The Notepad

(some language and mention of suicide).

There has to be better than this.

The notepad was in a medicine cabinet behind a medicine cabinet. Drunkenmindedly I picked at a crack one night and found it. Nestled behind the current cabinet. Filled with decades old band-aid tins and bottles of mercurochrome. 

And those seven words. 

If I was sober I might not have given it a second thought. Maybe I would have told people at work about the creepy old note I found in the hidden wall. Instead I put my tequila bottle down. I grabbed the pad and removed the pencil. It felt warmer than I expected as if I had already held it. I bit my bottom lip and started writing. 

If you find it, let me know.

The pad went back on its shelf and I shut the door. Figuring I had little more excitement coming I went off to bed, well, passed out on the couch since it was closer. I could see the void where the cabinet sat from my place on the couch. It seemed to glow in my double vision. Haloed by a soft blue. I drifted off. 

——

Waking up is the worst part. Take that for what you will. I rolled off of my couch into a pile on the floor and then scooted that pile to the shower. I finished and regarded my impromptu remodel. 

The shower hadn’t been hot enough to steam the mirror and I wished it had. My face looked hollow. My eyes sunken in and red. I already shaved and I still looked like I had a five o’clock shadow. Forgetting my tooth brush was in the cabinet on the floor I opened the mirror door. 

Realizing my mistake I was about to close it and move on until my eyes glanced over the notepad. I quickly shut the door and saw my panicked face peering back at me. Like it was box full of snakes I opened it slower this time. My hands were shaking when I took the pad from the shelf. Under my drunken declaration, in the same handwriting as the top note was three words. 

Who is this?

A mix of fear and violation overcame me. Had someone gotten in last night? I took stock of my apartment. The deadbolt on the front door was still engaged. All the windows were locked. 

Everything looked the same as it did before I went to bed. As far as I could remember. Did I write that? It wasn’t abnormal for me to forget a thing or two— or everything. I searched through the images in my head. Portions of the night fly by out of chronological order. 

I told myself I was being silly. I must have done it. 

“Stupid alky,” I said out loud and placed the note back. Then I picked it back up. My name’s Chris, what’s yours? I wrote and put it away for good. 

I finished preparing for the day and left. The whole walk down to the street I thought about my all too familiar lapse in memory. The drink takes that part of you that can attest to your own character. It kills your only witness. 

“Hey kiddo,” Mr Chen from the first floor stopped me on the way out the door, “you look a little rough, no?” 

“Ah— yeah, I’m not much of a morning person. Ha—,” Older people always say what they want, it must be glorious.

He eyed me suspiciously, “oh yeah! I know all about that. When I run the store I sleep only three hours a night,” he held up three wrinkled digits, “now my son run it. Always on vacation, let idiots manage it.” 

“Oh wow! three hours huh? I don’t think I could keep up with you.”

“No, no. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you still can’t,” he smiled proudly then he leaned in a little like he was telling me a secret, “I drink a lot in those days.” 

“Well a man’s entitled to his drink. Work hard, play hard, am I right?” I patted him on the shoulder, “I have to get to work, have a good day Mr Chen,” I headed out the door. 

——

I hadn’t had a drop yet so I know it wasn’t me. 

The page of the notepad was gone. Torn clean off, a new one started. A new note at the top. 

Are you a ghost? 

I looked at my own hand. Was I? I started to pull chunks of the wall away. Could someone get behind there? I inspected the cabinet interior for a trapdoor. What was happening?

I chugged a twelve ouncer as an aperitif to another twelve ouncer. I kept reading the words over and over. Are you a ghost? I looked like one sometimes. I teetered on the edge of the couch and stared at the cabinet. It sat open. Motionless. No dust. The products inside had to be from the fifties at least. 

I was going to ask you the same thing. Can you see me?

I wrote it out and put the notepad back in. I closed the door and moved on to the main dish. More beer. Barely moving a millimeter as I had my stakeout. I didn’t know what it was going to do. I still wasn’t convinced I hadn’t developed latent split personalities. 

After a good while and a few more I approached the cabinet. In a stalking manner like Columbo. I reached my hand up and recoiled, several times. Building up the nerve like a little more each time until I finally opened it. Eyes closed I reached in and took the pad. 

No, I can’t see you. How are you getting in here? 

An excitement I hadn’t felt in years came to life. That restrictive feeling you get in your chest when you just can’t wait. I wrote back. 

I live here. This is my apartment. I moved on June 4th 2004. I’ve lived here for two years. I don’t know what’s going on. 

I coordinated with my watch and decided to wait twenty minutes. Only because thirty felt so long. I may have made it to seventeen. 

2004? I don’t know what’s going on either. This was always just my cabinet. I’ve lived here for three years now. It’s 1956. My name is Velma. 

I replied. 

This cabinet was hidden from me, behind a wall. I don’t know how long it’s been covered up. I guess as long as you’ve been there, or here. Whichever way you want to say it. 

From there we continued on in intervals. I waited at least fifteen minutes so I didn’t know if it was instantaneous. 

So you’re from the future then? I’ve obviously moved on then I guess. 

Fifty years is a long time. Not that I mean you're old, I just mean I’m sure you have. This place is kind of a dump. 

Yes, I’d be about 70 from your perspective. I’d most definitely be old. This is one of the nicest accommodations I could afford, (and one of the few that would rent to an unmarried woman). I’m sure you understand. 

I forgot it was like that. I’m sorry. It gets better. 

I held the pencil on that r for a long time. 

Does it really? Are you my fairy godmother? That sounds wonderful. Are you married? I would hate to intrude. 

I’m not married. Haven’t found the right one yet. I’ve been thinking about setting up an internet dating profile— I was. I was just having a little trouble with my likes and dislikes. Like, drinking. Dislike, not drinking. 

Internet? What’s that?

I thought about my response for a bit. I didn’t know how much information I should give lest I wake up tomorrow and half the world is bug people. I figured she couldn’t cause too much damage with a quick understanding. 

People use it for that? That’s disgusting. Of course they do though. My husband Many men here I’m sure would be all too happy. 

Are you married? I don’t want to intrude either, you know?

This is when I found out it wasn’t instantaneous. Her answer didn’t come for over an hour. I had run out of beer at that point and willed myself not to go get more. Finally the pad changed. 

Ex-husband. I’ve been divorced for three years now. 

I apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude. 

I should have told you upfront but I was afraid you might not answer anymore. 

That’s silly No need to feel that way. I told you, things get better. –Well, somethings anyway. Then I drew a smiley face.

That’s adorable. It looks like a little smiling face. What’s it like in the future?

I told her what I could. We went on for hours. She amazed herself at pay-per-view and portable televisions. Cell phones and laptop computers. Though I steered clear of any historical events. I didn’t know how sensitive this whole butterfly effect thing was. Finally she sent me one last note for the night. 

I need to go to sleep. If my eyes are puffy the manager will send me home. Good night Chris. 

I said goodnight back and retreated to my couch. Slumping back. For the first night in many I wasn’t completely trashed. I still fell asleep there, view fixed on the mirror and my new friend Velma. 

——

We communicated over the next few nights. I learned she wanted to be a writer. She sent me snippets of ideas. Amazing sci-fi and even a warrior sorceress epic. Once she was married her husband forbade it. I learned that they had no children and he spent a lot of time away. She didn’t go into detail but I got the feeling he wasn’t much fun when he was home. 

Do you want to have children? — She asked one night. 

With you? I don’t think the cabinet works that way. 

No, in general. Do you want to be a father some day? 

I’d be a terrible father. The words just came out. I hadn’t thought about it much. I knew I wasn’t at rock bottom yet but I could see that station coming up. I was holding the ticket in my hand. I didn’t want any travel companions. 

I don’t think so. Terrible fathers would never say that. My husband wanted children. For a while I did too. Lord knows we tried. But after a while, Henry changed. He drinks. All he wanted was a son to carry on his name. But it seemed more like he just wanted things to happen when he said so. 

I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. 

Nobody gets what they deserve, Chris. We get what happens. That’s why I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to choose what happens.

Then why don’t you? Choose what happens? Go write. 

Because you don’t get to do that in real life. 

Why not?

I sat with my own words for a time. Why don’t you choose what happens? 

It’s hard enough for me to keep this apartment right now. Taking the time and energy to write. I don’t have the time. 

You have plenty of time to talk to some stranger from the future. 

No offense meant, I haven’t made many friends here. I don’t get a lot of options for conversation. But since you mention it, I should go to bed. 

Just think about it, Velma. Good night. 

I will. Good night, Stranger From The Future.

——

There was no new note the next day. I know because I kept checking every minute until I left. Each swing of the cabinet door my hopes were dashed. I walked out of my apartment sullen and craving a drink. 

Mr Chen greeted me in the ground floor as usual, “Morning Kiddo!” 

“Good morning, Mr Chen.” 

“Why you so sad?” He said, making his own sad face imitation. 

“Me?” I pointed to myself, “I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Hmm,” he looked me up and down 

Then I had a thought, Mr Chen has lived here for decades, “Hey, did you know any of the people who lived in my apartment before me?” 

The old man closed his eyes for a moment, “No, nobody. I come here in nineteen seventy three.”

“You never met anyone else who lived there?” 

“No, I mean nobody live there. You first to move in since I been here.” 

That seemed strange. This wasn’t a big city but it’s hard to imagine a place staying vacant for so long. 

“Any idea why?” I asked.

“Rumors I hear. Lady-,” he made a slitting motion and stuck his tongue out, “Herself. Probably just story. People always invent a ghost story. Probably just the shittiest of all these shitty apartments.” 

Maybe I was talking to a ghost after all, “do you know when this happened?” 

“By the time I get there it empty for almost twenty years. So fifties I guess? I don’t know.” 

I nodded my head appreciatively, “Thank you, Mr Chen. You have a good day.” 

“Oh, Chris, this for you,” he held out a business card, “they help me become a morning person.” 

I turned the card over in my hand. A branch of AA, “uh— thanks,” I answered, still staring at the number on the card, “I’ll see you later.”

——

There still wasn’t a note when I got home. I still didn’t understand this time vortex stuff. We couldn’t send items back and forth, we tried. Nothing in the cabinet seemed to be affected except the notepad. Which by now was almost filled. 

I couldn’t help thinking about Mr Chen’s rumor. I didn’t know if it was real. I tried looking her up on the internet but I still only had 56k. It was quicker to send messages back to the past. 

There is better than this. I wrote after a while. 

Within ten minutes my answer appeared. 

I’m being evicted. 

That’s crazy! Why? 

They say for renovations but I know why. 

Can’t you get a lawyer? 

And sue for what? My lease is up. It’s not being renewed. I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go on. I have no money. No family. No friends. I’d have to go back to Henry. I won’t do that. 

There has to be an option. Something you’re not seeing. Don’t do anything drastic. 

Why not? Who would there be to miss me? 

The future would miss you. I’d miss you. 

I'm leaving in the morning. You’ll be talking to the new tenant as soon as the “renovation” is finished.

That punched me right in the gut. I didn’t know what to say. This would be my last chance. Her last chance. Then it all came out. 

Velma. I’m an alcoholic. I’ve known this for a while now but you’re the first person I’ve told. The thing is, tonight I haven’t had a drop. I feel like crap but my head is clear for the first time. I told myself the same thing. It’s too late. It’s too hard. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re facing, but I know from your words that you can face it. You’ve made it this far. You’ve gotten me this far. For the first time I’m thinking about the future. Choose what happens, Velma. Choose what happens. 

Thank you, Chris. You’ve been very kind. I really hope the best for you. I’m glad I got to know you. Goodnight. 

Send me a letter some time. You know the address. 

——

I never received another note after that. One day I peered into the cabinet and the pad was gone. After a while I put the other cabinet back and went about my life. I found help that worked for me. I struggled and I faltered but I found my way sober. 

I never had the nerve to look Velma up. Part of me didn’t want to know. Giving credence to fate didn’t seem a healthy thing to do in my current journey. 

But hardly a moment went by that I didn’t think about her though. Sometimes I’d wander through a bookstore trying too hard to convince myself I wasn’t looking for her name. 

Until one day there was a knock on my door. An older lady stood holding a book in her arms. She was short with curly white hair and glasses. The smile on her face felt like a hug. I’d never seen her before but I knew her instantly. 

“Velma?” 

“Hello Chris. I wanted to come meet you for some time but I was a little afraid to mess up the whole temporal email thing,” she laughed. It was infectious. 

I beamed back at her, “I don’t know what to say. I—,” I felt my eyes welling up. 

“You don’t have to say anything. You told me to send you a letter but I figured that was going out of fashion,” she pointed a stern finger at me, then she grabbed my hand, “But I’d be lying if I said other things weren’t going through my head before we had our chat.” 

“What’s that?” I pointed to the book. 

“This is my first novel. Published under my pen name. Not a huge seller but it has its fans,” she held it up. Stranger From The Future.

I laughed so hard my sides hurt, “Do you want to come in? The place has changed a bit since your day—.”

“Hey!” 

“Come on, I’ll get you a drink,” she cocked her head and looked at me suspiciously, “Iced tea,” I added, “I’ve been sober one year.”

“Well then, lead the way, future man,” she extended her arm to me. I gently led her through the door.

She paused after we crossed the threshold and I heard her take a deep breath. Then she looked up at me and smiled again, “Good to see you old friend,” she said