A Short Story for the holidays

Finding Joy

On her way out the door something called out to Joy. She was sure it wasn’t her imagination or the long day playing tricks on her. She also knew that the last patron left hours ago and even the janitorial staff was gone. It was a whisper in a language she had never heard before but it was a human voice.

The book caught her eye from across the room. It seemed out of place even in a library. As she came closer, the cover gleamed and the faint sound of drumming filled the room. When she ran her index finger over the red gem in the center of the cover the room grew silent again, as if the book knew it found who it was looking for. She chuckled, a faint attempt of reassuring herself she wasn’t going mad, and shook her head. Picking it up to inspect it didn’t help. There was no barcode, no dates stamped inside the cover, not even a copyright page. The first page was just a strange title written in spiraling bold letters that shimmered with gold. No author, only All Your Dreams Come True.

“Well, I could use a little of that in my life,” she joked to herself as she carried the book back to her office and placed it on the edge of her desk. She would take care of it on Monday morning.

The cold night air stung her cheeks as she pulled her wool coat closer to her body and made her way to her car. Christmas carols rang out from the radio as she drove through the snow. Each flake danced in the headlights, reminding her of the effortless feeling of being a child and prancing on a stage in the limelight. The endless dance lessons of her youth flashed in the back of her mind. Her life was completely different from what she had envisioned back then.

The warmth of her apartment was a welcome embrace. She could feel the burning cold in her face slowly slip away as she turned on the kitchen light. Just as it always was, everything was perfectly in its place. There was something disappointing in this fact. It filled her with dismay every time she came home. Of course there was no one else that ever came in or out of her apartment. Why would the throw blanket be aimlessly tossed to the floor just once? Why would there be dinner waiting for her when she came through the door? Still, she found a tiny part of her wanted, no, yearned for even one of those things when the light was switched on. Never mind the fact that it was impossible.

She laid her messenger bag on the counter and grabbed a frozen meal, tossing it into the microwave, not that Atkins was much of a comfort from the cold outside. What she wanted most at that moment was a giant cheeseburger from the diner down the street and oh, a slice of her grandmother’s German chocolate cake.

Since counting calories was the only way to lose those last pesky pounds, a by-product of no longer being twenty, cheeseburgers and cakes were off-limits, especially with Christmas just a week away. Her mind was clouded with memories of holiday treats when she realized there was an odd noise coming from the bag on the counter. It was buzzing, no, humming. As she leaned in closer she realized the entire bag was vibrating as if it might jump off the counter at any moment. There, nestled between a day planner and the Tupperware she used to pack her lunch was that strange book. She was sure she had left it on the desk back at the library. Didn’t she?

The humming grew louder until her upstairs neighbor, Mr. Bradley began to pound on the floor with his cane, something he did so rarely that it took her a few minutes to recognize what was going on. In an effort to muffle the insipid noise, she opened the pages and laid the book down on the counter. She couldn’t help but admire the golden edges as she flipped through them. Each page had individual etchings along the margins, something one rarely found in newer books. The flowing, dark-red font was handwritten. The words were pressed into the parchment rather than printed flush on the surface. She’d never seen anything quite like it before.

By the time the microwave beeped, she was already so transfixed with the pages that she didn’t hear it. By the time the sun came up, she felt as though she read the entire thing. If anyone was sitting over her shoulder all night long, they would know that she only stared at the first page, fixated in a trance that didn’t break until the first glimmer of sunlight entered the dank, little apartment. This book was not just composed of words and pictures, it was nothing like the dusty paperbacks lying forgotten on her shelf. This was a portal to the deepest parts of herself. One needn’t understand any sort of language to know what this tome had to say.

She sat up from her trance feeling ever so hungry and just a little more confident in the fingers that were touching the pages. What she didn’t know was how long she was sitting there. What she did know was exactly how to get everything she’d ever desired. This was a very odd sort of feeling, knowing that anything at all could be at your fingertips in moments. This was especially true when you have lived your entire life feeling as though a giant boulder was pressing down on you. Now, suddenly, the boulder, which was really just her own fear, the irreversible criticisms of her mother, and the expectations of a woman in the modern world, had vanished. Now, she felt very much like floating.

The words Page 122 appeared in her mind, a dark vision that was like a vivid dream one has in the early morning hours. Her fingers ran over the book lovingly as she flipped to the page as bid. The title shimmered and burned as she read it aloud. Haddie’s German Chocolate Cake. The words that followed were in her grandmother’s handwriting. She recognized the spiraled Os and plump Cs. It was the recipe that was lost in a fire two years after her grandmother passed away. In the top right corner of the page was the same coffee ring that decorated the folded-up paper her mother so cherished. A small tear slid down her face as she pictured her grandmother’s hands covered with flour and the taste of chocolate licked straight from a spoon. She even swore she could smell Haddie’s perfume as she read through the scribbled ingredients.

“So thin, Bärchen. Come. Eat,” she heard someone from the kitchen say. The heart in her chest was unsure whether to stop beating or pound so loudly that Mr. Bradley had to use his cane again. The sight of her dead grandmother standing in the doorway of her kitchen made everything in the room spin. She had to will her feet to step one and then the other as if she’d never done so before. When she reached out to touch Haddie’s shoulder she gasped, suddenly fascinated by the checkered pattern of her apron. Her grandmother chuckled heartily and laid a cool hand on her cheek just as she’d done a million times before in her youth. This was no dream. Haddie’s brown eyes twinkled as she scanned her face.

“You’ve come back?” she found herself asking, falling into her grandmother’s arms as if she were six years old all over again.

“For a spell, Bärchen, only for a spell. It cannot let me stay.”

She pulled back from the hug to meet Haddie’s eyes and swallowed hard, allowing the feelings of losing her all over again to slide painfully down her throat.

“How do you know for sure?”

“They told me so,” she whispered, nodding to the ingredients that suddenly appeared on the empty counter. Cocoa, coconut, milk, everything fresh and sitting in containers she hadn’t seen for over twenty years. They proceeded to talk as their hands were busy. Haddie asked her about children that she never birthed and a husband that she never got around to finding. When she was finished listening to all the excuses she had to say, Haddie shook her head.

“But you’re happy? You’ve found your Joy?”

She felt something tighten in the center of her stomach as the cake was pulled out of the oven with mitts that rarely got used. She didn’t have to answer her grandmother’s question out loud, they both knew the answer. If she were happy, the book would have never found her, and she wouldn’t be standing there right now. The aromas filled the entire apartment, chocolate so decadent you could swear it was a sin to even smell it. Joy’s mouth watered and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. As they sat down to two giant slices and two glasses of milk, the humming began again. Haddie placed a gentle, floured hand on hers, and then she was gone.

Each bite of chocolate bliss made her smile from ear to ear. Instead of feeling the same despair she’d felt when she lost her grandmother so long ago, Joy allowed herself to ponder the last question she’d asked her before she vanished. Was she happy in this cold, lonely apartment? How long ago had she even contemplated the idea of finding joy? Between the early mornings, counting calories, and the unending to-do lists, she couldn’t even remember the last time she laughed. This terrible realization made her sit back in her chair and frown. She thought long and hard about happiness and contentment. Perhaps the last time was well over a year ago when she’d gone back to her hometown to visit for the holidays. Her father never failed to make her laugh like a little girl. Yes, that must have been the last time. Her frown deepened as she turned toward the book, still resting with its pages open to the world.

The number 84 lit up in her mind and she immediately knew that something wonderful was about to happen. The book could read her mind, or maybe they shared a mind altogether. Either way, she didn’t care much. Another one of her dreams that she didn’t realize she needed was about to come true. The text was blurry at first like she’d crossed her eyes and spun around too many times before trying to read it. Slowly, word by word, she could make out what the page had to say.

Joy tilted her head, confused as to what she was looking at. Again the words were hand-written but this time, instead of her grandmother’s handwriting, it was the scribblings of a child. A list to be precise. Dear Santa, I have been very good this year. All I want in the whole world is a…this was Joy’s list. It wasn’t dated but it must have been when she was around seven years old. She couldn’t help but smile and run her fingers over the glittery drawing at the bottom of the page. It was of a chubby man in red surrounded by little grinning elves. Her mind flashed to how she missed the holidays when she was little, how special things felt. It wasn’t the same Christmas it was now. Somehow it was made of magic then. Whether it was from sheer exhaustion or the memories long past, Joy found herself weeping, soaking the pages of the book with more tears than she’d let herself cry in years. Her eyes grew swollen and red and her entire body shook with grief.

In the next moment, much to her disbelief, a pair of strong arms picked her up and carried her into another room. Her father’s voice drifted into her ears and caused her eyes to dry up. As she gazed at her father who was now lacking all the wrinkles she’d grown accustomed to, Joy slowly realized something. His words of comfort barely registered in her mind as she gazed up at him and felt his dry hands wipe away the tears from her cheeks. A faint comprehension of pain in her right knee made itself known for a moment. A bandaid was soon smoothed over the little scrape. She looked around the room. The doll she’d loved as a sister was lying beside her, staring up with sparkling blue eyes that should have been long gone. She brought her hand up to her cheek and admired the smooth skin, the small fingers that she’d long forgotten about.

Her grandmother’s voice rose up from the next room once more, this time with a lot more energy. When she went into the kitchen of her childhood home she marveled at how large everything seemed to be. Her father shot her a worried look but bustled to the front door to help her mother bring in the groceries. When they were alone once more, Haddie bent down to look into Joy’s eyes.

“Put my book on the shelf, Bärchen, dinner is almost ready,” she said, offering a knowing wink and placing the magical book in her hands. The humming stopped. Its cover was now a boring shade of blue with no lettering whatsoever but she knew this was the same book. When she placed it into its slot on the bookshelf next to recipe books and an old…or now not-so-old family photo album, she broke out into a fit of laughter that didn’t stop till her stomach ached. She’d gone so long without joy, telling herself it was perfectly normal to live a life without it. Now she’d have another whole lifetime to find as much happiness as anyone ever found. This time would be different and it was all thanks to her strange grandmother and the book that no one ever noticed until they needed it.

©Amanda Hatwell 2023 All Rights Reserved