Her Red Journal

Chapter One – The Discovery (Lyle's POV)




Thank god it was Friday. My weekend now consisted of sitting on my rear and at the last minute, throwing together a lesson plan for the following week. Perfect.



I pulled the heavy wooden door shut and, after checking I had my bag, locked up. I could practically feel the devious grin forming on my face…how foolish I can be at times.



Habitually, I glanced down the hallway behind me before bolting out the side exit of the school. But something bright on the ground caught my eye. “Shit,” I mumbled, realizing that the doors were locked from the inside. Is it really worth taking my keys out and wasting more precious time?



I examined the object tiredly through the door window. It was some kids notebook. Red, one-subject it looked like. It was the only object littering the blue tile hallway floor. Definitely not worth it.



I started to walk away again but then spun on my heel to face the door again; it’s positioning had caught my eye. I swear, anyone watching me must think I’m completely deranged.



The notebook was placed directly in front of the door to my room, facing it. I was completely dumbfounded. I would have seen it on my way out, wouldn’t I? Yes I would have, I have a photogenic memory. Or I at least would have stepped on it. So someone must have put it there in the length of time between me locking my classroom and exiting the building. It’s physically impossible.



I sighed heavily, and heard the jingling sound my keys made as I whipped them out of my pocket, silently hoping that there was some explanation behind this, and, with any luck, an interesting one at that.



Two long strides brought me to it, and I picked it up with distaste. Carelessly, I flipped it open, not expecting much more than math problems or notes on the American Revolution.




Daydream





Never met outside these walls


Yet I see us under the stars



Rain,



Running home in the rain one day







Like a daydream,



Almost not real,



Yourself I steal







Our goodbye comes much too soon



Nor sun or moon



Can stop the force,



Remorse







We’re better as a daydream



No rhyme or reason



No real



Being just a daydream,



There’s no goodbye to feel









My mouth fell open. Who did this notebook belong to? I quickly gathered myself though and dismissed the poem as child’s babble, flipping to the next page, trying desperately to convince myself I was correct.







I cannot fathom how much I detest my fourth period Reading Lab class –







That sentence was all I needed to realize that this mind was not the mind of a child. And I could not help but realize the irony of this kid having reading lab, yet using words like “fathom”, and “detest”.



“Shit,” I mumbled absently in confusion. Shit is what I say when there is nothing to say, but much, much to ponder.



A few seconds passed, and gradually I began hearing a sharp clickerty-clack coming from the hallway on my immediate right. I could picture Ms. Thorpe’s sleek black stiletto’s carrying her angry pudgy body closer and closer to me.



Without a second’s hesitation, I darted out the exit. She’d hear the door close, but by the time it closes, I should be in my car. While I was sprinting across the parking lot – thank god I’m in shape – I wondered why I was actually childishly running away from the principal. Well, other than her being a crabby old hag, I felt like I had committed a crime; invaded the owner of the notebook’s privacy somehow.



Finally I jumped inside my Volkswagen and slammed the door. I sat in silence for a few seconds, hearing nothing but my panting. Looking down, my eyes widened. I’ve accidentally stolen the red journal.



I can’t do anything now right? I thought frantically. I can’t go back in, Thorpe’ll bite my head off.



Calm yourself, said the sophisticated side of my brain, you have a journal, apparently that’s against the law now? Put it in the lost and found on Monday.



Contradicting myself, I realized I couldn’t put it in the lost and found. I realized that maybe this was in front of my door for a reason. I broke out in a cold sweat, realizing that it’s journey to my door was still a mystery.



My weekend now consisted of reading this red journal.

Chapter Two – Spilling to the Skeptic (Lyle's POV)

I whipped out my cell from my pocket, getting a little excited feeling in my stomach, as this was one of those rare occasions that I had reason to use it. I dialed Vinnie’s number with one hand, and used the other to speed out of the parking lot.

Luckily, I was good at what my daughter refers to as “cell-driving”. Well I just consider not hitting anything as good at it. So I suppose I’m pretty good.

After the second ring he picked up, with sort of a concerned note in his “Lyle?” followed by “Where are you?” He probably saw the cell number on the caller ID.

“We need to talk.”

He sighed, “What did you do?” He sounded shockingly similar to my father.

“No. No – Nothing. Coming in five minutes.”

I hung up before he could protest with the usual “I have small children at home and I actually teach a real subject and blah blah blah you can’t just come dropping in whenever you’re drunk or something ah!”

Vinnie’s name was Vincent Parmiggiano, or better known to his 6th grade math students as “Mr. Pasta”. He was tall, thin, and in his late 30s like me. We had gone to grade school together, and we were slight friends then. After I started working at Hazelwood Junior High I recognized his name when someone mentioned it in a meeting. Then we really became friends. That was four years ago.

Fortunately, Vin lives right here in Hazelwood so I didn’t have very far to drive. I gulped when I pulled up in front of his blue, two-story house and parked. The last time I had visited, his wife screamed my ear off. She’s a goddamn screwball.

Cautiously, I stepped out of the car, carefully handling the red journal. You may call it taking it to the extremes, but I tried to make as little amount of noise as possible while shutting the door, as if the softest bang and click would unleash the wild beast from its blue confinement.

I tiptoed up the driveway and onto the porch, anticipating whether to ring the doorbell or not. Every time my finger was about an inch from the button, I would change my mind and pull it back. Then I would decide to ring it again. And so on.

Hearing nothing but the birds chirping and someone mowing a lawn down the street, of course it naturally startled me when suddenly a “What the hell are you doing?” boomed loudly from the window to the left of the door. Vinnie, damn. I jumped about a foot in the air.

His eyes widened at me and he narrowed his thin eyebrows. Within the next second he had flung the front door open and was hissing “Again?” in a low voice at me.

“What?” I said, clueless of what he was trying to say.

He looked from side to side, checking for his family, then turned back to me. “What now. Marijuana?” He looked from side to side again. “LSD?”

“How dare you – ”

“Fine, fine. Right.” He walked back into the house, signaling with his hand for me to follow. I could have sworn I heard him mutter “Not this time at least.”

He led us into the living room. Him sitting in the chair and me on the couch, as usual.

“Hey,” I whispered, “Vin. Is your wife home?”

“Indeed I am!” Said a shrill, pitchy voice directly behind me. What the hell? I’ve been here five minutes and they’ve managed to scare me out of my wits twice already.

I turned around, half expecting her to be holding a frying pan over my head or maybe a chainsaw. I honestly don’t know how Vince loves someone like that.

She was just standing there, her long golden locks in a single braid, a smile stretched over her disapproving features.

“Hello, Lyle!” She said cheerfully. Maybe she had changed!

“H-hi Sher – ”

She turned to Vince, still smiling. “And I hope you have this rotten toad out of my house before the children come down for supper,” she said, cheerful as could be. I sort of deflated a little bit.

Sherry doesn’t swear. She believes it’s improper for a lady to use foul language. But it’s still pretty scary when an angry little church girl is screaming things like “Not in my house!” and “Not in front of my children!” or even “You rotten toad!”

Rotten Toad. She left, with an extra pep in her step. When I think of rotten toad I think of some sort of dinner dish, and I haven’t the slightest idea why. So, naturally I busted out laughing after I saw the white tail of her apron disappear around the corner. Vince seemed to interpret this as my doing drugs.

“Really, Lyle,” He leaned towards me and talked in a low voice, “What are you doing to yoursel – ”

“I’m not,” I replied, and looked him square in the eye. “And I’m not just saying that either. Something weird happened, though. And I would appreciate it if you would believe me instead of maybe just dismissing it as a hallucination perhaps?” I glared.

He closed his eyes, raised his eyebrows, and exhaled. “What,” Vin said flatly.

I gestured towards the red notebook in my left hand. He raised his eyebrows and gave me a dubious look.

“It’s a kid’s. Journal.”

It annoyed me to no end when people broke off their sentences in anger. I don’t know why. I think Fran used to do it.

“No,” I said, mocking his tone, “It’s not.”

“Than what. Is it.”

I laughed out loud despite myself at that last one. “This thing,” I said, holding it up as if it was a foreign, wondrous object, “was in front of the door to my classroom.”

Vince gasped mockingly, “No. No! Really?”

“Come on, Vin,” I said exasperatedly, “will you hear me out for just once?”

“Alright, alright.” He nodded.

“I walked out of my room, then out exit door 6. Then I noticed that there was something bright on the ground when I looked down the hallway. And this thing is directly in front of the door to my class.”

“You would’ve seen it locking up.”

“I know that. But I didn’t.”

“Ooh!” Vince waved his arms around dramatically, “It’s…it must be…magic!”

“You know what?” I exclaimed angry, standing up.

“No, come on come on, Ly, sit down.”

I stood there for a few seconds possibly trying to knife Vin with my eyeballs. He’s a good friend, he worries about me. He worries about me like a parent worries about a child, and he treats me like I am a child. You would get fed up too.

“Read first page,” I mumbled and threw the journal in his lap.

“Daydream,” I heard him mumble some of the poem incoherently. I think it’s a habit he has when he’s writing. Drives Sherry off her rocker.

I looked around the room while I was waiting. Grandfather clock, piano, stereo. Expensive hardwood floors, pretty glass coffee table. Sometimes I wish I lived here. The Parmiggianos were well off, money-wise. Vince had started working at Hazelwood right after college and by now he was in the union and everything. His wired blonde of a wife is a nurse at Livingston General Hospital, about twenty miles west from here. They were lucky, so lucky.

“I cannot fathom how much I detest my fourth period reading lab class, but alas it is far better than my alternative,” Vinnie recited out loud, “Who the hell does this thing belong to?”

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, “A student,” I paused, “I liked the poem.”

“Yes,” He mumbled in voice dripping with sarcasm, “It was…divine.”

“You know what Vince?” I said, my voice rising, “I’m leaving.”

Before he could say another word, I yanked the journal out of his hand and headed towards the door.

Just then, one of his sons, Paul, jumped out spastically from behind a flowerpot, landing right in front of me. I swear if I get startled one more time I think I’m going to have a heart attack.

Paul was by far my favorite of the Parmiggiano children. He was nice to me – which is more than I can say about two-year old Marie – and he thinks he’s James Bond or something. No, honestly, he is constantly attempting to capture burglars.

“Agent three-hundred sixty five!” He whispered to me in a very mature manner.

“Waiting for orders agent double-oh seven!” I enjoyed playing his game.

Dropping his imaginary walkie-talkie, he looked up at me. “Mr. Nelson.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe,” he whispered incredulously, “Someone hooked it to the ceiling and dropped it at the time that you weren’t looking.”

“What are you talking about Paulie?”

“The journal!”

I was a little surprised, “Oh you heard that now did you? Well,” I humored him, “I’ll just have to look into that.”

I gave him a pat on the head and walked out.

I'll be posting it soon!
And yayyy, I'm glad I inspired chuu~
well.. not necessarily me, but the site.. but yeah. :3