Erin kept hoping that M was not someone from her office. But how could he not be? Who else could have found her notebook? She suddenly remembered the corporate group pictures hanging by the reception area of her firm. Holding the note to her chest, she went to find out who M might be. Feeling a bit smug, she scanned the names at the bottom of each picture, hoping to find him.
The creepy guy from the audit department’s last name started with M, and she sincerely hoped her pen-pal wasn't him. She already decided M would have to be his first initial, so she moved on. Michael from the ninth floor was a possibility, but he was unbelievably long-winded. He loved to hear himself talk. She couldn't imagine he'd be much different in writing.
Melvin from the HR department? Erin guessed he could be a possibility, but he never seemed to have much of a personality. Could he be bold enough to write in her journal? Doubtful. She picked her way through the rest of the pictures and couldn't picture any of them writing to her.
Erin also had been watching the people around her. No one acted any differently around her than they had before. No one acted like they had a secret. Everyone else maintained the status quo. She, alone, was breaking through the monotony.
She gave up on trying to figure out who M was. At this point, his identity didn’t make a difference. She had her note and the words had her sitting taller. With the promise of M's story, Erin was ready to settle into her day. She folded her note carefully and tucked the page carefully in her purse. She smiled and dropped the strength charm into the folds of that note, and got ready for a day of accounting. She was amazed by how quickly the day went.
Marcus drove home grinning like an idiot. His biggest hope worked out like he dared dream. She understood every word he wrote and the greater meaning behind them. She was as intelligent as her eyes hinted. Unlike many women he knew, she did not react over-emotionally. She took his note as intended, and thanked him for being respectful. But she wasn't cold, either. God, she really understood…and she wanted his story. He couldn't wait to tell her.
Still sore from his fight, Marcus didn't go to the gym. He probably wouldn't have anyway. He was only too ready to share himself with Erin. She was smart, she was tough, she was beautiful, and she connected with him. She was a victim, but didn’t want to live like one.
His muscles felt a little tense at the thought of her words. She gave him a nervous energy made him want to jump up and throw his hands in the air. He parked his beater-of-a-car, waved by George, and went upstairs to his couch.
Marcus dropped back onto the cushions and threw his legs out in front of him. The book rested in his hand as if the pages were precious. He understood exactly what he was holding. The book didn’t contain only her story; resting within the cover was her trust in him to keep her story safe. She trusted him with herself and she wanted his story in return. He held her heart in his hands at that very moment.
He started back at the beginning of her book, glad for the chance to read every line again. He hadn't forgotten any of her entries, not a single word, but that didn't matter. He wanted to be in the story again, living through each of those moments with her. Marcus read greedily, laughing with Erin through childhood memories and finding himself angry and tense along with her when she mentioned her experience five years ago.
He could not believe how close he felt with her. He was a true part of her life when he read; he became the friend she had confided in. He was her shoulder to cry on, and he wanted to be her protector as she found her own way out of the darkness she had succumbed to. Most of all, he wanted to feel all of that from her, too.
He was more than ready to share his own story, and let her shoulder be there for his tears. He had never cried since he was a small boy, and he never intended to again. He could see the scene, though, letting himself be wrapped in her arms, being cared for. He had never been cared for like that, not since before his mother died. Until now, he never wanted to be. Funny, though, wanting to be held by Erin didn’t make him feel weak…more like
connected
. A part of him was already hers, and they hadn't even met. The time had come to introduce himself properly.
E~
Here it is, all laid out like you asked. I don't have much of a story to tell, though. Only that my childhood sucked. My mom died when my twin sister and I were 8, and my dad started drinking. He beat the crap out of me, and would have done the same to my sister if I hadn't jumped between them. The bastard made me afraid of everything. He told me I was worthless. For a while I believed him. After that I just hated him and I didn't have to believe him anymore. I only stuck around to keep my sister safe. When we turned 18, we left, and I took care of my sister still.
It's not a big story, but it's big enough. I had to fight everything he did to us. I had to fight with my fists and with my words. He never laid a hand on my sister, but he called her a whore when she was only 11 years old. I had to fight for her, too, because she couldn't. I clawed my way out of it. I still hate him, I still hate so much of this world because of him, but I was strong enough to get us away. I still fight every day because of him, but I do it on my own terms.
I still feel like I can't fight hard enough, though. He's still at that house. I've been away for years, but I know he's still at that house. I know where he is all the time so I can guard against him. Sometimes I feel like I'm still scared of him even though I don't need to be. I'm bigger than he is. I'm younger and faster. I'm stronger. I've turned myself into a weapon and I could go against him at any time. But damn it, I think about him and I turn back into that scared 8-year-old who's terrified of the only parent he had left.
I just can't fight hard enough to make it go away. He scared me. He scared me so much and made me feel so small. There was nothing I could do but be scared of him. I don't know how to come back from that all the way. Maybe I never will. But I will tell you this, nothing scares me anymore. Except for him. It makes no sense. I fight it and I fight everything else. It's all I can do.
God, I didn't mean to write this much. Sorry. I can't imagine what you must think of me. I'll just stop my story here and hope I haven't scared you off. I guess my point was that I know what it's like to feel afraid and try to come out of it stronger. That's my story.
~M
P.S. I saw your picture. You’re beautiful.
Marcus crashed into a deep sleep after writing to Erin. He was tired after working and still recovering from his fight on Saturday. Mostly, though, he was relieved. He was not going to lose his job. He was trusted by Erin. His story had a chance to get out of his head for a while and be safe in Erin’s journal.
He slept well and woke up after nearly twelve hours refreshed and ready for work. His body was even a little less sore after such a deep sleep. The experience left him sort of peaceful.
After he got ready for work, he tucked the book under his arm and
almost
skipped down the steps toward his beater. He was ready to give his story to Erin. He was actually looking forward to her knowing. He hadn't told that story in a long time. Sharing with her was liberating. When he got to the office building, he went directly to Erin's desk. He tucked the book back in the corner for her. He smiled to himself and headed for the custodial supplies.
Erin anticipated her arrival at the office again like a quivering bundle of nerves. She needed to hear his story. Something was starting here. She didn't know if she'd ever know who M was, but she knew he would have an impact on her nonetheless. He already had.
His first note offered a tiny spark of hope and healing. Every proverbial spark has the potential to start a raging fire. This spark from M held the hope of something beyond the emptiness she had been living in. She had no idea what was starting, just that it was something — and
something
had been missing.
She found her notebook tucked back in the same corner. She hadn't even put her purse down when she thumbed through the pages to find where he had written to her. Her breath caught and she clamped the book shut again without reading. This was his story. He deserved better than a quick read standing at her desk. Erin called over to the Senior Manager and said, "Hey, Scott — I'm heading out for a breakfast meeting. I'll be back in an hour."
She kept her notebook in her hand and left the office building. Her favorite lunch spot was already open for a.m. coffee and muffins, so she sat down at her table and opened the book for her “meeting” with M. She ordered coffee and a blueberry scone and waited to be served before she opened the book. Erin ran her fingertips across the cover while she waited. The book nearly hummed electrically with potential and hope.
After she was served, Erin took a sip of coffee and a deep breath and started reading. Anyone walking by would have known instantly how moved she was by the words on the pages. Tears streamed down her face as she read M describe a nightmare of a childhood. Abuse, alcohol, loss, and terror ruled his adolescent world. Suddenly, her one moment of trauma seemed like nothing at all.
Her tears streamed silently down her face as she read and reread M's words to her. Her coffee and scone went untouched while she sat and processed his pain. He was still fighting his father, every day in his mind, and yet, he focused on his strength, and he focused on how his pain could help her, and he called her beautiful.
Erin had no words that could describe the feelings crashing over her from reading those few paragraphs. There were no words strong enough. She was hurting for him, ashamed of her own weakness over such a comparatively small trauma, and so instinctively proud of M for being everything that he was, in spite of what was done to him. This was all too much, and he thought she was beautiful. That little tidbit kept popping into her head as she thought about M and his difficult past.
After a long, quiet vigil at that table, Erin finally started thinking clearly. She had let herself just soak in everything from his words, but now she was ready to focus.
A few things she knew immediately: he did not work at her office if he had to look at her picture to find out what she looked like, and she wanted to meet him in person at some point. She was no where near ready to meet him, but down the road she would have to.
After reading his heartbreaking words, her arms almost ached with the need to hug him and care for him tenderly like no one had in at least a decade by her best estimate. She was shocked at her own thoughts…she needed to keep people at arm’s length.
Still, there was an inexplicable desire from deep within her to take care of M. She couldn’t do that on paper, but she would have to try. At this point, there was no other way.
M~
I know you don't want to hear how sorry I am about your childhood. I know you didn't tell me this for sympathy, but I feel it anyway. I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that. It is wrong on every level.
But that’s not what I take from your story. I can't even imagine the strength it took to remain with him, and then find a way to not depend on him later, especially after being told for years that you had no worth. God, you are so strong.
I know you weren't looking for compliments, either, but I give them to you nonetheless. You fought and won.
You
are the champion, and because of that, I know with a little more certainty that I can be that, too. My story is so small compared to yours, and you came out of it. Maybe so can I. You are making a difference for me. A real difference.
~E
p.s. you think I'm beautiful?
Chapter Four
For the next weeks, every day found Erin and Marcus absolutely living for the moments when they could read the next pages of the purple notebook. Erin kept with her "morning meetings" to have time to focus on M's notes and write back. She fell into the habit of working through lunches just so she could have coffee with his notes every morning.
Marcus was getting more confident with what he was writing, so he started taking a break in the middle of his shift so he could write back to her without taking a whole day between notes.
Every day for weeks they conversed back and forth. Some notes were short and sweet, others were long and detailed, depending on whatever needed to be said. There was never any fluff, no big outpourings of emotion. They just shared what they needed and asked what they wanted to know.
E~
Yes, you're beautiful. Without a doubt. And don't you DARE call your trauma small. Anything you go through in life that scares you...that's big. When you feel fear, real fear, it changes you. Doesn't matter the size of the situation. True terror is big every time. You have to be strong to get away from it. And you did, and so did I. Same thing.
And thanks for really getting it, my story and why I told it. I can't believe you understand, but you do. God, you really do. I understand yours, too, you know. But I don't know anymore than what you hinted at. I don't have to know, but I can listen. I actually felt a little better after I told you mine. I show you mine, you show me yours?
~M
M~
Yeah, I felt real terror. It was only for a moment, but it rocked my world. Completely. I grew up very sheltered, with wonderful loving parents. It was a dream childhood. I trusted in people because of it. People were good. Scary things only happened in movies.