Everything is forever dark, but for a single crack of light, always moving through constant cycles of intensity, shining underneath the draping sheet. Kept in the dark, hidden from everything of use, are the forgotten items: an old shoe box filled with paper memories, worn out dirty tennis shoes with no laces, a brown canvas duffel bag with a broken zipper and torn strap, a garbage bag of used clothes patiently waiting to be taken to Goodwill, and a thin blue seventy sheet spiral notebook. The objects sit there in the dark, day after day, night after night, long ago resigned to the idea of living in a realm of solitary blandness. The only object ever taken out from under the bed since its original placement was the blue notebook, and even it has almost forgotten what life in the outside world is like.
As a result, it comes as a complete surprise to the pack of neglected items when the sheet suddenly lifts up and a flood of blinding light rushes in. Silhouetted against the backdrop of this alien luminosity, a large male hand pushes forward and searches around in quick birdlike movements. The index finger brushes against the notebook’s metal binding, pauses, then signals back to the rest of the hand. Then, to the awe and amazement of its jealous companions, the lonely notebook finds itself being lifted out from under the bed.
Immediately, the notebook is struck by the vast array of bright colors and contrasting dark shadows now surrounding it. So much light everywhere! The notebook is set down onto the corner of a solid oak desk and is able to finally view the topside of the bed, a worn mattress covered with a single dark blue sheet. The top of the desk is barren and choked by a thick layer of dust. Hanging on the wall above the desk is a framed, enlarged photo of a young couple in their early twenties, arms around each other, back-dropped by a shining crystal blue lake surrounded by a dense wall of pine trees. There is a crack in the glass of the frame, shooting down like frozen lighting directly through the face of the women, making it impossible to tell what she looks like. The man, who is slightly taller, is smiling at the women, his head tilted down, eyes looking safe and fulfilled. His light brown hair is cut short on the sides and messy on top. He’s clean shaven and wearing a gray hooded pullover. The notebook doesn’t recognize either of the two people, but is overly pleased to be seeing something other than darkness.
The notebook feel’s the desk shake underneath as the man pulls out a vertically narrow drawer and shuffles around in it. The man finds a pen and the notebook feels a shaky hand touch its cover and flip it open. A flux of memories pass through the notebook and it again remembers what it was made for. The man flips through the pages until he comes across an empty one. For the first time, the notebook looks at the man’s face and is caught completely off guard. It's the same person as in the photo! But, his wrinkled face, thin hair, and tired eyes present a man from a different time.
The ball-point tip of the pen hesitantly touches the notebook's black-lined innards, begins to write a first letter, then halts. The notebook patiently waits, thrilled to finally again perform its duty: retaining thoughts, ideas, single words, pages of a story, doodles, drawings, anything. It knows not to critique, or comment, or offer suggestions. No, the notebook’s job is to simply record. Whatever happens after that is left open. The pen begins to move, and with growing excitement the notebook reads along.
