October 7, 1:17 a.m.

Hello, Notebook. Been a while since we talked? Of course it has, it’s the beginning of the school year. There’s always that little gap while I adjust. And then something happens and I have to get back to you. So I’ve finally dragged you out of my backpack (you look like hell, by the way) with something to tell. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight unless I get it down.

Lady Macbeth…her name is Sarah Williams, and she’s a theater major. I know because I’ve been on a serious fact-finding mission. Why? I don’t know. Well, that’s a lie, and it doesn’t do to lie to one’s own journal. I spent my afternoon trudging through the October leaves from building to building in this positively unnatural cold wind and making a general ass of myself because Sarah Williams looked at me.

I sat down in Lit and she sat down beside me. No big deal. I was a little too busy to be concerned with her anyway. I was working on my first poem of the school year, due in one hour in Creative Writing, and it was turning out badly. Very badly. It went:

"A reflection twisted to curves
In a mirror as round and smooth
As dreams and lies"

I think it was about Karen. And I was about to erase it all. I had my pencil upside down, and I got one stroke across the paper when this hand came down on mine. It was Lady Macbeth.

She had been reading over my shoulder, and I was irritated about it once I figured that out, but she was paying me about as much attention as I’d paid her when she sat down. And then I got a really good look at her.

Her eyes were huge. She was staring at what I’d written as if it was the meaning of life. Maybe it was for her. Anyway, she finally let go of my hand and looked at me. Her eyes are a very deep sort of dark hazel, and she looked at me like I’d just torn her heart out and stomped all over it. I guess no one’s ever looked at me that way. Guess nothing, I know. And I just wanted to tell her it was okay and hold her…and oh hell, as long as I’m telling the truth, I wanted to kiss her too. Anything to make it alright, anything to make her stop looking so hurt and sad and scared. And then she was up and walking away. I tried to call after her, but I didn’t know her name. Oh, yes, that would have really been wonderful. "Wait, Lady Macbeth!" Thank god or whatever that I kept my mouth shut.

After creative writing, I started my fact-finding. I went from building to building trying to find Jules Malone, because first of all she’s a good friend and second of all, she’s a theater major, and she might know Lady Macbeth. I finally found her on the third floor of the library.

"Chris? What the hell are you doing here?" she whispered when she saw me. "You look like shit, did Karen call?" She’s a very small person with short red hair. She looked like a pixie hiding behind her book.

"Thanks. No, that’s not it. Listen, you remember Lady Macbeth from Macbeth last year?"

"Sarah, yeah."

"Her name is Sarah?" I’d asked, and I only said it because I wanted to say her name. Taste it. Sarah. Sarah.
Jules went on to tell me that she’s a theater major, like herself, and that Sarah Williams was headed for bigger and better things than the Bradley College theater department. "That girl’s got talent," Jules told me, and I guess she knew. She didn’t seem to talk to many people, and she lived off-campus by herself in one of the apartment complexes. Jules’ guess was that her parents were paying for it, and Jules was usually a pretty informed guesser.
"Boyfriend?" I had to ask. I felt stupid and embarrassed, but I had to ask.

Jules shook her head. "Nah. At least not since she’s been here. Marshall’s been after her, but she won’t say two words to him. Why? You’re interested?"

"Sort of," I said.

"She’s pretty," Jules replied. "And she seems really nice. But she’s a little strange, if you ask me. The sort of person who’s not from around here. Like if she was anywhere, even where she was from, she’d seem like she wasn’t from around."

I’ve been thinking about that. Of all the things Jules said, that’s what stuck to me. She was describing someone who was so closed and mysterious that they remained a complete stranger to the world. Sarah Williams had never really shown her true self to anyone.

But then I think about the way she looked at me. It was so completely open and telling. As if I’d unlocked something in her. As if I’d unlocked HER.

I’m sorry Sarah. It was an accident. I’m just a third-rate poet, really…

--Chris

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