Crystal Trino's Journal Oct 31 2006 Entry

October 31. Tuesday Night.

Hi Journey.

No goblins at Whitby. But you know me, of course I just had to lace-in a bit of the Halloween spirit here in the apartment, so after I watched the newest Law and Order C.I. I channel-surfed the horror movie selection on cable. Not much there; old re-runs of Freddy and Jason and a few assorted psychos.

I felt like writing. No, I actually felt more like just brainstorming on paper. Psycho-doodling, I guess. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, Journey, but you are more the diary of my life, and sometimes I need a space where I can just pencil-in some of the crazy design ideas that come into my head.

And I thought of the red ledger book.

That book made my mattress just lopsided enough that I felt I was listing on a yacht, so a week after I brought it home I stashed it high up in one of the kitchen cupboards. I’ve been meaning to write in it for quite some time, but just didn’t have a chance.

OK, that’s weak. I didn’t take the chance. Even now I can hear Mattie lecturing me how there’s a world of difference between the two. If I were in Darfur just now, then I wouldn’t have had the chance. Me, born in the land of opportunity, I haven’t used the chance.

The journal was still there. It turned over in my hand as I lifted it down, almost as if its weight shifted about inside itself, from one end to the other. I nearly dropped it, but recovered quickly and pulled it protectively close against my side.

I sat down at my little kitchen table and rested the ledger atop it. I flipped past the first few pages and started writing. I have an idea for a new layout for the third branch at First Unified, but need to flesh it out a bit before I run it by Shelly.

Journey, I wrote all of three words on the white vellum and suddenly my pen refused to write. I shook it up and down, and then rapidly ran the tip back and forth across a corner of the page; hoping friction would warm up whatever ink-clot was jamming up the flow. Nothing.

I rifled through my odds-n-ends kitchen drawer: scotch tape, scissors, soup can labels for Shelly’s niece, magic markers, and one lonely pencil. No pen. I settled on the pencil.

It broke the second I pushed it against the page.

My kingdom for a pencil sharpener, Journey.

And then my eye caught what seemed to be a small tear in the upper right corner of the sheet that was defeating my writing efforts. I pinched the corner and lightly tugged. The sheet was really two very thin sheets, each pressed or glued together. I placed my other thumb against the backmost sheet, and pulled the one between my thumb and forefinger gently toward me, as though peeling the backing away from its label.

I pulled it nearly halfway down, and then met resistance, as though whatever pressure or paste held the two sheets fast was bonded more tightly in the middle.

A careful cursive writing lined the inside page. The penmanship was perfect, as if the author either chose her words carefully or else was planning for somebody else to review and rate the work; a teacher, perhaps.

December 19, 1944. Tuesday.

Dear Tam,

Had the most wonderful time today. Father and I have just returned on the train from our Wisconsin excursion. I believe I once mentioned that he grew up just outside Appleton. Just since forever Father has followed the Green Bay football team, the Packers. Well, he bought tickets for the big championship game against the NY Giants. Tam, I was just joyed-over when the Packers won. Of course, football is the most roughish game, but oh how smart those young men looked in their big shoulder pads and tight knickers. I must confess my heart leapt up when they trotted out onto the field.

But enough of me. How is your latest cartographical quest coming?

Journey the rest was sealed away, between the sheets. And I am just too tired right now to try and pry apart or steam apart or somehow unglue those pages, even though I’m dying to know more. I’m sure I’ll just muck it up if I try--tear it, or worse. I don’t know if all the sheets of this book are tissue-thin and double-stuck together or not, but I know if I just rhino my way in and try and discover it all right now I’ll make a mess of it.

Better to wait, even though I want to wet my pants.

Goodnight, Journey.

Journey Today
Crystal Trino's life journey