Little Black book by Kamau Nosakhere

I open my eyes to my cold, gray existence and stare at the alarm clock. 5:59am. I wait for it to do its job before turning it off. I sigh. I don’t remember when the world became so gray, only that it is now a shadow of what it once was. I blink. I open my eyes to find myself at the kitchen table. My cereal is mush. I grunt as I shovel it into my mouth. I blink to open my eyes and find myself in class. Math? English? Who cares? I don’t. I do a lot of blinking to get through classes. I find myself at my locker. I open it. I realize I have nothing to put in or take out. I shut it. Janine walks by and just for a second the world looks a bit warmer, almost yellow. But then it’s gone. I blink to find myself at the dinner table. I eat, I blink… and I’m doing homework. I turn off the lamp. In mid blink I roll over to the cool side of my bed. I look at the ceiling before doing one more really long blink. This cycle continues day after day, week after week. The blinking makes it easier, I hit my checkpoints throughout the day without bothering with the in betweens. Simple. Calm. Predictable. Until one day at dinner I hear something. It’s out of place but familiar.

“Jamal!”

I jump. My family is staring at me. My baby brother is the only one acting normal, making a mess of his food. My father’s face is harder than usual, I’m guessing he called me. Mom has a tear on her face. My younger sister sobs into the side of her shirt. I look back to my dad. He sighs, “I’ll say it again...Grandad passed away this morning”.

The world gets a little more gray. A little more cold. I’m not hungry.

My mom grabs my shoulder, “You ok?”.

I don’t know. “Yeah. Tired”.

In my bed, I blink and open my eyes to the same dark ceiling. I look at my alarm clock. 10:47pm. I try again, shutting them harder. A few days later, I open my eyes to find myself in an office. The adults are talking. I’m not really there; it hasn’t really sunk in yet that he isn’t either. The man on the other side of the desk slides me a piece of paper.

Hey grandson. I know this may be hard, but my time has come. Life is a journey full of experiences. In my time I have been lucky to have many experiences. Some good, a lot bad. But experiences nonetheless. I know life can feel like it’s dragging along—plain, with no nuances. A cycle of events that play over and over again ad nauseam. It’s up to you to realize that that isn’t how you want your life to move along, and actively make that change. This may sound like just any old speech that comes from this old mind, but it’s important to live life. You only get one. And if you don’t live it what’s the point? Anyway, I’m leaving you some money. Yeah after all of those boring words here’s the good stuff. $20,000. And not for school stuff or nice clothes or anything your parents might want you to buy, I’m already giving them money for that. This is for you and for whatever you want to use it. I do ask one thing. Don’t use any of it—not a penny—not until you are able to write in this book and not get a response. It may sound weird now, but you will understand. You don’t have to, but I think it will be fun. All and all, I love you, J. I always will.

Looking up I can see the anticipation in my family’s eyes, searching my face for a reaction. Only, I’m not sure what my reaction is.

“Um. Twenty thousand dollars?”

“Yeah. Don’t get overwhelmed or carried away, we are going to open an account for you,” my dad says holding my shoulder.

“The...book?”

The man behind the desk slides me a small black notebook.

“I don’t know anything about it. Sorry.”

I open it and flip through the pages. They’re blank. The book is simple. Hard covered with lined beige pages. With it being just barely bigger than my palm, it’s a bit underwhelming. I’m still the center of attention.

“Thank you.”

It’s a quiet ride home. Looking out of the window of the backseat. The world is beginning to look more and more like the cover of the book. This stupid, weird, simple book. It’s not my fun, crazy, interesting grandad. Before I get into bed I put the book into my dresser drawer. I blink.

☥

When I wake up, I open my eyes to my alarm clock at 5:59am. As per usual, I wait. It goes off and I get up to stop the noise. I reach down and right next to it...The black book. I swore I put that away. Confused, I stare at it. The alarm continues to go off. I blink and nothing changes. It’s still there. Almost staring at me. No matter how many times I blink it doesn’t go away. I’m still here. “Turn it off!” My sister’s voice shocks me. Slamming down on the alarm clock, it stops at 6:15am. I grab the book and shove it back in the drawer. I probably just left it there last night. With the drawer shut, the space where the book rested just a moment before glows with a shade of brown in comparison to the rest of the gray dresser. I haven’t seen that brown in a while. I blink and it’s gone. I must be tired. I rub my eyes and open them to my soggy cereal. Ok, all is well. I get home and open my eyes to start my homework, there it is on my desk staring up at me. From around its sides, little bits of green creep onto the desk. The beautiful green had been lost somewhere in my memories. But How? Why is the book not back in the dresser? I’m certain I put it there, and books don’t just walk around, much less open dressers and climb up desks. Downstairs I find my dad holding my mom on the couch in front of the tv. “Mom? Dad? Did you guys see Grandad’s book?”

My mom looks up, “No. Did something happen to it?”

“No! Uh...it’s nothing, it’s good”.

I turn to go. My mom grabs my hand and smiles,

“It’s gonna be ok, Baby.”

“I know. I’m good.”

“Get some rest!” my dad calls out.

“I will.”

Looking back at them, it almost looks as if they’re radiating purple. Back upstairs, I put the book back in my dresser and start my homework. I blink into my bed and then go to sleep.

☥

For the next few days, the book is always on the dresser when I wake up and on my desk when I get home. Always leaving remnants of color beneath it. One morning when I wake up looking at my alarm clock, I grab the book. I open to the first page and I write:

WHY!?

I stare at the page in anger. Just when I’m about to close it, I see words begin to appear on the page.

Yes. Why? Why do you use it if you’re gonna wake up anyways?

I... What? “You can talk?” No response. “Uh...I mean. You can write….back?” Still no response. I put my pencil to the paper. What should I say?

What are you?

What am I? I’m a book, fool. What are you?

I'm a…...wait Why can you speak….write...whatever the hell this is!?

I wrote because you did. Didn’t you write? Why is it surprising that I’m writing?

Because I’m a human.

And I’m a book. We’ve been over this. What makes you more entitled to writing than me?

I’m at a loss. I’m having a conversation with a book. A literal book. My alarm clock goes off. I turn it off.

If I don’t have the clock it won’t wake me up.

It doesn’t wake you up now.

I want to argue, but I don’t have a rebuttal. I unplug the clock. I look back at the book, and I realize it is glowing. A tiny blob of brown color appears on its cover. I look back at my dresser and I realize it’s been restored to its rich brown color. Like years worth of dust had been wiped away.

What happened?

That alarm clock was part of your existence, but it wasn’t part of you living life. It was a step. Not an experience.

So I just cut it out of my life?

If you want. If it makes sense.

What else should I do?

There’s no response. There’s this small warmth within me that came with the new color of my dresser. I... I want more of it. I blink and with my eyes closed I see the brown. I open my eyes and I’m in the shower. I don’t usually come back here. The warm water feels good. It’s blue. The steam coming from the water is blue. I blink and along with the brown there’s that blue. I put the black book into my bag and walk downstairs. My sister is getting ready, my brother is running around like a madman. I smile as the world becomes more red. I don’t usually remember walking down these steps in the morning. When I eat my cereal there’s a crunch. It reminds me why I love cereal. My mom and my dad laugh as they sing and dance to old music. The sun is brighter. I can actually see my reflection in the glass table.

“You’re glowing, Baby,” my mom says smiling.

I smile back because she’s unaware of the light I can now see emanating from her. I walk to the bus stop with the warmth of this newfound sun. With the cool of the breeze, more colors join the palate. The bus pulls up. I step on and I’m reminded of why I blocked this part out. The scents, the noise, the mess, it all presents as a disgusting shade of yellow. I sit and pull out the book. I notice all of the colors darting around its originally black cover.

What about here? I don’t want to be here.

This is part of life. Part of the journey. It’s not all good. But it is all an experience. Close your eyes. Together it adds to the masterpiece.

I close my eyes. I see it. The yellow isn’t strong, but it’s there—adding depth to the other colors. This just makes those more enjoyable moments that much better. I look out the window and take in the sights. Slowly adding accents to my colors. At school I am rushed by colors of smiles, tears, excitement… and “Jon!” I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Jamal, how you been?”

“I’m good. Let’s hang later, my house.”

“Yeah, cool!”

He runs off smiling. He leaves me smiling. Later that day at my locker I can feel the yellow coming. It’s bouncing off the walls warming the place. This time I wave. Janine smiles back. I’ll say something another time. This warmth is enough for now. Dinner with my family is a

rainbow. Dad cooked today. He’s happy in the kitchen, we’re happy eating his food. In my bed I take out the book. A jumble of colors dance on its cover.

Thank you.

Of course, J.

Grandad?

My tears wet the page.

I would never get an answer.

Not until you are able to write in this book and not get a response.

The pages remained blank.

But now my life is full of color.