The Journal

“A journal?” I said. “I thought you said I had too many notebooks already.” 

My roommate, Kat, shrugged. “You do.  But I thought you’d like it, so I picked it up," Kat said. 

She handed the journal over to me. It was leather bound, slightly stained, and worn, like it had gone through a lot of use. What an odd thing to find at a thrift store.

Curious as to how much use the journal had actually gone through, I flipped through it. The pages were completely filled with fancy handwriting, so it wouldn't be much use as an actual journal. However… A snapshot of somebody's life was written there. They must have really liked journalling, to fill the journal up so completely. It didn't matter that I already had so many notebooks at home, I just couldn't resist this journal. 

We checked out and shoved our stuff into the trunk of our shared car. I hopped in the passenger seat and Kat drove. We got home soon, which was great for me because I was just itching to read that journal for some reason. I had no idea why, but it seemed fun. I just knew it was special. 

I helped Kat carry her mountain of stuff–"Gifts," she explained vaguely–and hopped onto my bed to read the journal carefully.

 I was expecting to see a date and an explanation of who this person was, or at least a description of their day. That was what most journals were used for, or documenting some interesting travels or experiments. Instead, I found instructions. I would have dismissed it as a to-do list if not how modern and… advice-like the instructions were.

Do not go to Psych, was the line that stood out to me the most. Amongst other instructions, its bold handwritten words jumped out at me. I had no idea why, but I felt compelled to follow the advice. It was a poor idea, since I hardly understand Psychology as is, but that just made it all the more attractive to skip the class. Just for one day, I promised myself, looking down at the journal. The author seems pretty sure of this. I'll humor whoever this is.

That day, I lazed about the house while my poor Psychology classmates worked hard. I had no idea who mailed us the book, but I didn't want to question the universe. I wondered why I was meant to skip Psychology today. What would happen? Would it be as simple as a pop quiz that I was doomed to fail, or would it be something bigger, like a large fire on campus during the time I was meant to be at Psychology?

I shrugged to myself and opened my phone. 

The next day on campus, I saw one of my classmates from Psychology. I realized I should probably figure out what I missed. "Hi, Emma!" I called cheerfully, waving. 

"Hi," she responded, looking uncomfortable. I realized I was speaking quite loudly as some other students turned and gave me disgruntled looks. 

I lowered my volume slightly and asked, "What did I miss in Psychology yesterday?"

"Oh, you were absent?" Emma asked. After my nodded assent, she said, "We had a pop quiz on mental disorders. It was really hard–you're so lucky you missed it."

I thanked her and thought to myself, I didn't understand a single thing we covered on mental disorders. I am really lucky to have missed it. I thought about the journal, and silently thanked the universe for sending it my way. It was giving me so much good luck.

My positive experience emboldened me to flip open the journal as soon as I got back home. I chose a random page and a random line. The line I chose said: Don't forget to get your roommate a Christmas present. 

Was it that time of year already? It must have been–Target kept playing Mariah Carey. Earlier this year, I forgot Kat's birthday and ended up getting her a chocolate bar. I didn't think it was too bad, seeing as she'd just gone through a breakup and I thought she might need it, but she looked at me like I was an alien. 

I checked my phone and discovered that tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. I had no idea how I managed to miss all the signs that it was nearly Christmas, but it didn't matter how, just what I was going to do about it. Oh, I was really late. I sat there, trying to think of a good Christmas present. I thought of many ideas that I quickly discarded, before my eyes landed on Kat's door. 

Knowing her, she'd have a wishlist pinned up very obviously in her room. She loved making lists. I hesitated for a few moments, knowing how much Kat valued her personal space, but I was pressed for time and she'd never know, unless I made it too obvious. She would rather have a good Christmas present and an invasion into her room one time than a bad gift and respect for her privacy at all times, I reasoned.

I opened the door and after sticking my head inside, I saw her bulletin board. It had many of her favorite sketches pinned up, as well as a well-decorated and colorful piece of paper. It was a wishlist, declared the title, and I quickly read it. First was a tea set–too expensive–and second was an unending supply of flowers. Also too expensive.

Listed third were espresso beans. Of course. Kat depended on coffee to do everything from thrive to survive. It would be the best gift I could get. I raced back to my room and opened Amazon. Same day delivery, Amazon's website proudly declared. Yes! 

I placed my order and grinned. I was so happy I didn't forget this time. Despite our arguments, Kat was a pretty good friend and deserved a good Christmas present. I thanked the journal once again for delivering me such good advice that I could use at any time.

On Christmas morning, Kat and I sat around the living room. We both held packages in our hands–I'd wrapped mine Christmas Eve, but I didn't know when Kat got hers–and exchanged them. Kat gave mine an apprehensive look, probably remembering her disastrous birthday as I tore mine open. 

"A chessboard?" I exclaimed as I saw the checkerboard pattern. I was starting to learn chess on my phone, and I couldn't believe Kat noticed and got me a physical chessboard. It was going to be so much easier to move pieces now!

"Oh my goodness-espresso beans! I was wondering why the box was so tiny, but this is so great, Ellie! I love it so, so, so much," Kat gushed. I smiled, feeling a little bit guilty about invading her private space in order to get her the gift. I was really glad I hadn't forgotten, all thanks to the journal.

"It's like you're an entirely different person," Kat continued. My smile slid off my face while Kat checked the time and hurried to her other friend's house for a Secret Santa exchange. I sat there on the floor and thought, I'm not a different person. I'm just an Ellie who's a little less forgetful and a little prophetic. 

That still is a different Ellie, my brain reminded me. A slightly different Ellie is still a different Ellie. Then again–people like this different Ellie. Although it is a little bit sad that I need a magic advice journal to be somebody that people like. Is that really who you want to be? A terrible person who relies on a journal that has only worked twice so far to make them a good friend?

It does have a 100% success rate, I told myself. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

For the next week, Kat's words echoed in my head. A different person… Wouldn't it just have been better to remind myself to get her a Christmas present and just ask her what she wanted, instead of leaning on the journal? I struggled with myself, and the journal laid closed and abandoned on my desk, in sight and never out of mind. 

Once the new semester came around, I was feeling a little bit of pressure to do better during this semester. My hands hesitated, but I still grabbed the journal. It had given me good advice, and I desperately needed it. What was the difference between asking for a friend's advice and opening this journal?

The difference is that you follow this advice like it's an order. The difference is these decisions are not your own and your successes are not your own. Kat does not appreciate her roommate Ellie's Christmas present, she appreciates the journal's Christmas present, I thought. My decisions are mine and mine alone to make, not any journals, not anyone else's. 

I put the journal down and walked away. I still hesitated, though, and walked back. I held up the worn leather bound journal, observing it. It just looked so normal. When I picked it up, I had no idea how much it would eventually change my life. 

With a calm surenessness, I put the journal in my closet, in a forgotten corner where I hoped it would stay. It belonged there. Nobody gets to make my decisions except me.