There is a moment of panic when I realize that it is not there. I try very hard not to lose my shit in class. I’m already late, there is no need to be loud as well. The image of it lying on my bed, forgotten for the first time comes to me. Closed and alone. I feel the same way.
The other one. The school one.The one I never open, unless it is to cover the actual one and pretend to be making notes is all I have. But I cannot use it. That would be sacrilege. What, the one day I leave without it I just move on to the next one? No. I can wait this out, what’s a couple of hours?
This is a whole new experience for me. I make eye contact with a total of three of my classmates. I realize that my lecturer is not the ancient pseudo intellectual I had decided he was. This is different and terrible. I do not want to be looking up, seeing things in a new light, and changing my mind about people. I do not want to make actual, proper notes.
A horrible thought comes to be like a flaming bat right out of hell. I have never left it behind. What if I did not? What if in the uncoordinated, permanently embarrassed and apologizing chaos that is leaving the house I managed to lose it and not notice? What if at this moment some uninitiated mind has it in their hands.
I run out of the class as soon as it is over. Hightail it back home. Knock things over on the way to my room. There it is. My precious notebook. I open it and smell the ink soaked paper tears leaking out of my eyes.