Number 1: Marry the love of my life
I beamed at her neat handwriting and the small tick that followed. I mean, is there really anything better than knowing you married your perfect match? My wife Carla is smart, kind, and beautiful, more than I could have ever expected for myself. We met at a club, and while it was definitely love at first sight for me, I often felt wary that she didn’t feel the same way. Not that I thought she didn’t love me - she married me for God’s sake - it was just that Carla was never really upfront about her feelings.
Now, I know you’re not really supposed to snoop through your partner’s journal. I swear I hadn’t been planning on it! Had she not left it sitting on the kitchen table, open on a page that read ‘Bucket List’ at the top in rainbow felt-tip, I would have never even known that she had one. It was almost like she wanted me to find it.
Number 2: Move to the countryside
Another tick. I smiled, pleased by her change of heart. I’d always considered Carla to be more of a city girl and felt conflicted about purchasing a home on the outskirts of town. Her main concern was being far away from her friends and family, but when I’d explained that a home in the countryside meant more freedom, she’d relented.
“But what about my job?” she’d asked, chewing on her lower lip.
The club where she worked at the time was in the heart of the city. I knew there was no way she’d be able to commute everyday, so I told her she could quit. I promised to provide for the both of us as long as we were together, and Carla seemed happy enough with the arrangement.
Number 3: Change my name
Ticked. Er, well… I wasn’t aware that she had done that? To the best of my knowledge, Carla had always been Carla. Unless she’d changed it before we met. Perhaps it had been a consequence of her previous job?
I shot an uncertain glance towards my wife’s framed photograph on the wall. She was mesmerizing. Divine. It pained me to think that she may not have been entirely honest with me, while I shared everything with her. I’d need to find a way to bring that up in conversation.
Number 4: Block Dr. Reinhart
A tick ensued. I swallowed. Who the fuck was Dr. Reinhart? Were they someone Carla had been seeing before she met me? I was sure she’d never mentioned the name before. And what kind of aspiration was that? Certainly one that would have fit better on a daily to-do list rather than a list of life goals.
Number 5: Spend one year with spouse
I stared at the entry, my skin prickling. This one wasn’t ticked, but the words ‘one year’ were circled in red marker. With quivering hands, I counted the days we’d been married thus far. Three hundred and twenty-two. A heaviness descended over my chest, and I found myself struggling to take a breath. Was Carla planning on leaving me in a mere month?
I knew I had no one to blame but myself. By reading her journal, I had invaded her privacy. I had breached her innermost thoughts and desires without permission. There was no way I could confront her about it without making a fool of myself.
But I knew I had no choice. I couldn’t go on living without knowing if this was real. No, no, it couldn’t be. It was all in my head. It was probably just a practical joke. She’d left the journal on the table to scare me. Surely, if I asked her about it, she’d burst out laughing and tell me how gullible I am.
I was about to make my way into the bedroom when the last entry caught my eye. It was much smaller than the rest and written in pencil:
Number 6: Transfer to next owner
My heart skipped a beat. Transfer what? I flipped to the next page, searching for any kind of explanation, continuation, or anything at all to soothe my racing mind, but the rest of the journal was blank. I was frantic. My emotions were taking control and my eyes were welling up with tears. What was the meaning of this? If this was Carla’s idea of a prank, it was downright cruel.
Without thinking, I headed for the bedroom, where I found my wife still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“What the hell is the meaning of this, Carla?” I demanded, “You think this shit is funny?”
I waved the journal in her face, tears rolling down my cheeks, but Carla seemed apathetic, “Stop it, we’ve been over this, I’m tired.”
I gawked at her, “You’re tired? Tired of what? Don’t you love me anymore?”
She didn’t even look up at me. She didn’t say a single word.
“Carla?” I took a deep breath, trying my best to contain my disappointment, “Why did you write this in your journal? Is this all I am to you? Someone to spend a year with before you move on?”
She turned her body to face me, sending a series of ripples through the chains attached to the wall, “For the last time, Spencer,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “It’s your fucking journal.”