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n About someone else’s diary
This one time after a party, the black moleskin was left behind at our house.
No name on the first page.
It wasn’t my husband’s.
No one asked about it the next day.
I texted some guys from the party. They didn’t claim it.
Some dollar bills were tucked into random pages. I didn’t touch them. Scattered writing. Some pages skipped or flipped. I did not read the words.
I wouldn’t do that.
I couldn’t throw it away either. So it lived in a drawer, dangerously close to journals filled with my own writing. A decent dose of someone else’s private thoughts, living with us in our home. This became a test of my willpower. I was building resistance to entering a mind without consent.
I wouldn’t confuse someone else’s thoughts with mine, of course. Yet, they were there, as if they could contaminate my mind.
In my most tempted moment, I allowed myself to read a few words on a random page.
Something about acting.
A girl’s name. An echo says, “Lauren.” Was she significant? Do side characters ever make it into people’s diaries?
