The Book of The Chosen

October 1st, 2024

“You have got to be kidding me! We are not watching that movie again. Bea, please, I’m begging you. We watched it like 2 weeks ago.” I swear, Nancy can be so theatrical. I love her, I really do, but a 20-year-old woman should not be rolling around on the couch, throwing a fucking tantrum over a movie. I don’t even know how my eyeballs don’t get stuck in the back of my head from how hard I roll my eyes.

This is our routine every time we try to pick a movie. Nancy begs me, literally begs me, to pick because ‘she’s not picky’ and then next thing you know, she hates every single one I pick. Shocker. It’s like she just wants to fight with me. It’s a fucking waste of my energy. So, I may have played her a little bit and have been selecting movies I know she will say no to, so when it comes down to it, we watch the one I actually want to watch… it is my birthday after all.

“Nancy…” pause for dramatic effect… deep breath and exasperated exhale, “I swear to God, we have been looking through movies for like an hour! This is the last movie I am suggesting, so if you don’t like it, you will have to just suck it up. It’s my birthday! I think you can get over it for 2 hours. I’ll even let you pick the second one… Sound like a deal?” Now for the real kicker… puppy dog eyes; bottom lip pouted, eyes wide, eyebrows pulled together at the top. Works every time. I have used this technique since I was a little girl. So, suffice to say at 21, I’m pretty much the master. Yes, I’m a manipulative bitch, let’s move on.

“FINE! Fine. We will watch your stupid movie just… put that look away, it hurts my heart.” The smirk now lining my face could not be described as anything but mischievous. I try my best to hide it by turning back to face the tv and begin pulling up the movie I actually want to watch, Tangled. I know, I know, it’s a kids’ movie, but I can’t help it! Since I first watched it, it has been my favourite movie. I mean, how could it not? I was just like her… a light blonde, green-eyed little girl who just wanted there to be more than this shit storm so far. Yes, I am paraphrasing.

“I’ll get the popcorn; you get the wine and glasses,” I say as I make my way to the kitchen… literally two steps from our couch. Our apartment is quite small, to put it mildly. Our little shoebox, but I guess you get what you pay for. It’s basically four rooms, my room, Nancy’s room, a shared bathroom and then a kitchen-living-laundry-entry way… room. But we make it work and have made it our home, which is good cause we can’t afford anything else.

I set the timer on the microwave for 10 minutes so that I can get the perfect popcorn. The strategy is to ignore the timer, so you just set it for long enough that it won’t stop before you’re done. Then you listen for the kernels to stop popping, and that is when you take it out. I am listening intently to the popping when there is a knock at the door. Odd. We pretty much only talk to each other.

“Did you order food or something?” I yell across to where Nancy is face-first in the couch, probably looking for her phone, which is in such an obvious spot on the counter that it’s laughable. I think I hear a muffled “no,” as I walk over to the door to find absolutely no one there. “I swear to god if our neighbours are starting to play ding-dong-ditch again, I’m go-” My ramblings die in my throat as my eyes catch on a box sitting on the floor. Looking down the hall both ways, I don’t see a trace of anyone even leaving their apartment. So, I scoop down, grab the box and bring it inside, making sure to lock the door behind me. Safety first and all that.

To: Beatrice Miller

The time has come… Happy 21st Birthday.

~T.C

“Well, that’s not ominous at all…” I mumble as Nancy jogs over to me, way too out of breath for just searching for her phone.

“What is it? Is it for you? Who is it from? Oh my god, what if it’s a secret admirer getting you a birthday gift! Wh-”

“Cool it with all the questions, Nancy Drew. I’m still trying to process your first question,” I laugh and pause to think over everything she just said. “I have no idea; it’s addressed to me, so I guess ya? No idea and highly doubt it.” I swear this girl talks a mile a minute sometimes, it’s exhausting to keep up. Plus, with all the questions, there’s no wondering where the nickname Nancy Drew, or Drew for short, came from. I go to open the box when the fucking fire alarm goes off, “SHIT, the popcorn!” With the incessant beeping flaring in my ears, I run over to the microwave to find our very, very burnt popcorn and throw Nancy the dish cloth. We begin our well-practiced dance of fanning the smoke detector, turning on the fans above the stove and opening the window until it finally shuts off.

“Well, I guess we won’t be having popcorn with our movie,” Nancy adds solemnly as we look down at the charred pieces I’m dumping in the food garbage. Her tone of voice alone is enough to have us break out into a fit of laughter for so long I have to take my glasses off to wipe the tears that are streaming down my face. Once we have composed ourselves enough, we make our way back to plop down on the couch. That was almost startling enough to make me forget about the partially opened package still sitting on the coffee table in front of us… almost.

“So, are we just going to ignore the very mysterious birthday present sitting in front of us, or are you going to stop being a wuss and open it already. The anticipation is killing me!” See? Always the drama queen.

“Give me a second, dude, that fire alarm almost gave me a heart attack. I’m still not convinced my heart isn’t gonna just hop right out of my chest.” Plus, the more I look at it, the weirder it feels. Stop being a wuss, Bea, it’s just a stupid little box! I hate it when I’m right. Reaching forward, I grab the box and begin attempting to rip the tape the rest of the way off. They couldn’t have made it easier to open? It’s like they didn’t even want me to see what’s inside. After what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute or two, I managed to get the tape off and open the sides to see … darkness.

Finally, looking in the box, I find… an old book. Really? After all that anticipation, it was just someone sending me a book for my birthday? Letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I grab it and give it a once-over. Although it is very old, I can’t deny that it is truly beautiful. Well, beautiful under all that dust that has me practically coughing up a lung when I blow it off.

“The Book of the Chosen…” it sounds like something I would read, but I guess I’m just stuck on the note that was attached. The time has come? The time for what? To celebrate my birthday? Looking over to Nancy in hopes she can help me figure out what the fuck is happening, I find her staring down at the book with an unreadable expression on her face. It’s almost as if I catch a glimpse of… fear? But as quickly as it was there, it’s gone as she plasters a big smile across her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Weird.

“Thank god, it’s just one of those silly books you like reading so much!” she says, but I can tell there is something off. Her voice is just a little too high, and her expression is too tight. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when she suddenly grabs the remote from between us and starts the movie. Handing me a glass of wine, she says, “C’mon, let’s watch your stupid movie and enjoy your birthday! You can read that thing later.” And just like that, we fall back into a comfortable rhythm of watching movie after movie, talking over the whole thing while drinking lots of wine, until I look and see that it’s almost 1:00 am.

“Alright, I’m going to head to bed now, you kept me up way past my bedtime, and I am exhausted.”

“Old lady!” Nancy calls out, giggling, as I grab my things and head to my room to get ready for bed. Once I’ve done my night routine and am settling back into my cozy bed, I can’t help but look over at the new book on my nightstand. Reaching over, I grab it, looking it over once again. Why did someone buy this for me? Better question: who bought this for me?

Cracking it open, I see the dedication: Who does it harm to just try? I’m hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia, remembering those exact words being told to me as a young girl by my mom. I miss them.

­It’s been about 6 years since my parents passed away in a dreadful snowstorm while driving home from their monthly date night. It took me a long time to get past that night, and I am so glad for Nancy being there for me through it all, especially during the messy aftermath of deciding which lucky person got custody of a 15-year-old girl. Well, that train of thought went downhill fast.

I ended up living with one of my dad’s old work buddies, Stanley, and let’s just say I was glad to get out of there. I tried hard in school so I could get a scholarship to literally any faraway university with a good Psychology program. Classic right? The traumatized little girl grows up to get a degree in hopes of helping others work through their trauma… super original.

Well, on that note, there is no way I am going to be sleeping anytime soon. Looking back down at the dedication again, I take a deep breath and open the next page.