I came home from work to find that the house was empty. She must be out, I said to myself, referring to my wife. It was a Wednesday. She liked to shop on Wednesday because she didn�t have to go back to work in the afternoons. Maybe she was out getting her hair done, I thought to myself. I set my briefcase down, and walked past the kitchen and into the living room. Usually after work, I would grap a snack, but today, I wasn�t really in the mood.
A cool breeze came from the window that looked out onto the south part of town. I walked over to the window, and shut it; it was much too cold to have the window open like that. I wonder why she had the window open, I thought.
I decided that I didn�t want to lie down on the couch, like I normally did after the snack that I would get, but today, I felt like just lying down on the bed in my room. I walked down the hall towards my room and noticed that all the doors to the other rooms were open. The bathroom door, the guest room, the closet door, and our bedroom. I closed all the doors, and headed to our room. Nothing looked out of place, but when I walked around to my side of the bed, there was a shoe box on the ground. My shoe box. My personal shoe box. My secret shoe box.
The box was closed. I sat down at the edge of the bed and picked up the small box. I was relieved when I opened it. All my possessions were still there. I emptied the contents of the box onto the bed, making sure that I hadn�t overlooked anything. Sifting through the items, I found an old locket that my first love had given to me. It was gold, with her initials carved into it. My pocket watch that my father had given to me also was there. All the other items where there: a photograph of my mother, a bullet shell, my writings, the first love note that my wife had written to me while I was away in Chicago. But my journal, where was my journal? Why was this box in the open? Why was it pulled from its hiding place? I began to worry. Who would take my journal, and hide it from me? Not my wife, I thought. There is no reason she would do something like that.
I put all the things back in the box, closed the lid, and slipped it under the bed. I quickly looked around the room, trying to find the small notebook. It wasn�t on the floor, or on the table. My secrets, I thought, all my thoughts... There was nothing of extreme importance in the small book, but it was my life. I felt open. A field with no mountains to hide behind. I began to sweat. I ran into the living room. It wasn�t on the table, nor was it on the floor. I ran to the kitchen and looked around, but as I expected, it wasn�t there either.
I looked back into the living room. The window. Someone must have come in, I thought. My hands were clammy. They must have been looking for valuables and stumbled onto my box. But why would someone take a journal? Why take my journal? I went to the window. I could feel the cold from the cracks in the sill. The sound of keys in the door handle made me jump. I turned, and the front door opened. It was my wife. I tried to look calm. Maybe she had it. That would make things so much better. Even though I would rather have all my secrets hidden, I would rather her know them, than have some stranger reading me like some sort of character in a novel, laughing at all my ignorant thoughts.
She asked me how my day was, and I answered. She went to the kitchen, and grabbed some milk and cookies, her favorite snack. I leaned against the wall, and tried to hide my worry. The window was open when I got home, I said. She nodded as she took a seat on our couch. I was burning candles earlier, she said, and I needed to get the smoke out.
I was relieved. At least that explained the window. But my journal, did she know about that? I hesitated to ask her about the box, but before I could say anything, she brought it up. I found a box while cleaning this afternoon. She took a bite of her cookie. I didn�t open it, she said.
Was she hiding it from me? She never had lied to me before. I had no reason to think that she was lying now. I don�t think that she knew I kept a journal. I had to risk it, and ask if she knew where it was. Did you see a small notebook, I asked.
No, she replied, and took another bite of her cookie. Hmm, I said, and then causally walked into the hallway as she turned on the TV. I went back into the bedroom, and once again looked around. I didn�t see it. Perhaps I had just misplaced it. I kneeled down and looked under the bed. There was the box. I pulled the box back, and to my surprise, the notebook was behind it. I must have pushed it back when I replaced the box. It must have fallen out when my wife had pulled it from its place under the bed. I put it back into the box, and put the box back under the bed. A wave of relief flushed over me. I walked back into the living room, and sat next to my wife. All the doors were open when I came home, I said. I was looking for candles, she said, as she popped a cookie into my mouth, still watching the TV. I ate the cookie, and leaned against her.