“Allsop. Three copies,” Christian said as he hurriedly shoved a stack full of papers in my arms while continuing to walk away.
“I’ve been working at this lab for six years and I still am ‘the copy guy,’” I grumbled mainly to myself, however the other environmentalists lifted their head from their work to glare in my direction. My face grew hot, but I continued on talking. “I went to college to earn MY degree in environmental science,” I said, growing louder. “I spent MY money, and MY time, and I STILL make copies!” I angrily walked into my four by eight cubicle and almost broke the spinny chair as I threw my body onto it. “Stupid Christian, and his stupid money, and his stupid stupid lab coat,” I continued to grumble as I searched for the stapler. Just as my rant was getting heated, I saw a note. That pink note with her feminine handwriting was staring me back in the face. I snatched it up eager to read the content of the note. Fletcher, you are the love of my life, have a wonderful day. Love, Nora. At least that’s what I wanted it to say. Nora was the girl who had stolen my heart since I got hired here six years ago. Unfortunately, Christian has always been in the way of me actually being happy with someone. Almost coincidentally, the sound of heels clacking on the tile floor caught my attention as I glanced away from the paper.
“Did you receive my note Fletcher?” she asked, smiling broadly.
“Um yeah. I’ll get right on that,” I responded dryly with a plastered on smile.
“Thanks,” she replied, already walking off. I can’t even get the time of day from her. I sighed deeply, looking at the note to figure out what it really said. Fletcher, it read, the evaluate form for the set budget date is due Thursday, April 22. Thanks, Nora :) Crap. The budget date. Why am I sitting here writing a budget plan that is going to fail, for the third time? Suddenly realizing I had two days left to complete a budget plan I hadn’t even started, I glanced once more at the note, that note. I took a deep breath and read it once more mumbling the words stopping at her name only to discover what followed. A smiley face. Why do women have to be so confusing? Please don’t use a smiley face if you don’t mean it! I stuck the note on the edge my computer pulling up the blank budget plan. My mind went blank. I didn’t go to school to fill out budget plans, but nonetheless, here I was. Just I was beginning to gather my thoughts, the phone rang. The ringing for what seemed like hours as I let it go to my answering machine. I mean who could possibly be calling me? No one important of course. It was probably the UPS deliverers, or maybe even the Schwan’s Food Co calling with a new savings! So I let it ring and ring. Trying to focus my attention on actually getting work done, I heard someone intake a large breath. The exhale came out shaky as I recognized my mother’s voice on the machine.
“Hi honey, it’s me,” my mother said with her voice shaking uncontrollably. “I called to let you know that yo…,” she inhaled once more as if the next words were the hardest words she will ever have to speak. “Your grandmother passed away this morning…,” I picked up the receiver and answer the phone.
“Mom?”
“Oh hi sweetie. Your grandmother jus…,”
“Mom I heard,”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Mom, its okay, everything going to be okay,” I said trying to soothe her. A loud sob came out the other end of the receiver. I took a deep breath and bit my tongue. I can’t cry in front of her.
“I ju… I don’,,,” she tried to say.
“Its okay,” I repeated, mostly to myself. “It’s okay, Mom. We will all be okay, but she’s in a better place now,” I said to her, thinking of everything people say when their loved one has died.
“I know,” she sobbed.
“Well Mom,” I continued on, “ I really got a lot of work to do so I’ve got go,”
“Oh” she whispered once again, so softly I hardly heard it.
“Love you,” I quickly spit out trying to end the conversation.
“Lo…,” I hung up the phone before she could continue. I leaned back in my chair and inhaled deeply, running my fingers through my hair and back down over my face. I couldn’t talk to my mom anymore, not now anyways. I always had to be the rock for her. If I cried in front of her, her life would shatter into a million pieces. Her mother just died, and so I forgive her for being in the state she is. But in reality, we should be swapped. She always had resented her mom, leaving me to form the bond. My grandmother and I were the Hallmark-perfect grandmother and grandson! If anything, we were more perfect. Everyday she called my house to talk to me, what will I do at six’o clock now? The rest of the day buzzed on in a blur with mind whirling around and around again. By the time I was able to stop the spinning, I was home for the night. It was five forty five when I arrived home, and just as I was getting settled with my leftover Chinese, the phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was six o'clock. I ran to the phone, hoping for what I knew was the impossible.
“Hello?” I asked in anticipation.
“Sorry to bother you sir,” I exhaled at the sound of a masculine voice. “But um, I am your grandmother’s attorney with her will at hand here,” he said. I sat down on the couch twisting the cord through my fingers. “You are Fletcher Allsop, correct?”
“Correct,” I replied.
“Great well, oh wow, looks like you got the short end of the deal!” Just as I started to ask what he meant, he continued on, “Your mom received her car, her antique collection, and all the money in her bank,” I almost choked as he read the list of all the things she left her. “And you my friend, were left a chest,”
“A chest?”
“ Yep, a chest,” he answered. I wanted him to have the answer’s as to why she left me only a chest, but I knew he didn’t have them,  so I  quickly thanked him and hung up before he could even tell me when to get the chest. A chest. My grandmother left me a chest, but she left my mom her antique collection? Do you know how much that collection is worth? Do you know how much that chest is worth? That chest that rests at the end of her bed, probably filled with useless family photos, is not worth anything.  I wanted to scream. My grandmother left me a chest?! No matter how many times I said it, it didn’t sound neither accurate nor true. I relaxed back into the couch and snatched up my takeout dish, angrily stabbing my fork at the sweet and sour chicken. It didn’t taste the same knowing I now have a chest to keep in my house.  As I was debating all the possibilities of what the chest could hold, I decided I had enough. I determinedly stood up and walked straight out the door, into my car. I drove to my grandma’s house, breaking the law getting there, but got there nonetheless. I pulled into her driveway, opening her garage with the code I know better than my own.  I walked straight up to her bedroom, knowing exactly where this wretched chest is sitting. I knelt down in front of it and noticed a lock. But not the kind you can break off, no, this lock I’ve never seen before. If I had noticed it as a child I would have been more interested and broke it off. I don’t even think I recall seeing it two weeks ago when I visited. There has got to be reason she just put it on here. Shaking my head clear of those thoughts, I searched for another excuse to explain this. In the end, I insisted myself that I had only been oblivious my entire life. I focused back on opening the chest, and without a second thought I typed in her garage code. It clicked open. I reached for the lid and it squealed as I lifted it. Dust filled my eyes and mouth. I coughed, my attempts to clear the air and once again breathe failing.
“Why is there so much dust is this chest?” I screamed at no one. Aggravated and dusty, I reached in and felt around. The air cleared when I finally found an object in the mostly empty chest. I glared at the leather bound notebook with age spots and stains slowly creeping from the cover to the edge of the pages. I gripped the book harder. My face growing hot with anger, I ran to the bathroom. I leaned over the edge of the sink. I turned the faucet on, splashing my face with water, hoping it could trick me into believing my tears aren’t there. With my anger switching to sadness by the second, I grabbed the notebook and started at it hard for awhile. I ran back down the stairs while slamming every door I passed, including the front. I fuddled with the keys awhile. It’s hard to open another door, when your tears are in the way.

The crusty pages felt dry to my fingers. I ran my hand over the binding and down the aging pages. My fingers tensed up. They were sweating from nerves I can’t explain. This is only a notebook, then again, it was locked in a chest. Soon enough my head started spinning and my hands shook. It seemed as though my stomach was about to fly up into my throat if I didn’t open this book soon. I inhaled deep and held my breath as I opened the pages. They were at the point of crumbling with next touch, so I continued on flipping to the next page with extreme care. My eyes were drawn, to the top left corner. In big letters written in fading ink was the date. It read, May 25, 1606. I scanned the date once more this time paying attention to the penmanship, looking for ways I could have read the date incorrectly. No mistakes. It clearly read the year 1606. But I was not being fooled, my grandmother does get confused sometimes, she easily could have kept a journal and dated it wrong. I looked down the rest of the page. No notebook is made like this anymore. I don’t think you can even buy anything like this, anywhere! Realizing what I held in my hands, I slowly closed the book and set it down. In my hands, my rough, destructive human hands, I could be holding a notebook from almost 400 hundred years ago. History, unshared history could potentially be mine. With a new profound attitude, I excitedly reached for the book. Unsure of why I was doing this, I locked the doors. This piece of history my grandmother gave me for whatever reason, felt as though it was not for other eyes to see.  I once again opened the book examining the pages. I flipped back to the beginning. The date still read 1606, but this time I continued to read.
Dear Eleanor, the journey has only begun, but already many passengers are ill. The illness, we call it“seasickness”, continues to spreads. We left the previous day and the sleeping conditions are worse than the bunks at your mother’s.  They were closely packed and narrow. The man across from me even slid off of his bunk from the motion of the boat. He was the same lad who was sick and vomiting after his first meal! The food is rationed, but it will be sufficient. Yours truly, Abraham.
I processed what I just read. Wait, why would my grandma give this to me? So what that this is some Abraham’s journal from when he was on a ship in 1606, but why was it so important that I had it? I continued to read the next entry. Discovering why this Abraham man was on a ship was the most realistic discovery I could make at the moment. Putting all my focus and energy on that, I turned the page.
My dearest Eleanor, today is June 1st and the voyage is continuing on a rough patch. Just yesterday a storm forced us to land where we did not intend to. This morning we launched from what we believed to be a good access point, but we did not leave so smoothly.
Oh jeez, did they have any idea how bad it is to launch from a non constructed point? Compaction or even erosion could have occurred on the land and in the water below. Thinking over what I had just said, I chuckled out loud. My work has literally taken over me life. Anyone could see I’m an environmentalist.
Many things are going wrong during this voyage. A couple of times we did not catch wind for quite some times, while when we were sailing, though, we failed to bring in the anchor, dragging us down. These complications leaves everyone miserable. I long to see the land we are headed for. Yours truly, Abraham.
Stuck on the idea of my career taking over my home life, I decided to have some fun to take my mind off things. Analyzing the possibilities, I decided upon the anchor. While the anchor was dragging, it would have disturbed the sediment and bentric communities. Suddenly, I was having some fun actually using my knowledge I haven’t used in the past six years. My eyes moved down the page, becoming more and more intrigued as I read on.
The days have been passing quickly my Eleanor. The days have escaped my grasp and now it is September 13, 1613.
Wait, seven years later he writes again? I double checked the dates. What I saw was correct. The question that was pulsing in the back of my head this entire time, growing stronger by the minute, was; Who was this guy, and what is he doing? No matter how many times I reread those passages, it made no sense. I decided the only way to make discoveries is to keep on reading.
Many of the hardships we endured happened in the past couple years. After a man named Sir Gates arrived, our men and leaders decided to flee. We left Jamestown and sailed home. We did not make it home, we longed to return to our homes and families, but after much time at sea we met Lord de la Warre who relieved our long pursued mission. He did not bring us back to the land in which we hoped to return, but under his power we were back in Jamestown in a short time. I have not been keeping exact track of time, but I believe it is September about twenty days after our return.
Jamestown, Jamestown, that name sounded familiar. I kept repeating it in my head until it finally rang a bell. Those years of middle and high school history suddenly payed off. Still very confused, I read on.
Many things have changed since then. A plant known as tobacco has swept over our colony. Plantations have sprung up all over, even between the homes of the dead. John Rolfe was our savior when he planted these!
With that, I ran to my briefcase. Pulling up my computer, I opened an empty document. Here is where it all began. I spent night after night analyzing and taking note of everything this Abraham man recorded. Quickly, this “hobby” became an obsession. I spent all the time, inside and out of work, as I could reading. Three days passed, and I already had pages of quotes and analysis filling the document. Let’s get started. John Rolfe was actually the husband of Pocahontas, and because of his idea, it pushed the frontier of the settlement up the river. Although his idea was revolutionary at the time, tobacco is ruinous to the soil when greedily planted. Also, they most likely disturbed local vegetation, which makes it difficult for anything to have a habitat in that area.  Abraham also spoke of many shipwrecks. Shipwrecks often carried a ton of supplies necessary for the colony waiting on land. After a shipwreck, supplies on board would decompose having harmful effects on the ocean, its marine life, and their habitats. He also unfortunately spoke of death. Bodies were not properly cared for at first. The were often times thrown into the ocean, or simply left out. When a body is left out like that it does a process called anaerobic metabolism which leads to the accumulation of gas. Those gases eventually leak out through the body. However, one of those is nitrogen .
Nitrogen is essential for the growth of animals and plants, so they were not doing all bad, except they were releasing more than just nitrogen. They were releasing methane and hydrogen sulfide. Now and days, methane is believed to have somewhat of a contribution to global warming, but most scientists brush that off when working on global warming because of its small effect. Hydrogen sulfide can be poisonous, however I don’t believe there would have been enough of it to have an effect. But, decaying carcuses realse decompostition fluids into the environment, which can actually be harmful. The notes just kept going. My compulsion to figure this out grew stronger with each discovery I reread. Up until now all I could think about was this discovering, but now, it was different. It wasn’t about discovery anymore. I felt… I felt wanted. This book has given me the chance to prove what I can do, even if its to myself. I didn’t care about finding out why in the world my grandmother gave this me. All I wanted to feel was important. I’m not wanted, I’m not cared about, I’m not important, and no one would care if I left. Although its a stupid reason to get my hopes high, sometime its the smallest ways that make you feel like you are doing something worthwhile. My entire life I wanted to dedicated myself to making a difference, that’s why I went into environmental science! But making a difference in copy numbers wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. My mouth grew into a goofy smile, silently thanking her for what she gave me. I may not have known that I figured out why she gave this to me, but I think I just did.

Weeks passed before I went back to the notebook. After my realizations, I did not have the compulsion to read it anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t forget about this notebook, in fact, I thought about it quite often. Except, I no longer thought of it as this mystery in my life, but rather, a blessing. Finally, the time came that I wanted to go back and read more. Why is it that everytime I start to open this book I inhale so sharply, even though I know exactly what I’m going to find. But, I really don’t know what I’m going to each time! I inhaled sharply, chuckling a bit at my habit. I opened the notebook right where I left off. I scanned the last note I read, and flipped the page. It was blank. The faded, crumbling pages stared back at me, mocking me almost. I knitted my eyebrows, extremely confused.
“Relax!” I said aloud. “One blank page is not the end of the world, you are freaking out for no good reason, calm down!” I yelled in anger. I looked at my hand, the veins popping out. I sighed and relaxed my muscles, shaking my head in utter most disgust at myself. I flipped the page once more, nothing, again. I kept going, nothing. I increased my speed, as I flipped through as many pages as I could before my hand cramped. I held the book behind my head, ready to throw it all away. Just as my arm went back, preparing to launch, a page fell out. My expression quickly shifted. I slowly lowered the book, reaching for the page. I held it in my hands. I closed my eyes as I flipped it over hoping it would reveal something, anything, that I could use. I searched at the top scanning down as I went, and in the bottom right hand corner, I saw it. Only four words it read, but I could not seem to understand. I felt like a child reading “Clifford the Big Red Dog” for the first time.
WHERE MY SECRETS ARE.
The letters were tiny, easily brushed by if you weren’t looking for them. Lucky for me, they were all I was looking for. I searched the page, front and back, for any other words or clues I could find. The only words that existed on the last eighty five sheets of that notebook were those four simple words. Those four simple words could either hold more than I could possibly imagine, or they be just a coincidence. The range was pretty drastic, but I was willing to try. I spent the next four hours searching the words online, separate and together, looking at every book I owned, and remembering every phrase my grandmother ever said. All I could find was Mary Lambert’s “Secrets”, quotes about having secrets, how many times the word secret was used in each in book, and the only phrase I could remember my grandma associating secrets with was recipes, all of which were useless. Frustrated, I did what any other American does when faced with a problem. I ordered Jimmy John’s and turned on reality tv. For quite some time, I sat. I sat and sat and sat, until all I could think about was what the Kardashians were up to. I grabbed the remote to see check the time, if it’s not quite one o’clock in the morning I could still order more take out! Unfortunately, it was two, resulting in my uttermost failure to order more takeout. With the tv guide still up, I decided I was done keeping up with Kardashians. I mindless flipped through the guide. Eventually I ran past the decent channels and I was up in the channels that hardly anyone ever watched. Public programming, foreign movies and shows, and even Twilight. As I passed through the foreign films, well, it was two in the morning, so I turned on “The White Horse Inn.” I quickly became bored with that, so I flipped the channel down without a thought. I immediately recognized the German accent, but was not intrigued. Reading the description, I became slightly more interesting. At that point, I was tired, bored, and was looking for something to take my mind away. I grabbed my computer from the counter and quickly typed the German title, Geheimnisse, to the best of my ability in the search bar. All the results came back in German. Using my strongest skill, I copied and pasted the summary into google translate.
Secrets, the story of Hanz Albrecht and his journey through his everyday life after he received “The Chest of Life.” Each day Hanz’s  family and friends discover a bit more about the story behind the alter life he has in his chest. Watch the Varick Trennen classic as everyone discovers where his secrets are.
My heart rate picked up and my teeth chattered at the last phrase. I read the plot summary again. So Hanz held his secrets in the chest. I have a chest, and I have some secrets, and I don’t know what to do with that information. I’m not sure if I want to go and “discover my secrets” in the chest when all I know I will be is disappointed when “my secrets” aren’t  there. At this point, I had been through enough disappointments and emotional trauma, what would one more disappointment do anyways, right?
“I’m driving, I am driving at two in the morning to my grandma’s house to look in a chest,” I said aloud. “This is insane, I’m insane!” I listened for myself to argue, but my conscience’s lips were sealed. So without further hesitation, I decided to be insane. When I finally reached her house, I walked straight to the chest. Opening it up, not to my surprise, there was nothing but emptiness on the inside. Although I was expecting this, nothing can prepare you for the let down of what you secretly hoped for. I moved my hand along the bottom, the side, and finally the lid. As I brushed my hand over it, I hit a bump. A very discrete bump, hardly noticeable, which made my uncertainty of if it was real even stronger. I tapped it lightly and the sound rang out not quite hollow, but neither solid. Unsure of how to open it, I taped it once more. Nothing. Now I’m not sure why I thought this would work, but oddly enough, it did. I tapped the left side, then the right, slammed it up, down, then knocked on the lower right hand corner of the lid. That pattern, my grandma used to knock on the door just like so, every single time she went anywhere. Regardless, of how I opened it, it was open, it was there. The secrets of this chest were now in my possession. I grabbed the contents and shoved them in my pocket, leaving the house as I did so. Eager to read the secrets, I drove home faster than my car permitted. I barely got through the front door when I was ripping the letters out of my jacket. I tried so hard to read the words, that my eyes no longer functioned.
Dear Onkel Fredrik, Papa gave me this journal before we left home. He told me to write on the trip to our new home. I am writing to you about journey, so when we meet you back at our new home, we can share our travel stories. Auf Widersehen, Nadine.
My grandmother’s name was Nadine, but I don’t recall her ever being German. Nadine is a common name, right?
“Really,” I said aloud. “How many Nadines can there be? Plus why would a person named Nadine, have a journal of another person named Nadine, let’s think logically here!” I said scolding myself. Now that I think back about it, my grandmother never spoke of either her past or her roots. It was strange to discover that a person you’ve known your entire life, is not what you would have ever thought. For the upteenth time today, I pulled up Google. I typed in my grandmother’s maiden name; Brandt. Now to me that sounds extremely American, so I never would have guessed the next results. On the page, besides a type of goose, a list of German surnames and their meanings appeared.
“Huh,” I said to myself. I cocked my head slightly and furrowed my eyebrows. At this point, I didn’t know what to feel. Surprised, angry, happy, curious, D). all of the above? A mass of both emotions and no emotions at all, I paused. I stepped back from the situation and breathed. “Don’t fool yourself here!” I yelled. “You’ve been through this before, heck, just a week ago! So just read the notebook!” Finally feeling an emotion, I was angry. I scowled at myself and kept on reading.
Onkel, I surely hope you are enjoying your time in America, and we are on our way. You are lucky you left a  few years ago! Many terrible things are happening to the Jewish. Papa wanted us out of there as soon as it started, but we could not escape. One year ago, a terrible event happened and many people left. Unfortunately, we could not. Two days ago Mama awoke Christofer and I in the middle of the night and we took a long ride to a dock. Christofer slept on the ride, but I was too worried to sleep. Mama and Papa looked scared, and told me everythings going to be okay, but I know that it is not going to be. I’m trying to keep my spirits lifted for Christofer because he is still quite young. Nadine.
So my grandmother, I assume, is fleeing Germany to escape concentration camps. She said one year ago a terrible event happened, what was it? The beginning of the Holocaust? The beginning of World War II?  I went back to my computer and searched a list of historic events in the time period and place. Many events were listed, but none that would cause many people to leave. After about twenty minutes of searching, I thought I found what I was looking for. 1938, “The Night of Broken Glass.” After this event, many Jews tried to leave, most successful. Apparently, this event caused dramatic increase in Jewish emigration, which lines up with my grandmother’s testimony.
“Wow!” I whispered in shock. “I had no idea that 36,000 Jews left Germany and Austria in 1938, and 77,000 in 1939. Grandma said that a year ago this tragic event happened, so it must be 1939 when they are leaving Germany,” I spoke aloud, making sure my words were making sense. That many people at once cannot be okay! That mass migration probably resulted in soil erosion and some sort of water shortage as well. Thinking deeply, I glanced at the phone. Silently, I debated whether to yell at my mother for not telling me, or break the news to her. I had no idea whatsoever if she knew or not, or if I was supposed to tell her. Deciding to leave the phone alone, I went back to the notebook.
Dear Onkel, Papa told me I should write the dates on my letters to you. I did not write them on the first few, but today is May 13, 1939. Earlier today, we loaded on a large ship. There were too many people to count, but Papa says they are just like us! They don’t have a visa for the new land of America, but they have visas for Cuba. We all plan to go to Cuba and wait outside there for our US visas. Currently, we are riding across the ocean to Havanna. I will write more when we land. For now, Nadine.
Completely intrigued, I continued to read on.
Onkel, times are not going for the best right now. Now, Cuba will allow very few of us to land, and we are not one of them. They have changed their regulations. The journey will now be longer than we planned. This means we will not see you till later. The plan is to sail up to Florida, but many officials are following closely by so that no one jumps off and swims to shore. Passengers like us are not allowed to land in America without special order from their leader. The person in charge of our boat plans to send a telegram to him hoping he will let us come in. See you soon, Nadine.
Dear Onkel, there is only more bad news. Their leader has not replied and it has been four days. I do not want to go back to where we came from, I only want to be a family all together again. Hopefully, we will find another way to land because we have all lost hope that he will respond. Hoping for the best, Nadine.  
This is happening! My grandmother may or may not have been in a concentration camp for a portion of her life! Yes, I know my grandmother survives, but either way she suffered. I can’t imagine growing up knowing that my grandmother went through all that, so I finally see why she hid this from me, from all of us.
Papa is eager to leave, he cannot wait for us to sent back, or to be granted to land. He told me not to write about this in case someone found it, but we plan to escape tonight. This will most likely be the last time I write before we leave, but I am terrified. Mama had not yet told Christopher, but I hold him very tightly today just in case. I do not know what will happen.
Safe travels, Nadine.
Please, no grandma, don’t do this. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
“I can’t do this,” I say aloud. “I can’t read this, I know what’s going to happen and I don’t want to read a little’s girls tortures,” I whimper. Once I read this, my world will never be the same. If I don’t read this, I could be missing what my grandmother intended for me to know my entire life! I need to decide, I need to decide what I want. I opened my eyes, and turned the page. It was blank. “No,” I whisper. “NO!” This can’t be happening. Not again. I didn’t even bother to turn the page. I set down the pages and got up. I’m done. I can’t feel like this anymore. I hate this feeling. “If only Abraham didn’t stop writing, then I could feel that ‘environmental scientist high,’” I chuckled to myself. My smile quickly fell off my face, and my eyes grew wide. I ran back to the pages and grabbed the ones I had read so far. My computer felt heavy in my hands, as I opened up the document I started. Adding a bullet point to the list, I was ready to start. I picked up the papers and reanalyzed what I had read. Now, when families came to America in both 1938 and 1939, home would have had to been built which implies cutting forests to have lumber, and the loss of farmland or wilderness to provide a homesite. Next, energy consumption, which is probably one of the biggest environmental offenders.
Energy consumption highly correlates with various uses and pollutants. So energy consumption tends to increase as people adapt to their American lifestyle. But more than energy consumption increases as they adjust to their new lives, freshwater is increasing as well. We often times are removing or poisoning more water than we can replenish, so with that increase, it can be extremely harmful.
Doing what I love, even if I’m not making a difference in the world or getting a raise at my work, is still the best feeling that I’ve had in a long time. Even if I never do discover who Abraham is, or what happens to my grandmother, or why I got any of this and what it all means, I don’t care because I found what I was looking for. I no longer need to compete with Christian at work, be in love with a girl who doesn’t care, or have a job in which my dream career is at my fingertips but I only make copies. I grabbed a spare notebook and pen, and with one phone call to my boss, and one to the airlines, my journey began as my career ended.