What did I do? Well, let’s see. Life surprised me—you could say knocked me on my ass—and I did what I had to do. I did what made sense—the only thing I could do. What could I say, nobody would be making a cobbler out of me anytime soon. Luckily I preferred cupcakes.

“What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Yep. I’d reached the point where I was actually talking to the beastly little book. It occurred to me that I might not be dealing with a fairy godmother at all. Perhaps I’d been ambushed by an actual fairy—the bitchy sort, the kind inclined to play tricks on unsuspecting humans. Sounded about right.

Well, either, or. I was ready for a throwdown. Before I could change my mind, I snatched up the key and thrust it into the lock, watching the journal’s transformation with a cynical eye. As the book’s binding stretched and new pages filled the space, I waited, wondering if Fairy Jane would come out of hiding, urgently hoping she would, and at the same time desperately hoping I could deal with it. When the journal once again lapsed inanimate, I waited patiently for one solid minute. Nothing happened. I suppose I never really expected it to. In fact, now that I considered it, it was kind of a huge relief that it hadn’t. I suppose I’d been imagining a sort of “genie in the lamp” confrontation. Thank God I’d been spared. Points to Fairy Jane for coddling the nervous skeptic.

Left with only one sure-fire way to communicate, I flipped to the now-unabridged version of my latest entry, skipped down a few lines, and wrote:

You tell me—what should I have done? Dropped everything and followed him? Offered to make a go of a long-distance relationship that’s doomed to failure? Begged him to stay? None of those options seemed quite right at the time. And I don’t regret my decision—like it or not, it was mine to make!

As my chest swelled with a cleansing intake of breath, a fraction of my anger and resentment fell away. But as I watched my words slowly fade from the page beneath my shocked gaze, my breath caught, almost choking me. One by one, it was as if they were being sucked back into the journal, perhaps never to return. Sitting in the dark, hopped up on Tolkien and witness to some arcane magic, my life suddenly felt terrifyingly Gothic.

Line one had disappeared completely. Four more words and line two was gone as well, with line three slipping away fast. I couldn’t help but wonder if she planned to erase all traces of my lippy reply. But suddenly her intention was clear, because two words stayed even after the final lines were obliterated. Two words I’d hastily scribbled just two minutes ago shimmered in front of my eyes all alone. Blinking them away wasn’t an option, because I definitely tried—they were there to stay.

regret it

Shit! I slammed the book closed, yanked out the key, and watched wide-eyed as the journal shrank to normal size. Shit, shit, shit! Was this a warning, a dire prediction of bad things to come? Oh my God! I didn’t want to be holding the journal right now, but at the same time, I wasn’t comfortable with it palling around with The Collected Works either. Charging down the hall to my bedroom, I tossed both journal and key in with the maroon bridesmaid heels and then buried the shoe box in the laundry bin and slid the closet doors shut for good measure. I wanted the perfidious little book out of my sight —I wanted to forget every last bit of magic that had gotten me into this heartbreaking mess. But I couldn’t. And so I sat cross-legged on the bed, my mind whirling with crazy, mixed-up thoughts of fairies, magic, regrets, and Sean.

I woke up dressed, slumped over on the pillow, with the lights still on. Needless to say, I wasn’t ready to face work, but I figured it was the best medicine—if anything could wrench my thoughts away from last night’s freak show and this weekend’s pity party, it was a day of logical thinking and problem solving.

By eleven I was inclined to think distraction was a pipe dream, and I decided to pull out all the stops. I dropped what I was doing, ducked out of my cubicle, and navigated the maze toward Brett’s. Not too long ago, I’d thought he was the one. Maybe, with time, he still could be. It was worth giving it a shot. But as I approached his cube, my steps started to slow as my heart started to pound with urgent warning. I could hear his voice, chatting with someone invisible, and suddenly I was in a panic. I didn’t want that voice, that face, sitting across from me at lunch, droning on about the specials and reminding me that I hadn’t chosen him. The fact was, I’d chosen someone else and then let him go. I felt like Lizzy Bennet, standing in the rain, without the happily-ever-after.

Pivoting quickly, I ran on tiptoes back down the corridor, praying Brett wouldn’t tip his head out, wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t ever know I’d come by. Once in the clear, I detoured over to Gabe’s cube, texting him on the way.

NJames: You up for lunch?

By the time his reply came in:

GVogler: sure. what time?