We checked the store closest to home first but didn't find it. He was looking for something very specific and so was I, and I think it's funny that even though neither one of us told the other that we were looking for a hardcover black Moleskine, we both knew that that was what we were out for. So we checked the clock and decided we had one more stop in us before we had to get home to bills and homework and kept going.
I remember laughing in the silence of the car just because the whole thing was ridiculous. Here we were, following our treasure map in what felt like the middle of the night, when we were supposed to be home and working. School nights were not made for playing authors.
The second stop was the charm, thankfully, and in the tiny revolving display on the counter by the cash registers we found them. I ended up settling for the soft cover blue books instead, solely because I'd be getting three notebooks to write in instead of one. I've always been that way-- get more for your money, even if you don't know what to do with the more. But either way, we both went back happy and talked on the way home, and my dad's hardcover book went to work and back with him every day and mine (most of mine) stayed at home in the clear plastic bin upstairs labeled "Small Notebooks."
If there's a point or a moral to the story I haven't found it yet; I have no idea why I'm deciding to post this. If I had the energy I would fluff it up more and weave in all kinds of lacy metaphors and images. Maybe I could turn it into a short story one day. For now the point is that there are two cannolis defrosting on the kitchen counter right now, which reminded me of the notebook trip, another thing that no one was interested in except for my dad and me. It's like those If You Give a Mouse a Cookie books, where one thing triggers a memory of another thing and another and another. Maybe the point is that if I think hard enough, I actually remember a lot.
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