Return to Sender

There it was, lying on the floor in a supermarket aisle near to the bread. A small russet leather bound book. I nearly tripped over it as I scanned the shelves for a wholemeal loaf. I looked around but I was the only one in that aisle. Before I knew it I was scanning the pages looking for clues as to what it was, why and who had dropped it. I felt a little guilty once I noticed the careful note taking in old copperplate script. I looked around again, but this was a quiet time at the store.

The diary was full of entries dating back to the 1950s. It seemed to belong to a young woman named Alice, who had moved to the city from a small town. She wrote about her dreams, her fears, her hopes and her love for a man named Robert. She also wrote about the challenges she faced as a single working woman in a male-dominated society. She had a witty and charming voice, and I found myself drawn to her story.

I decided to take the diary with me and try to find out more about Alice. Maybe she was still alive, or maybe she had relatives who would appreciate having her diary back. I felt like I owed it to her, after reading her intimate thoughts. I checked the last entry, which was dated June 12th, 1959. It read:

"Dear diary,

Today is the happiest day of my life. Robert proposed to me! He took me to the park where we first met, and got down on one knee. He said he loved me more than anything in the world, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I said yes, of course. He slipped a beautiful ring on my finger, and kissed me tenderly. I felt like I was dreaming.

We are going to get married next month, at the church where his parents got married. He said he has a surprise for me, but he won’t tell me what it is. He said it’s something that will make me very happy. I can’t wait to find out.

I love him so much, diary. He is everything I ever wanted. He makes me feel alive, and he understands me like no one else. He is my soulmate.

I have to go now, diary. Robert is waiting for me downstairs. We are going out for dinner to celebrate our engagement. I will write to you again soon.

Yours forever,

Alice"

I closed the diary and felt a pang of sadness. What happened to Alice and Robert? Did they get married? Did they have children? Did they grow old together? Or did something tragic happen to them? I had so many questions, and no answers.

I looked at the cover of the diary again, and noticed a small sticker on the back. It had a barcode and a price tag. It said: “Vintage Diary - $9.99”.

Curiouser and curiouser. It was clear to me that this had been sold at an auction, but why? and who was the buyer? I could have taken it to the customer services desk and handed it over to lost property, but there was a rabbit hole in front of me, the idea that I could personally find out the story of the lost diary and see where it took me.

I decided to keep the diary and do some research on Alice and Robert. Maybe I could find them online, or in some public records. I felt a strange connection to them, as if they were old friends. I wanted to know what happened to them, and if they were happy.

I paid for my groceries and left the store. I got in my car and drove home. I was eager to start my investigation. I had a laptop and a printer at home, and I thought I could use them to scan the diary and print out some copies. That way, I could preserve the original diary and also have some backups in case something happened to it.

I parked my car, excited and nervous. I grabbed my groceries and headed to the elevator. Waiting for the elevator, I noticed a man standing next to me. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore a suit and a tie, and carried a briefcase. He looked like a businessman or a lawyer.

He smiled at me and said: “Hi, I’m Robert. I just moved in.”

I felt a shock of recognition. He looked exactly like the Robert from the diary. The same name at least. and he fit the description. It was uncanny.

I stared at him in disbelief and said: “You’re Robert?”

He looked puzzled and said: “Robert Smith. I’m a lawyer at Johnson & Johnson. Why do you ask?”

I felt a surge of curiosity and excitement. Could he be related to the Robert from the diary? Maybe he was his son or grandson. Maybe he knew something about Alice and their story.

I said, “Oh, I see. I’m sorry, I thought you looked familiar. I’m Alice. Alice Jones. I’m a journalist at the Daily News.”

I lied about my name and my job. I didn’t want to reveal too much about myself or the diary. I wanted to keep some distance and some mystery.

He smiled and said: “Nice to meet you, Alice. You have a lovely name. Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

I nodded and said: “Yes, I just moved in last week. I’m still settling in.”

He said: “Well, welcome to the neighborhood. If you need anything, just let me know. I’m always happy to help.”

He seemed friendly and charming, but I also sensed something else in his voice. Something that made me uneasy. Something that reminded me of the diary.

The elevator arrived and we got in. He pressed the button for the fifth floor and said: “So, what do you write about at the Daily News?”

I hesitated and said: “Oh, you know, this and that. Mostly human interest stories.”

He nodded and said: “That sounds interesting. Do you have any stories you’re working on right now?”

I felt a pang of guilt and said: “Well, actually, yes. I’m working on a story about a vintage diary that I found at the supermarket. It’s a diary from the 1950s. It belonged to a young woman named Alice, who was engaged to a man named Robert. She wrote about her life, her love, and her dreams. It’s a fascinating glimpse into the past.”

I felt a twinge of regret and said, “It is. But I don’t know much about them. I don’t know what happened to them, or if they’re still alive. I’m trying to find out more.”

He said: “That sounds like a great story. How did you find the diary?”

I said: “It was lying on the floor in a supermarket aisle near the bread. I nearly tripped over it. I looked around, but no one was there. I picked it up and started reading it. I was hooked.”

He said: “Wow, that’s amazing. You were lucky to find it. Do you have it with you?”

I nodded and said: “Yes, I do. It’s in my bag.”

He said: “Can I see it?”

I hesitated and said: “Well, I don’t know. It’s kind of personal.”

He said: “Please, Alice. I’m just curious. I won’t touch it or read it. I just want to see what it looks like.”

I felt a strange mix of emotions. I wanted to share the diary with him, but I also wanted to keep it to myself. I felt a connection to him, but I also felt wary of him.

I decided to take a risk and said: “Okay, fine. But only for a second.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the diary. I held it in my hands and showed it to him.

He looked at it with awe and said: “Wow, that’s beautiful. It looks so old and precious.”

He reached out his hand and said: “Can I hold it?”

I shook my head and said: “No, sorry. It’s too fragile.”

He said: “Please, Alice. Just for a moment.”

He looked at me with intensity and said: “Please?”

I asked him why he wanted to hold it so badly.

He looked at me with a strange expression and said: “Because… because it’s mine.”

I felt a shock of disbelief and said: “What? What do you mean it’s yours?”

He said: “It’s mine, Alice. It’s my diary. The Robert Smith who was engaged to Alice Jones is me. The Alice Jones who wrote this diary, that Alice Jones is you.”

I felt a wave of confusion and fear and said: “That’s impossible. That’s crazy. You’re lying.”

He said: “No, I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth. I’m Robert Smith. And you’re Alice Jones. We’re the same Robert and Alice from the diary. We’re the same Robert and Alice who were in love. We’re the same Robert and Alice who were meant to be together.”

I said: “No, no, no. That can’t be true. That’s ridiculous. You’re delusional.”

He said: “No, I’m not delusional. I’m enlightened. I know the truth. I know what happened to us. I know why we’re here.”

I said: “What are you talking about? What happened to us? Why are we here?”

He said: “We died, Alice. We died on our wedding day in a car crash on our way to the church. We never got married. We never had our happy ending.”

I felt a surge of sadness and said: “We died? How do you know that?”

He said: “I remember it, Alice. I remember everything. I remember our life, our love, our death. I remember the pain, the blood, the darkness. I remember the light, the voice, the choice.”

I said: “The choice? What choice?”

He said: “The choice we made, Alice. The choice we made to come back.”

I panicked. "You're scaring me Robert."

He looked at me with compassion and said: “I’m sorry, Alice. I don’t mean to scare you. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to make you remember.”

I said: “Remember what?”

He said: “Remember who you are. Remember who we are. Remember our love.”

I said: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything.”

He said: “You do know, Alice. You do know deep inside. You just need to unlock your memories. You just need to read the diary.”

I said: “Read the diary? Why?”

He said: “Because the diary is the key, Alice. The diary is the key to our past, our present, and our future. The diary is the key to our destiny.”

I said: “Our destiny? What destiny?”

He said: “Our destiny, Alice. Our destiny to be together. Our destiny to be happy. Our destiny to fulfil our promise.”

I said: “What promise?”

He said: “The promise we made, Alice. The promise we made before we came back. The promise we made to find each other again. The promise we made to love each other again.”

I felt the urge to come clean, to tell him that I had made up the whole thing about being a reporter. Sure my name was Alice, but I was Alice Walker and I had no job.

I looked at him and said: “Robert, I have to tell you something. I lied to you. I’m not a journalist at the Daily News. I’m not Alice Jones. I’m Alice Walker. I’m unemployed. I made up the whole story about the diary. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I was bored, or lonely, or curious. Maybe I wanted to impress you, or connect with you, or escape from reality. I don’t know. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you.”

He looked at me with disbelief and said: “What? What are you saying? You’re lying to me now. You’re trying to confuse me. You’re trying to deny the truth. You’re trying to run away from me.”

I shook my head and said: “No, Robert. I’m telling you the truth. This is the truth. The diary is not mine. It’s not yours. It’s just a diary that I found at the supermarket. It’s just a diary that someone else wrote. It has nothing to do with us.”

He said: “No, Alice. You’re wrong. You’re mistaken. The diary is ours. The diary is our story. The diary is our destiny.”

He reached for the diary and said: “Give it to me, Alice. Give me the diary.”

I pulled back and said: “No, Robert. Leave me alone.”

He grabbed my arm and said: “Alice, don’t do this. Don’t fight me. Don’t resist me. Trust me.”

I felt a surge of fear and anger and said: “Robert, let go of me. Let go of me now.”

He tightened his grip and said: “Alice, please. Please listen to me. Please remember me. Please love me.”

As he was holding me, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. We were on the fifth floor. We were in front of my apartment. He looked at the door and said: “This is it. This is where we live. This is our home.”

I said: “No, Robert. This is not our home. This is my home. You don’t live here. You don’t belong here.”

He said: “Yes, I do, Alice. Yes, I do. We belong together. We belong here.”

He dragged me out of the elevator and towards the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He said: “Look, Alice. Look at this key. This is our key. This is the key to our apartment. This is the key to our happiness.”

He inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened.

He said: “See, Alice? See? It fits. It works. It’s ours.”

He pushed me inside and closed the door behind us. He said: “We’re home, Alice. We’re home at last.”

I looked around and felt a shock of horror. The apartment was not mine. It was not the apartment I had rented last week. It was a different apartment. It was an old-fashioned apartment. It was an apartment from the 1950s.

It was full of vintage furniture, clothes, books, and photos. It was full of things that belonged to Alice and Robert from the diary.

It was full of things that belonged to us.

He looked at me with a smile and said: “It happened because we made it happen, Alice. It happened because we wanted it to happen, because we chose it to happen.”

I said: “What do you mean? What did we choose?”

He said: “We chose to come back, Alice, to come back to this time, to this place, to this life. We chose to come back to each other.”

I said: “Why? Why did we choose that?”

He said: “Because we loved each other, Alice. Because we loved each other more than anything. Because we couldn’t bear to be apart. Because we wanted a second chance. Because we wanted to be happy.”

I said: “But how? How did we come back? How did we do that?”

He said: “We did it with the help of the diary, Alice. We did it with the help of the diary and the voice.”

I said: “The voice? What voice?”

He said: “The voice that spoke to us after we died, Alice. The voice that gave us the choice. The voice that guided us through the process. The voice that made it possible.”

I said: “What process? What choice?”

He said: “The process of reincarnation, Alice. The process of rebirth. The process of returning to life in a different body, in a different time, in a different world. The choice of where and when and how and who we wanted to be. The choice of our destiny.”

The diary is more than just a diary, Alice. The diary is a portal. The diary is a bridge. The diary is a link. The diary connects us to our past, our present, and our future. The diary contains our memories, our emotions, and our thoughts. The diary holds our secrets, our dreams, and our hopes. The diary is the key to our destiny.

The diary can help us in many ways, Alice. The diary can help us remember who we are and who we were. The diary can help us understand why we are here and what we need to do. The diary can help us find each other and love each other. The diary can help us be happy.

But the diary can also hurt us, Alice. The diary can also expose us to dangers and threats. The diary can also reveal truths and lies. It could break us apart and make us suffer.

The diary is a powerful tool, Alice. It is a precious gift. The diary is a dangerous weapon. The diary is a double-edged sword.

We have to be careful with the diary, Alice. We have to be wise with the diary. We have to be brave with the diary.

We have to read the diary, Alice. We have to read the diary together.

The story can end in many ways, Alice. It can end happily or sadly, peacefully or violently. It could end with us together or apart. The story can end with us alive or dead.

The story depends on us, Alice. The story depends on our choices and actions. The story depends on our courage and faith. The story depends on our love and trust.

The story is not written yet, Alice. The story is still in progress. The story is still unfolding.

The story is ours, Alice. The story is ours to create. The story is ours to finish.

How do you want the story to end, Alice?