The
Search Begins
September 23rd, 2013
I have always
wanted to write a book. Fiction, non-fiction, autobiographical; never have I
considered the type of novel that I would one day like to publish. My reverence
to historical accuracy is lacking, so maybe fiction would be best. The term,
“based on a true story” seems to fit my preferences well. Like any writer, I
enjoy my coffee black and struggle to meet deadlines. Much akin to the great
Hamlet, procrastination is my tragic flaw. Most would say my thoughts are
interesting but I do not like to exert the effort required to express them.
Maybe I am lazy.
Truthfully, it
is less difficult for me to put pen to paper than it is to verbalize my ideas.
While speaking, the words that adequately convey whatever it is that I’m trying
to communicate, seem to get muddled, misinterpreted or completely misunderstood
by the subject of my awful, blabbering attempt to connect with another human
being. Writing is obviously superior since any fool with a thesaurus can sound
intelligent if they practice hard enough. I applaud public speakers for their
ability to address an audience with gusto and improvise if things do not go
according to plan. Unlike a speech, its impossible to plan a conversation; this
is where I begin to fail.
It’s not that I
am unintelligent by any means. Uneducated? Maybe. I simply feel that during an
everyday conversation there is not enough time or depth of character to
communicate anything other than, “What do you want for dinner?” The irony of
the situation is that I should feel as if I have all the time in the world. I
am young and have almost my entire life ahead of me. Yet, I choose to isolate
myself and continue to believe that dialogue is overrated- when I should be out
discovering who I am and who I truly want to be. Of course, all of this changed
the day I met Jacob.
He was not your
typical drifter. At first glance, Jacob looked like an average young man; he
dressed simply and classically and appeared to be in his late teens to early
twenties. His speech was eloquent and his grammar impeccable. Jacob seemed as
if he had everything I didn’t, but my unskilled observation did not reveal to
me any implications behind the fact that his leather jacket was slightly
shabby, his jeans were a size too small and his Calvin Klein knit was of a
season long past. He wore a saggy black beanie and a scruffy beard; his entire
appearance screamed, “hipster.” I was immediately intrigued.
Our first
encounter was a memorable and important step in human interaction for someone
like me. Every day after school I would go to the local library to study, but
really it was to escape the company of my mother and father-whose expectations
I could never meet. Jacob’s look was one my mother would never approve of. My
subconscious desire to rebel was most likely the true reason for my initial
attraction to the strange male specimen before me.
As an eighteen
year old, socially inept individual, I quickly and completely eliminated any
notion of approaching him. In fact, I frequented the library in order to avoid
these types of Catch 22 situations since generally, the only group who
regularly visited the public domain were of the sixty-five plus age
demographic. Jacob definitely wasn't a senior citizen and an air of confidence
simply oozed from his pores, so what was he doing in a library?
In my curious
wonder I had spaced out staring directly at the subject of my interest and he
was gazing just as intently right back at me. Jacob looked like he was waiting
for something but whatever it was, he certainly didn't get it. He pulled out
the chair next to him and gestured to the seat. I did not accept. Instead, I
swiftly stood and tried to walk gracefully towards the farthest aisle of
books. In my peripheral, I noticed him
begin to follow. I had just hidden behind a large shelf when I noticed a copy
of “50 Shades” sticking out along the social and literal barrier I did not want
to cross. I glanced at the sign that dictated the section name. Just my luck,
it read, “Romance/Erotica.” I was red before he even spoke.
“Shy?” He asked.
Before I could attempt stammer out a reply, he put a strong finger to my lips
and whispered, “Don’t say a word, we’re in a library.” My nervousness was
incredibly obvious but I didn’t think he would save me the embarrassment of
having to speak. He pulled out a notepad and a pen and began to write, I waited
patiently until he was finished. The final result was a note that disclosed his
entire life story, thoughts on the world and personal values. It started as far
back as he could remember and ended with losing his mom, being kicked out of
university and getting thrown out on the street by his father. I assumed at the
time that the story had ended because there was nothing left to tell. I later
learned that the rest was just too painful for Jacob. He concluded his tale
with a question to me, “I’ve told you my secrets, what are yours?”
When he gently
placed the pad of paper and the pen in my lap, I felt the burning sensation of
shame reach my cheeks. Jacob had faced more hardship and trauma than I could
have imagine and still maintained his zest for life. I had a roof over my head
and two parents that love me, so why couldn’t I find my smile? My response to
Jacob expressed all this and more. As previously mentioned, writing down my
thoughts comes easily to me. The scary part was allowing someone else to read
them. Still though, I told Jacob all about my parents as well as my
insecurities, fears, hopes, dreams and especially, my loneliness. The entire
time he read, Jacob focused solely on the message before him. He was so intent
that he appeared to be entranced by the words on the page. My intriguing new
companion waited a long moment before he picked up the pen again. As he wrote,
I began to relax. Although I felt completely and figuratively naked, I felt as
if I could trust Jacob with my deepest, crushing, emotions. Finally his message
was complete, it read:
I am truly taken with your quiet exterior and witty
insight but instinct tells me dormant fire lies deep within you; I can feel its
heat. Own your fear, prove yourself wrong and let nature take its course. How
will you find passion if you live life only half invested? Go all-in and
discover your confidence. Mystery is fascinating but too much of it will drive
others away. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you can trust me you can
trust yourself.
Yours
truly,
Jacob
This was the
first time I’d learned his name. It seemed too simple for someone so complex. I
lay down the pen and paper and decided on a bold move. Before I could rethink
it, I leaned into him and whispered, “Thanks for taking the time to investigate
me and try to remember, trust is easy to break. Call me.” As I stood up and
walked away, I noticed him neatly fold up the paper I had slipped him. It
contained my name as well as seven simple digits that would allow us both to
solve the mystery of each other.
-Anonymous
