You Are Not Alone
By Jeff Bagley
We were actually a creative writing class, but we met as a writer’s group during the summer, usually at a coffee shop. It was pleasant that Tuesday evening, but only a few of us could make it. Somehow, I’d forgotten a pen for critique notes, and borrowed one from a friend.
It was an innocuous act, and soon forgotten, so that I wound up at home that night with a pen that wasn’t mine. It was a snappy blue and yellow, with the words “You are not alone,” written neatly on the side. That’s certainly a nice sentiment, I thought. Then I plunked it in my pen holder and promptly forgot about it until it came to hand a few days later when I was noting things to buy at Lowes.
This pen sure writes smoothly, and it’s such an encouraging message. I couldn’t resist writing “You are not alone” on my list, and it looked fine there on my note pad. I drew a few hearts next to it, something I’d normally never do, and certainly not admit, but looking at the list warmed my heart, and I put it in the breast pocket of my shirt. I took it out at Lowes several times, even though I remembered everything on it without needing to look. I felt like I was getting a hug whenever I read it. It was even better when I put it in my back pocket.
I grew fonder of “my” pen as the days passed, and used it more often, treasuring a feeling of love, despite the guilt of a forbidden affair. One morning I woke to begin my day and found a special note beside my computer.
You are not alone
I carried my pen next to my heart for the rest of the day. Now, I knew my friend could never have it back. A few days later, I found another note when I returned from the grocery store. It was more emphatic.
♡ You are not alone ♡
I marveled at my happiness, and spoke aloud to my pen, saying “You’re my special little jewel!” I perched my little jewel behind my ear for the rest of the day, a day I was sad to see end. We spent the next few days on the road together visiting my brother, out of state.
He’s a restaurateur, my brother, and living in St. Louis, he naturally had plenty of ideas about places to go. We had a fabulous time watching the Cardinal’s at Busch Stadium, ate some of the best Italian food I ever had on “The Hill,” and visited the natural museum. I don’t know what possessed him to take me there, but we had a nice time, and I particularly liked the stegosaurus display. It was made using real bones, lacking only three tiny ones which the museum replicated using plaster to finish the toes in one foot. It was the most complete stegosaurus skeleton in America.
I missed having my pen in front of me all day, as it was when I worked from home, so, of course, I checked on my little Jewel every time we got into the car. To keep my brother from finding it weird, I kept it in the glove box with a tin of mints, and popped one whenever we went somewhere.
We dined at Ruth’s Chris on my last night in town, so I tucked Jewel into the inner pocket of my suit, next to my checkbook. It was an excellent meal, and full of lively conversation, but then it was time to go. I shook my brother’s hand goodbye, and when I hugged my sister-in-law, she told me, “You must have a kind heart, the left side of your chest is warm.”
It was warm. I liked it.
When I emptied my pockets in a hotel that night, I found another note from My Little Jewel.
»-(¯`·.·´¯)-> You are not alone
I kissed Jewel and put her in my overnight bag, beside my Christian Dior Sauvage after shave, and hoped she’d enjoy the scent during the night.
She was quiet when we unpacked at home, but you should understand, this wasn’t unusual for her. She was happy, and warmed in my hand when I slipped her gently into the pen holder. She wrote to me again that evening, a note I found before I climbed into bed.
-`ღ´- You are not alone! -`ღ´-
I wore pajamas to bed that night, so my wife wouldn’t see where I secreted My Little Jewel away. “Why are you wearing those, are you feeling sick?” she asked.
“I’m all right,” I told her. “It’s just a little cold.” That wasn’t technically a lie. I didn’t have the slightest hint of a cold, but it was in the thirties outside.
I was delighted to bring My Little Jewel to bed. I slept well while we snuggled that night, and I had fabulously exotic dreams of ink and paper, such as you could never imagine. The pen drew waves at first, beautiful waves. Then they started moving, wave after wave, progressively increasing in size, then crashing ashore where somehow fireworks launched themselves into the sky and exploded in dazzling patterns on a page of lined paper, while in the foreground, My Little Jewel gushed groups of ink drops that splashed onto the page, then became hearts.
It was euphoric.
But the next morning, her message wasn’t quite so enamored.
“You are not alone!” it said, and My Little Jewel was cold when I picked her up. It was vexing, and I troubled over it all day. The following morning was even more disturbing.
You are not alone!
I took her to the coffee shop, speaking gently to her in the car on the way there and back, and laying her across my cup to bask in the warmth and aroma, but it was no use. When I picked her up, she was just as cold, and now felt gritty and prickly in my hand. When I checked on her before bed, not only was she like ice, she’d left another message.
You are not alone!!
I didn’t sleep. I never heard a peep from my jewel all night, but when I entered my office in the morning, there she was, sticking straight up out of the mini stuffed hedgehog my daughter gave me. The hedgehog had been viciously attacked, with multiple wounds bleeding fluff onto the corner of my desk, and the message was repeated.
You are not alone!!!
Of course, I put the pen in the trash and carried it to the dump immediately, returning home glad to have the threat out of my house. I slept well beside my wife that evening, knowing my home was safe, and there would be no further trouble. The house was quiet, and I slept until seven, but when I got up, she was back in my pen holder. A note lay beside my computer.
You are not alone! cxxx|::::::::::::>
Remembering how fire purifies, I chose to take a drastic course. I started a bonfire in the back yard, clipped that possessed piece of evil to a stick, and thrust it in the flames. The pen melted, releasing an odor somewhat akin to an electrical fire as golden plastic droplets hissed and fell aflame onto coals where they burned themselves out. I watched until the last droplet was consumed, and let the fire burn two hours more before I doused it. I sighed in relief, knowing all was now well—but I didn’t sleep that night, not a wink. In the morning though…
()==[:::::::::::::>()==[:::::::::::::>()==[:::::::::::::>You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! You are not alone! <:::::::::::::|==()<:::::::::::::|==()<:::::::::::::|==()
The pen was hot to the touch and blistered my hand. Fortunately, it cooled when I put it into a glass of ice and stuck it in the freezer. I took it to the writer’s group later that night.
“Here’s your pen, Chrissy, thanks for the loan.”
“Oh sure, you’re welcome. I’d forgotten all about that. I love that pen. It’s got such a nice sentiment.”
