thejournal

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The Journal
by Joseph Carroll Lavelle

    The light in the foyer was out again. God damn it! Last time it was out it took a week and a half for someone to fix it. There was a building manager on premises, of course, but he didn’t do jack. He was never to be found when anything needed to get done.
    Simon decided he would replace the damn bulb. There was no reason he should. It wasn’t his responsibility, but if he didn’t do it he knew no one else would and he’d just end up having to come home every night to a darkened foyer.
    He continued on up to his apartment. He let himself inside and went to the closet to find a lightbulb. He grabbed his step stool from the kitchen and brought it and the lightbulb back down to the foyer.
    It wasn’t going to reach. The light fixture was too high. Simon crossed the foyer and dragged the coffee table back underneath the light fixture. He set up the step stool on top of the coffee table. With the new lightbulb in hand he mounted the steps and began to undo the fixture.
    “Now, now, who’s makin’ all that noise so late at night?” The door of the front apartment creaked open.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” stammered Simon. “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. It’s just that the light is out again.”
    “Well, that’s a nice young man,” the frail, white haired woman’s mood lightened. “A young man who takes matters into his own hands. That’s a good young man. No use waiting for that ol’ building manager to fix it. Lord knows he won’t hop up off his lazy ass anytime soon.”
    “That’s how I figured it,” Simon finished up the task.
    “I wonder if such a nice young man would come in and change a light-bulb for me. An ol’ woman sometimes has trouble with that sort of thing.”
    “Oh, well,” Simon felt trapped. He had just finished the evening shift and had to be back in at work for the morning shift the next day. He was very tired and had very little time to get some sleep. “I suppose I could stop in tomorrow afternoon when I get home from work.”
    “Oh, no, no, no, see I like to read before I go to sleep and I can’t read with the bulb out. Oh, sure, I could read in the bedroom, I suppose, but you understand I got my special chair that I like to sit in in the living room when I do my reading. It won’t take you but a minute. Oh, I know you won’t say no to a poor old lady now, would you?”
    Simon forced a smile, “Sure I’ll change your light-bulb for you, Ma’am.” He could just kick himself, or, better yet, kick the wrinkled old bat.
    “Oh, I’ll not listen to anyone call me ‘ma’am’. Ugly word that. My mother never named me ‘ma’am’. Call me Justine, like you should.”
    “O.K., ma’- I mean, Justine.” Simon followed the batshit old crone into her apartment where he half expected her to stuff him full of gingerbread and lollies before kicking him into the stove.
    He carried his step stool in with him, but he wouldn’t need it. The bulb that the decrepit fossil just couldn’t change on her own was in a lamp that stood a full four and a half feet off the floor. He changed the bulb and made straight for the door but was stopped by, “Now, since you’re here anyway. . .”
    Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!- he screamed silently in his head.
    “It’s just that I did go and drop my favorite grapefruit spoon behind the refrigerator just this morning, and, of course, I’ll have to have my grapefruit tomorrow. I have half a grapefruit every morning, you see. Can’t keep much else down in the mornings. And you know that it’s such a battle trying to work through a grapefruit with a regular spoon, one must have a proper grapefruit spoon with the sharp tip. Now, I know you don’t want to see me go without my grapefruit tomorrow morning.”
    “Of course not,” smiled Simon. BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!
    Simon moved the refrigerator, fetched the damn spoon, and replaced the refrigerator.
    “Now, don’t you worry about cleaning that spoon.”
    Somehow, being told by Justine not to worry made Simon very worried.
    “If you’ll just slide it into the dishwasher for me that will be just fine.”
    Easy enough.
    “Of course, all those dishes are clean, I suppose you’ll have to empty it before you put the dirty spoon in.”
    No less than ninety minutes later, after Simon had steadied the wobbly kitchen table, changed the shower curtain, fixed a leaky faucet, and finished two or three other little chores, he was ready to take out Justine’s trash and retreat back to his own apartment.
    “You just don’t know how much I appreciate all your help. Such a nice young man.” Justine said goodnight.
    Simon got up the next morning and went to work. When he returned he darted quickly and quietly past Justine’s door lest he get caught again. He made it safely back to his own apartment. He turned on the T.V., hopped into the shower, hopped out, dried off, checked his e-mail, and felt ready for dinner.
    He opened his pantry. “Dinner, dinner, dinner, what do I want for dinner? Beans. Crystal Sauce. Tofu- tofu’s in the refrigerator, anything else from the pantry while I’m here? Rice- top shelf, step stool. Step- Damn it!” Simon had left his step stool at Justine’s apartment!
    “Can I get by without my step-stool?” Simon tried to reason with himself. “No. I’m short, I can’t get by without my step stool. I’m going to need it sooner or later. Might as well put on a brave face and go now.” Simon walked downstairs and to the front of the building and knocked on Justine’s door. He decided he would tell her that he had left something on the stove so he absolutely could not stay.
    The door opened and Simon was shocked to see a beautiful young woman standing before him. She was breathtaking. Her long brown hair was braided into two pigtails, her hemp pullover hugged her tiny breasts, she wore a long colorful skirt that flowed all the way down to her Birkenstocks. She had the face of some far-off world’s moon but it was sad. Her deep sea-green eyes were wet and reddened.
    “Oh,” stammered Simon. He leaned back to look at the apartment number once more. “I’m sorry, I thought, I mean is Justine here?”
    “Justine is not available right now. Can I help you?” answered the young woman.
    “It’s just that I was here last night to help her with a lightbulb and. . .”
    “Oh you’re him,” the young woman interrupted.
    “Him?” wondered Simon.
    “Come on in,” she stepped back and held the door open. Simon walked inside. “I found this on the kitchen table with this note.” She walked across the room to retrieve something from the kitchen. God, she was beautiful. She returned and handed him a small package wrapped in brown paper with a note that read: FOR THE KIND YOUNG MAN WHO CHANGED MY LIGHTBULB FOR ME.
    “I didn’t understand the note but I guess she meant it for you. It’s so nice of you to come by and help my Grandma and keep her company. It makes me feel good to know that she had a friendly neighbor. I usually only get by once or twice a week. I know she could feel lonely sometimes.”
    Boy, now Simon felt like an ass for thinking mean thoughts about this poor old woman and wanting to call her an old bitch.”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Margo.”
    “I’m Simon. And Justine?”
    Margo turned her eyes down. “My Grandma. . . When I came by this morning, I found her sitting in her favorite chair, half-eaten grapefruit in a bowl in her lap. She looked peaceful. It didn’t feel wrong. I knew it was her time. But it makes me so sad. I loved her so much.”
    “I can’t believe it,” answered Simon. “Last night she seemed so. . . I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry. You’re the ‘kind young man’ who helped her change her lightbulb. You were good to her. I know she appreciated it.”
    Again Simon felt terrible about his bad attitude the night before. He was trying in his mind to review last night’s visit, hoping he had done a good job of hiding his unkind thoughts.
    “So, let’s see what you got,” suggested Margo.
    “What?”
    “The present Grandma left for you. Let’s see.”
    “Oh, sure, O.K.” The two sat down at the kitchen table and Simon unwrapped the package. He peeled away the brown paper to reveal a small book with a plain green cover bearing no title. He flipped through the pages, all of which were blank. “Oh, it’s a journal.”
    “Do you write?” asked Margo.
    “No, well a little when I was in high school. Never anything good.”
    “Well it seems my Grandma saw a writer in you. She was always a pretty good judge of character, maybe this is a sign.”
    They sat together for another two hours talking and getting to know one another. Simon even managed to make Margo laugh a few times. Finally it was time for Simon to go. Margo showed him to the door and told him she was glad to have met him. “Don’t forget this,” Margo reached for Simon’s step stool, which had been hiding behind the door, and handed it to him. “Enjoy Grandma’s gift. I hope you get some use out of it.”
    “I just might,” answered Simon. He held up the book and flipped through the pages again to show his appreciation. It was then that he noticed the gift was slightly used, although he did not share that discovery with Margo. He did not want to seem ungrateful. On the first page two words were written in elegant script: KISS HER. Nothing else. The rest of the page was blank as was the rest of the journal. Simon thought this was quite odd. Looking up at the gift giver’s beautiful granddaughter, Simon wished he could take those words as direct instructions. Thinking better of it, he decided he ought not to frighten her. He had very much enjoyed her company and he didn’t wish to ruin it by making himself a fool. He closed the journal, picked up his step stool, looked up and smiled.
    Margo said goodbye and told Simon she would be sure to see him again as she would be coming by everyday to settle things for her Grandma and clear everything out of the apartment.
    Simon didn’t see Margo the next day but the day after he ran into her in the foyer.
    “Oh, I’m glad it’s you,” she greeted him. “I wanted to get word to you but I didn’t know which was your apartment. Grandma’s funeral is tomorrow. I would love it if you came. You were the only friend she had here.”
    Simon was so glad to see Margo and tomorrow was his day off, he would get to see her again. Of course he wanted top go. “I’d be happy to,” began Simon, but then he hesitated. “Only, I just know I can’t get off work tomorrow.”
    “Oh, that’s too bad.”
    “I’ll keep you in my thoughts, though.” Simon quickly started off again, heading toward his apartment.
    “Wait,” called Margo. He didn’t. “See you later!” she tried.
    “Yes, I’m sure we will,” Simon answered over his shoulder.
    He entered his apartment and closed the door behind him. “Idiot! IdiotIdiotIdiot! Sure, go to a stranger’s funeral to hit on her granddaughter- real classy! She called you her grandmother’s friend but she’d find out soon enough what a phony you are! Idiot! You’d never pull it off. Let it go.”
    About a week later Simon saw the building manager showing the front apartment. It was empty. Margo was gone.
    Months went by. He still thought of her. He thought of the funeral and cursed himself for not going. Finally, he managed to banish thoughts of Margo from his mind. He was back to his daily routine.
    It was spring. Simon liked to run when it was sunny and warm. He decided he would take the bus downtown to the city park and get some exercise. He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and put it in his bag. Then an uncommon thought came upon him. He thought he might do some writing. He hadn’t tried writing in forever. He took the plain green book from his desk drawer and put it in his bag with a couple of pens. Then he walked down to the bus stop.
    As he sat down at the crowded bus stop he took the book out of his bag. He opened it and noticed some writing on the front page. Suddenly his breath stopped short. He was about to open an old wound. He had taken the book. Why hadn’t he recognized it? But wait. Was it? He didn’t remember these words. In elegant script was written: WAIT FOR THE EXPRESS. Very strange. It had said something else before, hadn’t it? The bus approached. Trying to shake off his feeling of ill ease, Simon put the book back in his bag and joined the crowd as they pushed onto the bus.
    There were no seats and the aisle was packed full all the way to the back of the bus. Simon wondered if he would have to stand for the entire thirty minutes of the trip to the park. After only about a minute an express bus passed. Simon stood on his crowded bus, which would be making all stops, and he looked through the window at all the passengers on the express bus, each with a seat, they would be downtown ten minutes before he would. The stop where he had gotten on was an express stop. Why hadn’t he waited? Didn’t that thought occur to him? It did.
    Finally he arrived at the park. He ran along the path, making a full circle. He sat down on a park bench and drank from his bottle of water. Once more he opened his book. Again his eyes immediately fell upon words written in elegant script. But wait. The words were different than the words he had read at the bus stop. Of course, the words he had read at the bus stop hadn’t been the original words either, had they? This was getting to be pretty strange. He wondered how it worked, what the trick was. Was it the ink? Some kind of disappearing/reappearing novelty store gag? Maybe the pages stuck together. No, this was still the first page. It was just so bizarre. It was like. . .
    S-P-L-A-T!!!
    Gross. A bird in the tree above him had just made a mess of his shirt. All over his left shoulder. If only he had been sitting just a little more to the. . .
    Simon looked at the page again and read out loud, “MOVE TO THE RIGHT.”
    “WAIT FOR THE EXPRESS,” he said thinking of his bus ride to the park.
    “KISS HER,” Simon recited words he had read in the book on the night it was given to him.
    “KISS HER”
    “KISS HER”
    “KISS HER.”