The Other Side - Chapter 1

Sometimes we don’t know who we want to become.

Becky Edwards’ heart raced as she read the first line of the letter. The notebook paper, still curling at the edges, trembled in her hands. She took a deep breath and pulled her brown eyes from the paper, trying to calm herself.

Becky set at the edge of a dock. She focused on the way the breeze tugged at the hem of her African made-skirt, sending the purple and blue patterned cotton rippling across her legs. It matched the ripples in the murky brown-green water of the Moa River. The seaweed scented wind sent her long, wavy brown hair swirling around her head. She watched the sun begin to set on the small fishing village of Sulima, in Sierra Leone.

She reached for the tinted green wine bottle, empty now that she had removed the letter, and stopped it from rolling away. She had been walking to the house where her family was staying for the summer when the fading sun had glinted off the bottle floating in the shallows. Litter wasn’t a unique occurrence to the shores of the Moa River, but the way the bottle was floating, with a cork securely in the mouth, made Becky wonder.

So here she was, trembling hands and all, with a message in a bottle that started out with the line, ‘sometimes we don’t know who we want to become.’

Becky’s eyes trailed down the rest of the page.

…We know we want love, or friendship, happiness, power, success, fame, but we don’t always know how to get it. We don’t know why we want it. We don’t know how far we want to go to get it. What if we take the wrong path to get what we want? No one likes to admit it, but sometimes we find ourselves standing in the middle of a movie set wondering if this is really where we want to be.

Okay, so maybe “we” isn’t the appropriate pronoun. Try ”me.” It doesn’t seem like a lot of people are in my exact position, which is probably why I’m sitting on a dock all by myself in Africa writing my heart out.

Becky felt a chill go through her, even though, despite the setting sun, the air was still thick with heat. As though the author could possibly be there, she looked around. The only people near, however, were natives to the village, walking or riding rusty bicycles, usually with small bags of produce or fish from the local market, which was only a short walk down the road. They wore a mixture of native African clothing with vibrant colors and patterns, and Americanized t-shirts and cargo shorts, the result of native culture meeting with world philanthropy.

Her eyes were drawn back to the scrawl, tilted like that of a left-handed writer.

…But that’s exactly what happened. One moment I was walking and talking like a normal human being and then next – bam – I get hit with this feeling of… revulsion. What am I doing here? What is this life? How, with all the decisions I have made did I find myself a different person than I ever thought possible? I have done everything to change myself, my name – Jacob Kilmer to Jacob Jones -, my body, my accent, the way I think, for what? I’m successful all right. And famous, and rich, and powerful – but I’m missing the happiness, the friendship, the love. I’m starting to realize that I don’t think I can find those the way I currently am. I think I’ve taken the wrong path. It seems like everything I worked so hard to achieve, that everything I changed to become who I am, isn’t even who I want to be at all.

Clearly, I’ve starred in too many romantic comedies because I’m rolling this up and putting it into a bottle and sending it out into the water. My life is one big cliché as it is so I might as well cinch it up now and believe that someone who understands may someday find this, and, at the very least, figure out who they want to be.

Jacob.

Becky loosened her grip on the paper, allowing it to roll itself back together. Carefully, she dropped it back into the wine bottle, and pushed the cork back into place.

Becky got to her feet, brushing off her skirt and holding the wine bottle securely in the other. It was a one in a billion chance, but she had picked up a message in a bottle. And this Jacob Kilmer wanted her to figure out who she wanted to be. She smirked down at the bottle, vaguely making out the paper through the glass. He was right. It couldn’t have gotten much more cliché than that.

“Becky,” a voice called. “Hey, Becky!”

She looked up to find a familiar shape waving from the end of the dock. “Hey, Jim!” she said as she walked toward him, pushing her hair out of her face.

Jim Dyer, long-time boyfriend to Becky’s cousin, hopped off his bicycle and smiled, his face dripping with sweat. His normally bouncy blonde hair was plastered to his forehead.

“What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” he asked, shielding his hazel eyes against the sun and looking around to see if he was missing anyone.

Becky shrugged. “Watching the sunset. Does that surprise you?”

Jim laughed and shook his head. “Not at all. That’s the Becky Edward’s trademark pastime.”

“I’m fine with my name being associated with that. Are you on your way home?” Becky asked, nodding her head down the road, toward the line of old colonial-built houses, one of which she and the rest of her family were renting for the summer. The Europeanized structures stuck out compared to the homes which native people built in the village. But now that time had passed and the pristine white paint had long faded and cracked, they seemed as natural to the landscape as the river.

“Sure am; I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

Becky wrinkled her nose at him. “I can smell that.”

“Hardy, har, har,” he said good-naturedly and they set a pace walking, Jim wheeling his bike next to him. “Where’s your cousin?”

“Delany? She’s your girlfriend, shouldn’t you know?”

Jim shrugged. “Supposedly.”

Becky giggled. “She’s probably doing her trademark activity of sitting in front of the television while painting her nails.”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.” They walked up to the rental house. A small path led up from the red dirt road, cutting across a half attempt at a manicured lawn. The landlord had put down grey gravel to keep it neat, but the hearty vegetation sprung up in patches everywhere. The path led to the front porch that sagged slightly, causing the white bench on it to sit a little lop-sided. Jim gave Becky a nod and wheeled his bike down the dirt driveway, aiming for the small shed where a couple other spare bikes were stored.

Becky held the front door for Jim as he jogged across the yard. She gave him a stern look.

Jim rolled his eyes as he slipped off his dust covered shoes. “Don’t worry, mother, I wasn’t going to drag dirt into the house.”

“Yeah, right,” Becky said, but gave him a wink.

They walked into the front entry and, sure enough, as the living room came into view, so did Delany. Her feet were propped up on the wooden coffee table as she sprawled across the faded green corduroy couch. The television set was fuzzy as it struggled to find the reception for the American show she was watching.

“Hey Becky, hey Stinky,” Delany said, not looking away from the show.

Becky laughed aloud. Jim, who was already on his way to the back bedroom to shower, instead stopped and glared at his girlfriend.

“Always with the insults. Can’t one time you just say something nice when I walk into the room?”

“What’ve you got there?” Delany asked, ignoring Jim’s question. She eyed the green bottle in Becky’s hand as her cousin flopped down on the couch next to her. “Is that a Bardolino?”

“A what?” Becky asked as she looked down at the bottle. “What's Bardolino?”

Delany shrugged. “Some trendy wine. But since when do you drink?"

Jim cleared his throat, clearly wanting Delany to answer his question, but she didn’t even hear him, her gaze on the bottle.

“I don’t,” Becky said, holding it out in front of her. “I found it today.”

“You’re just going to drink some wine you found in Sierra Leone? I’m not so sure I would even do that, Becks... “ Jim said, forgetting he was trying to get Delany’s attention. All three of their gazes were fixed on the bottle in Becky’s hand.

Becky chuckled and shook her head. “No, it’s empty. Actually –“ she paused for a moment, her face heating a little with embarrassment. “There’s a message in there.”

“Shut up!” Delany exclaimed, quickly pushing herself up into a sitting position. “You’re kidding me. You found a message in a bottle? Did you read it?”

Becky smiled, “Yes and yes.”

Jim sat down in a short wicker chair near the TV. “What does it say?”

“I’ll let Delany do the honors.” Becky pulled out the cork and let the letter fall into her hand. She unrolled it carefully and handed it to her cousin, who was practically giddy with excitement.

Delany quickly read it aloud, gasping dramatically at the end of each sentence. Becky felt her lips pull into a smile. She had been riled up when she found it too, but Delany was definitely the more dramatic of the two cousins.

“I have done everything to change myself, my name – Jacob Kilmer to Jacob Jones -, my –“ Delany suddenly screamed instead of gasped and leapt from her seat on the couch, barely keeping a grip on the letter. Her brown eyes were wide and she looked down at Becky with such alarm that Becky found herself standing as well.

“What? What is it?!” Becky asked; she instinctively reached for the letter. Delany was holding it so hard Becky was worried she was going to tear it.

“Becky!” Delany shouted. “This is from Jacob Jones!”

Becky couldn’t understand why they were shouting. “What? I don’t – didn’t he say his name was Kilmer or something?“

“He said his name used to be Kilmer!” Delany’s voice was getting higher with each word. She was so excited she was bouncing, causing her dirty-blonde pony tail to toss behind her. She turned back to the letter, reading the rest of it aloud with continued shrieks.

Becky looked over at Jim helplessly, who had also jumped to his feet at Delany’s outburst. He looked over at Becky with confusion.

“The Jacob Jones?” He asked.

Becky threw her hands in the air. “Who is Jacob –“ Suddenly, the name clicked. Jacob Jones. The actor. And, like Jim had said, The actor. She recognized that name all right. Even if he hadn’t dropped the hints about being rich and famous and on a movie set she should have figured it out. Anyone who didn’t recognize Jacob Jones from any number of young, hip movies that had come out in the last five years lived under a rock – or in a small, fishing village in southern Sierra Leone.

“Are you –“ Becky started, but Delany interrupted her.

“Becky, you have just found a message in a bottle from the hottest movie start on the planet. This is insane.” She looked at the paper as though it was some kind of priceless treasure. “I can’t believe this is happening. Becky, what are you going to do?”

“I – I don’t know.” She was stunned. She reached out for the paper again, and this time Delany released it to her. His left-handed writing glared at up her from the page. This time, she read the sentence correctly. Jacob Kilmer to Jacob Jones. He had changed to a stage name.

“I was originally going to try and figure out who he was,” Becky said. “I wasn’t too worried about it, though, I just thought it was neat.” She passed her eyes over his last lines. He wanted her to be who she was. “And I guess now that I know, I can write him back.”

“Write him back?” Delany sputtered. “How are you going to write him back? What are you going to say?”

Becky shrugged. “I don’t know, but don’t you think he would be happy to get a response?”

Delany looked at Becky like she was crazy. “But Becky you can’t – “ she looked over at Jim. “Jim! Tell her she can’t.”

Becky put her hands on her hips. "Why should I treat him any different now that I know he's famous than when I thought he was a regular person? Isn't that exactly what he's talking about?" Becky waved the letter for emphasis.

Delany deflated a little. "But how can you ignore that? It's a pretty important part."

Jim looked between them helplessly. "How are you going to get a message to him anyway, Becky? He has to get a million pieces of fan mail a day.”

Becky looked down at the curled notebook paper as she spoke. “Sure, Jacob Jones might take three years to answer his letters.” She looked up with a smile. “But what about Jacob Kilmer?”

"The Other Side - Chapter 2"