The handwriting is beautiful, very classic-looking. The short, slightly-hard-to-decipher words have a masculine feel to them.
I was forced into this world with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the leather journal in my hands. I suppose while I’m trapped here, I’ll make use of my time.
I’m sitting on a large rock by a stream, possibly a river. It’s wide, and the water flows like the river that runs by my house back home. There are trees all around me, short ones and tall ones, wide ones and thin ones, so many trees, so many smells. And the flowers, the flowers are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. More beautiful than the flowers that grew in my benefactresses’ garden. Though, I suppose you couldn’t really consider it her garden, since she was rarely the one tending to it.
This appears to be some kind of written account of someone’s life, or possibly just someone making shit up. But transported to this world? What? I wonder again how my parents came to own this. I continue reading while the author continues to detail his life in this new world. He explores the world and on his first night, he sleeps under the stars. On his journey, he’s written so far that he has seen no structures or anything other than trees and flowers, and the occasional small creature skitters by. I picture the world in my head and imagine I’m taking the journey with him.
I’m torn from the story when I hear, “Goodnight, honey,” from my mom as she moves down the hall. I look at the clock and realize I’ve been reading for several hours.
“‘Night, Mom, love you.” I stand and grab my pajamas to get changed and ready for bed. Once I’m done washing my face and brushing my teeth, I pick the book up, get comfortable in bed, and continue reading.
As the author continues to explore his world, he outlines the landscape surrounding him, and more creatures he sees. But one thing continues to be clear to me: there are no other people in this world, at least none he comes across. I continue to wonder if possibly this is someone’s beginning of a fiction novel, one which they were writing their first draft by hand. But, the way it’s written definitely makes me think this is the journal of someone with a very active imagination. Transported to new worlds? It has to be made up, right?
I look at the clock and see it’s the middle of the night. Getting up, I decide I’d like a cup of tea, so I make my way to the kitchen. When I’m settled back into my bed with my warm tea, I continue reading while I slowly sip the drink.
My tea finished, I decide to hide the journal under my mattress and get some sleep. I have another couple of days here with my parents and I want to make sure I’m awake for whatever activities they may have planned for us.
The sun streaming in through my window wakes me up in the morning. I gently reach under the mattress to make sure the journal is still there. Although really, who would have come in here to take it in my sleep? My mom told me not to worry about it so, I’m sure she hasn’t even wondered if I disobeyed her.
I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to get ready for my day. Deciding I should probably take a shower since I don’t know what we’re doing today, I stand under the spray and enjoy the warmth of the water pouring over my body.
“Sweetie, are you coming out soon?” my dad calls from the hallway.
“I’ll be out in a sec, Dad,” I yell back as I turn off the water and reach outside the curtain for my towel.
I love that my parents have changed very little in the time us kids have been out of the house. They’ve kept everything almost exactly the same, even down to the towel I have wrapped around myself. As I dry off and get ready for the day, I can’t stop thinking about the journal and how I will count the minutes until I can get it back out and read more.
Once I’ve made my way into the kitchen, my mom says, “Good morning, sweetie, we were thinking we’d go to the holiday in the park event today, what do you think?”
“Of course! You know I love seeing all the vendors and eating the yummy food every year,” I agree, genuinely looking forward to it.
Usually, I’m the only one in my age group as my parents’ town is all getting older, but I love getting to see the people I rarely get to. I can also usually get some delicious hot chocolate and other warm, sweet delicacies.
I finish getting my shoes and socks on and we all load into my dad’s truck to head to the town square. Downtown Jackson, Wyoming, is set up like those cute old towns, all on a square with a statue in the middle.
One thing I notice while we’re looking for a parking spot is this year someone has brought in a horse and sleigh for people to ride. I have never ridden in a sleigh before, but I hope the long line is a good sign that I’m going to love it.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna go find out the wait time for the sleigh rides. I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I say.
“Okay, honey, we have our phones on us. Call us if you can’t find us,” my dad says and winks at me. Seeing several people I recognize from town, I wave and smile at them as I pass.
I stop and grab a hot chocolate before making my way to the line for the sleigh ride. My phone goes off with an incoming text message. Realizing it’s a little childish to be so excited about riding on a sleigh, I glance around to see if there is anyone else out here on their own. I feel better when I see several other adults on their own. What I really notice, though, is the couple arguing right in front of me. I pull my phone out to see who texted me. It’s the Besties Group Chat.
Jen
Stacy
Me
Huxlee
I’m staring down at my phone when I hear the woman in front of me speak in a high-pitched, shrill voice, “I told you I wanted to spend today with my friends! How could you drag me here instead?” She’s yelling at him because he wants her to spend time with him when she wants to go spend time with her friends? I think all of us within earshot see the writing on the wall for this relationship.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and look off to their right, pretending not to listen in.
“Annette, calm down. You’re making a scene. You know very well why I didn’t want to go with you there. I’m not an idiot. I see the way you and John look at each other every time we’re around your friends,” he snaps.
“Masey, you know I don’t have eyes for anyone but you,” she responds in a sickeningly sweet voice. God, I even want to ditch this bitch and I’ve only been in their proximity for five minutes.
He rolls his eyes. “Annette, stop. Everyone here doesn’t need to be privy to our relationship issues.”
“What? You’re blaming me for this?” she speaks even louder than she was before. “How dare you! I can’t believe I’ve even wasted any of my time with you. We’ve never even fucked. John is sooo much better!” After she says this, she stomps her foot like a toddler and marches off.
But in true narcissist fashion, she turns back around. “Aren’t you coming, Masey?”
“No, I want to spend time here at this holiday event. You enjoy your time with your friends. Tomorrow we need to talk when we’ve both had some time to cool down.”
She stomps back over to him and hisses loudly enough for us to hear in his ear, “Just know I won’t be screaming your name tonight when I’m with John. He really knows how to hit all the right spots.” This woman is trying too hard to convince him this John is the better guy. But then again, the scorned ex always has to have the last laugh, right? Because I’m sure she’s already planning how she’s going to blame him for all of this. That’s what narcissists do, right? It’s sad that this is the most exciting thing I’ve been a part of in as long as I can remember. And I’m just a spectator to the demise of their relationship. Even my own boyfriends, who have mostly been boring, have all parted ways on amicable terms.
My parents instilled in us that you date to get married. No guy I’ve ever dated has fit the bill of someone I could even stand to be around for more than a couple of dates. It has made for a lot of time between guys, even a reputation of being a stuck-up prude in college. Is it so bad that I knew I wanted to be able to have a damn conversation for more than five minutes with the person I plan to spend the rest of my life with?
He grasps her biceps and pulls her into him, whispering something in her ear. Annette’s face transforms as she tries to pull away from him. Finally, he releases her and her face morphs into anger.
The silence is palpable as we all watch her storm off muttering expletives the entire way. Masey takes a deep breath and looks around to see who witnessed their spectacular drama. I think the fact we are all looking everywhere but at him clues him in to the fact we all heard.
He faces the front of the line, a new stiffness in his broad shoulders. The sleigh pulls up, and he’s next up.
“All aboard,” the driver says as a couple gets down from the sleigh. But when Masey gets up into the sleigh, the driver turns to me. “Ma’am, are you going to join him?”
“What? Oh, no, we’re not together,” I explain, cheeks heating in embarrassment. I want to crawl into a hole and die there.
“It’s the rule, ma’am, two at a time, unless you’re riding with someone else. You and this gentleman here are about to go on one amazing sleigh ride.” The driver looks like what I would imagine Santa Claus to look like, big belly, red cheeks, and white hair and beard, to boot.
I look up at Masey to see if he’s okay with me tagging along on his ride. If I were him, I’d probably just want a few minutes of silence away from the whiny woman who just stormed out.
“I’m okay with it if you are,” he says, looking up at me from his seated position. I throw away my empty hot chocolate cup before turning back to the sleigh.
“What the hell?” I shrug.
As I climb into the sleigh, he reaches out to help me in, and I feel a jolt as our hands touch. He looks at me at the same time I look at him, hands still clasped. Yeah. We both just felt that. They’ve provided us with a blanket to share and he lets go of my hand and lifts the other side of it so I can climb in next to him under its warmth. I smile at him as I sit down, and he reaches across me to tuck the blanket around my legs.
“Thank you,” I say. I’m not even sure what we’ll possibly have to talk about since we’ve never even met.
He holds his hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Mason, and though I have no doubts everyone within earshot heard that spectacular display my girlfriend just put on, I’d really rather we pretend you didn’t just hear that.”
Laughing, I reply, “I’m Callie, and I’m not sure what display you’re talking about. I didn’t see a display.” Then I wink at him and shake his hand, and of course, there goes that jolt again.
The sleigh moves while we’re still shaking hands and we both quickly let go and settle in for the ride. While we move along, the snow starts to fall, and I tilt my face to the sky, enjoying the beauty of the falling snowflakes, the feel of the cold flakes melting on my face. I stick my tongue out to catch some on my tongue. This is one of my favorite things to do when it snows.
Finally, I face forward and watch downtown Jackson go by slowly. Now we sit in what I feel is an incredibly awkward silence. We listen to the sleigh bells as the horses move throughout town, pulling us behind them.
We jump when we hear, “so where are you folks from?” from the driver.
I clear my throat before responding, “I’m from here originally, but moved to Laramie for college and got a job close to UW after graduating. I’m back here visiting my parents for Thanksgiving.” I glance at Mason, and he’s staring at me with a smile on his face. “What?”
His smile drops before he turns to face the driver and answers, “I live just north of here in Beaver Creek.”
“Oh! I love the trails up there. It’s a beautiful area,” I say.
We settle back into a comfortable silence. I’m enjoying the sleigh ride, glad I didn’t have to go around the square on my own. The town goes by, and I watch all the Christmas decorations they have displayed for us to enjoy on this wonderful, snowy day. My cheeks grow icy cold and they’re probably red in the winter chill.
I’m startled when I feel Mason take my hand under the blanket. He doesn’t say anything, just holds it and continues to look around at the decorations. His hand is warm and comforting, but I pull mine away from him.
“Everything okay?” he asks, turning to me.
“I am not the type of woman to hold the hand of someone already in a relationship.”
“I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable. It just felt right.”
“And your girlfriend?”
“That won’t be a problem for much longer. I really should have broken it off as soon as I found out about her and John.”
That might be the case, but I’m not willing to fall for some “I’m leaving her, I swear” line.
Too soon, we’re back to where we started, and Mason is helping me down from the sleigh.
“It was nice to meet you, Callie. Maybe I’ll see you around?” His brown eyes bore into mine, and I can’t tear my gaze away.
“Are you sure your girlfriend would be okay with that?” I respond, finally glancing away from him. Because really, the guy has a girlfriend. And I am not a homewrecker, or relationship stealer, whatever you want to call it.
“I hope to see you again sometime. This may be weird to say, but I feel it’s something you should know: It’s important to remember looks can be deceiving.”
His last words made a shiver run down my spine. Briefly, I wonder who this Mason is, and what kind of supernatural shit was that?
“If it’s meant to be, it will happen,” I say, then I see my parents standing off to the side. I wave goodbye to Mason as I walk toward my parents.
“Who was that, sweetie?” my mom asks. She’s weaving her head back and forth, trying to get a look at Mason over my shoulder.
“Apparently, the sleigh rides were two people at a time only. That was Mason, my extra person.”
“Oh, honey, one of us could have gone with you if you’d have told us,” Dad adds.
“I didn’t want to take you guys away from your shopping time together.” I wink at my mom, who bites her lip to hold back a laugh. We both know my dad would rather be at home watching some football game than out here shopping.
We stay and do a little more shopping together, and I grab a coffee, then we head back to the house for some dinner. As soon as I can, I slip back into my room to read more of the journal, pulling it out from under the mattress.
This time, I got ready for bed and brought my tea in here before I got settled on the bed. My slippers are still on my feet. Before I open the book up, I grab my phone from the nightstand to update the girls.
Me
Jen
Stacy
Me
Stacy
Huxlee
Me
Jen
Me
Huxlee
Me
I set my phone on the nightstand and open the journal up to where I placed my bookmark last night and start reading the next entry.
Now for my story:
My father died before I was born, then when I was born, my mother threw herself into raising me and making sure I got a good education. She had the help of a benefactress, who helped her to watch me and make sure I did not get injured growing up and going through all the clumsy stages.
Benefactress? That’s the second time the author has mentioned one. What kind of fancy people lunacy was this? Maybe it is actually a storybook? I remember reading through fairytales when I was a kid. Maybe my mom has some weird handwritten first edition copies? But everything is worded like a firsthand account of someone’s life, someone’s present life and now their past. I continue reading.
There was one concern my mother had about this benefactress. She didn’t have the best reputation. She was known to give terrible gifts to the people who made her mad. So my mother did the best she could to keep the woman happy, leaving me in her care more than my mother wanted to. I was the last remaining piece of my father that she had. She didn’t want to give me up. But the woman insisted, and my mother did not want her doing something that my mother would come to regret.
It was around this time that a suitor decided he would marry my mother. He had heard of my father’s passing and decided he was going to do everything in his power to marry her and gain access to my father’s fortune. My mother had to leave me in the benefactress's care in order to spend some time with the suitor. She refused to let him meet me before she had decided he was an option for her to marry.
However, it took longer than she thought it would. I would find out later that he had locked her in his home, and I was left with the benefactress, who requested I call her by her name, Remilia, longer than my mother had intended.
My mother was forced to continue to spend time with the man, trying to figure out a way to get away from him. She wanted to make sure he would never return, and make sure he knew that there was no way she would marry him. She finally made a deal with this man and was on her way home when she got word that the suitor was on his way to Remilia’s home in order to kidnap me and force her to marry him. This meant he was immediately breaking the deal my mother had worked so hard to attain.
She was forced to go back, and she stayed with the suitor to ensure I was safe from his clutches. For fifteen years she stayed, never bringing me to her to make sure that I, her first-born and only son of her true love, remained safe. She knew as long as the benefactress was happy with me, I would be safe as well.
The story captivates me and as I continue to read. I am further drawn into the story.
While my mother was fighting with her new husband, Remilia was educating me in all the ways of being a man. How to behave properly, the arts, and she brought in men to train me in swordplay and other noble activities.
But one day, she left on a trip. She never told me where she was going, but she left me for a couple of years in the care of the servants.
When she returned, I was now eighteen, and she began to act strangely toward me. This woman, who I had considered as a mother figure for most of my life, was now being odd. I later learned that she was desperate to marry me and gain access to my family’s fortune. But I apologize I’m getting ahead of myself.
What the actual fuck? This is some crazy story. I can’t believe what I’m reading. Benefactresses, attempted kidnappings, and now creepy advances from mother figures. Whoever made up this story had some twisted shit floating around in their head, or their life was just really fucked up. On the other hand, I’ve also read some twisted stuff in my twenty-four years.
Later, she told me she had every intention of becoming my wife. This woman had somehow twisted my behavior towards her in her head to believe I was in love with her. I was shocked by her proposal when she finally told me that I needed to marry her immediately.
Over the course of my time with the benefactress, she had told me many times I could not have an answer for this or that because my mother needed to make that decision. But no matter how many times I asked, she never allowed me to go to her. This time was no different. No matter how many times I insisted I needed to speak to my mother about this, Remilia would remind me that my mother was currently with her new family and that her job was to keep me safe. She also reminded me that sending me off to my evil step-father would not be keeping me safe.
But one day, she suddenly insisted that I speak with my mother, that I get approval to marry her immediately. It was later that day that we received a letter from my mother. She insisted I come to her. She needed me to protect her against my step-father, who she had been with for many years. He was trying to gain access to our family fortune, which, now that I was eighteen, belonged to me.
Remilia was terrified of me going into a potentially dangerous situation, but also wanted very much for me to get my mother’s approval in our match. I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the benefactress and her daily proposals. So I packed my things, and Remilia arranged for me to go to my step-father’s home, with her by my side.
Yawning, I put my bookmark in the book and tuck it back under the mattress. I reflect on my day and how comfortable I was in Mason’s presence. I fall asleep with a smile on my face and hope in my heart that I bump into him somewhere else. Hopefully, after he’s had a chance to break things off with his girlfriend.
Who am I kidding? I’ll probably never see him again, I think, before drifting off to sleep.