The book was old and musty. Its binding barely held the hundred or so pages that hadn’t been torn out. The ink had bled and smudged from water damage and years of being kept inside of a book bag. The owners name was still visible on the inside cover.
It had once been red with a border done in gold. On each page was a delicate print of a rose. For such a simple old book, it had quite a history. It had traveled from country to country in Europe, and had been hidden beneath many mattresses and pillows.
The damp sea air had wrinkled the fragile pages during its trip across the Atlantic to America, and dirt had smeared the back after being left on the front porch on summer evenings when kids would run into the lawn to play soccer.
But even after everything it had been through, the binding held strong and kept each page secure. Faded and messy as it was, the writing was still eligible.
The journal had followed Eleanor White from the day she received it at age seven until her death nearly eighty years later. It had been with her through her families’ flight from Germany during the war to their new home in New York.
Over the years she kept many journals, but none meant as much to her as that very first one. She had it with her every day of high school and college, and she kept it with her during her marriage and as she raised her family.
It was her granddaughter Lizzie who found the journal, tucked away in an old trunk that had been left in the attic. She read every last word with much interest, feeling closer to her grandmother with the turn of each page, though she was very far away.
A year after Eleanor’s passing, Lizzie wrapped the tattered book in a simple white cloth and brought it with her to the grave with her. With her bare hands, she dug a fairly sized hole and placed the journal gently inside with a single tear that had escaped her eye before she covered it with the soft earth.
Eleanor carried the book with her through life, and kept it close to her in death. Her thoughts and dreams may not have been very secret anymore, but she didn’t mind at all.