the journal - h.s.

12

It turned out Jenny wasn’t too difficult to teach. Maybe it really had been that hangover, which had been holding her back on her first shift. I watched as she proudly managed to create her very first latte art heart - a little slanting - but still very nice for a tenth try.

She flashed a smile at me, “it’s actually not that difficult!”

We had decided not to open the coffee shop, as I then could focus on teaching her the tricks and important stuff you had to know when working at Cafe du Acta. Like never for the love of God - leave the place unmanned. Never. If the coffee shop was opened and there were customers - it should always have at least one person visible and ready to serve. Always.

Jenny tucked a loose strand of her violently red hair behind her ear. Revealing the 6 earrings she carried in her left ear. Actually she was a very pretty girl with a light spirit and humor. We had clicked quite well - after overcoming the awkwardness - and I started to begin understanding why Ari had hired her. She was young yet had something mature in her way. And lastly she swore like a sailor.

“Maybe I’ll be able to not freak out .. ehm.. what the fuck was his name.. Eric a second time.” She let out a laughter taking a sip of the coffee, as I had told her to do when she was practicing. In that way she could taste for herself whether it had been properly made.

“He’s not that bad - I’m sure he was just stressed out. I bet he would be happy to know how good you’ve become,” I lifted my bag to search for the mobile phone, checking how long there was till I had to be at Aria’s.

“I sure hope so -,” she threw the rest of the coffee into the sink, “but. Crap just. Thank you. So much. Honestly I can’t fucking thank you enough! Aria told me it was kind of a last minute call to get you down here.”

I had plenty of time - it was only five minutes past one.

“It’s no problem really - it’s actually been kinda fun,” I sent her a true smile and meant what I had said. Even though my heart had felt heavy after reading in the journal, this had definitely helped a bit to get my mind of things.

It turned out Jenny studied movie production - I guessed that couple, yesterday, who had come to give her a surprise visit, also went there. Or maybe the uni had different departments. Apparently she had transferred here from New York, she didn’t say why though. But now she lived with a roommate in a small apartment they shared.

“Amber seriously - you’ve saved my bloody ass. Maybe if you don’t have anything to do Friday night you could come over to my place? We’re throwing this small party-thing. Nothing huge. It may include an abnormal size of alcohol intake, if possible some ass kicking company and a lot of funny shit though. Here,” she texted the address to my number, which I had given her earlier, after slipping into her garish purple jacket, “come if you want to. You don’t have to bring anything - it’ll be my treat.”

“Really?” My voice flew up an octave in utter surprise.

“Fuck yeah. I would love for you to come.” She chuckled and I decided I liked her even better.

Watching her leave out through the door waving over her shoulder one last time I smiled to myself. A party sounded like fun. Especially if all of her friends were as kind and welcomingly as herself and that couple, whom I still didn’t know the names of. I hadn’t mentioned anything about them, as they had told me they meant to surprise her. Sighing with a smile I prepared a cup of tea - having drunk one too many cups of coffees already. Half an hour till I had to be at Aria’s.

Even though I tried keeping my mind of it. I simply couldn’t. Having half an hour to explore the desperately scribbled text, which started off with the word ‘Benjamin’. Half an hour to explore the inspiring pages. No I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t read it - it was none of my buisness. And yet I shortly after found myself seated in one of the sofas. The steam sluggishly rising from my cup and with the soft leather of the journal against my impatient fingertips. I quickly found the page. Re-reading the first line and that single first word from the text beneath.

“I wouldn’t be where I am today without having fought hard for it, Harry. Don’t you realize you ignorant, stupid boy?”

Benjamin Franklin once said; we are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.

If that is true he must truly believe I’m working hard for the wrong cause, since I’m ignorant right? And I’m stupid. I’m not clever as him. I’m not well behaved. I’m not proper. I’m not right. I’m not good enough. I’m not. And I don’t want to be. I don’t ever want to be like him - like them. With their fucking fancy conservative values, pointless dinner manners, which obviously only function as bragging. Shitloads of those perfect manners merely for display. Always. Fucking all of the time. Why is it so wrong not to care about that inconsequentially crap? I hate him. I despite them. I won’t end like them. Ever. I won’t. I will not.

If being ignorant and stupid will give me a life of happiness I will prefer that to a life like yours. I want to live my life happy.

The writing was desperate, shaky. Not calm and steady as the notes on the first couple of pages. These were practically unreadable and had been written with way too much force against the paper. Furthermore no cute doodles or memorable notes had been added to these two pages, where the heart of someone had been poured into short, pain filled sentences. Desperately. Who had said this to him? Who could possibly call this human being stupid, ignorant and make him react this intensely?

Though every word stung to read - it was the very last word that almost caused me to gasp out loud. As the ‘y’ of the happy had been furiously dragged across the page, as if the pencil had been pressed too hard against the paper causing the pencil point to break in the progress.

As in slow motion the journal dropped from my hands. Turning in the fall it landed on the floor with a deep clunk. I felt breathless and regretted more than anything to have read on. I should have stopped. I should not have read that. I had been curious - curiousness had made me ignorant and careless. This wasn’t words written for my eyes to read - this hadn’t been written to entertain a stranger or satisfy the curiousness of one either. The person behind these words, those sentences, those thoughts was a real person. Not some fictional character. Not some imaginative adventure or quest, which needed investigation.

I realized now, that the inside of that journal was not my business. Not for my eyes and that I shouldn’t have read any of it - furthermore continue to read anymore. I had no idea how I was going to find the owner… find Harry my mind told me. But I knew I couldn’t read another word of it - I couldn’t invade the personal space of someone like this. I couldn’t just break into their most vulnerable thoughts and … and read them.

As I concluded this my heart felt heavy, still haunted by the desperation of the words. But it was not my desperation to be concerned with. It belonged to someone else.

I want to live my life happy. I’m not good enough. I’m not. Don’t let me go.

Harry.

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