Favour

‘Spare some change Ma’am?’ Rolland asked, painstakingly stretching his arm out.

His clothes were tattered, and his beard unkept, but still he spent every afternoon sitting under a busy Sydney overpass, hoping a generous traveller would walk by.

The tall woman in the business suit peered at Rolland from the corner of her designer glasses and continued down the street, leaving him nothing.

‘Could have grabbed her Roll, we’d all have gotten some money!’ A croaky voice called out from the alley way across the road.

‘Shut up.’ Rolland muttered under his breath, peering out from under the overpass to see how long he had until it started raining. ’fifteen minutes.’ He added, picking up his flattened cardboard box and empty cap, waiting for a break in traffic before crossing the road.

Rolland had spent the last few years on the streets, getting by on the basics, while dreaming desperately that he’d one day be able to feel the soft touch of mattress – which wasn’t covered in urine.

‘A dream. A dream.’ He muttered, gripping tightly onto his hat as he walked through the alley way, keeping his head low as to not draw too much attention again.

The other homeless people that shared the alley with him, weren’t as pleasant and spent most of their waking hours harassing people walking by, or Rolland.

Two nights prior, they’d scored a couple hundred dollars, and bought enough cheap alcohol to kill a mule. That night Rolland had woken up to a flurry of punches and kicks, gripping onto his hat as he’d pleaded for mercy in-between blows.

This night seemed much calmer. The bulk of the men were huddled into a corner, some asleep, some waiting for the drugs to kick in.

Peaceful night. He thought, sitting in his section, and pulling his cap down low.

Bam!

The drums next to Rolland crashed the ground, waking him and startling a few around him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as he turned to see what’d caused the sound, he came face to face with what he thought he was a drunk businessman, but when he took a closer look, he realised the man was bleeding.

‘Sir?’ He managed, before the bleeding man spoke up.

‘Stay quite and I’ll reward you greatly, I can’t take any more of a beating tonight.’ He said, spitting out a ball of blood and then turning to Rolland as he awaited his answer.

‘O… okay.’ Rolland stuttered, handing the man one of his rags and encouraging him to use it as a disguise.

The man obliged and covered himself up, laying low as the scurry of angry men reached the top of the alley, scanning the entire place insanely before continuing down the street.

Rolland waited until the footsteps had completely faded before turning to the man.

‘They’re gone.’ He whispered, turning to make sure the others were still lost in their drug high.

‘Thank you.’ The man whispered back, pulling the rag back and sitting up against the wall.

‘Rolland …it is Rolland, isn’t it?’ The man asked.

Stunned by the man’s question, Rolland gasped, not knowing how this strange businessman, covered in blood and on the run from an angry mob, knew his name.

‘It’s okay Rolland. Why don’t you tell me how you ended on the streets.’

Rolland paused, absorbing the strange situation for a moment, before deciding to indulge the strange man his question; now partly curious about where the conversation was headed.

‘I had a family, money …even had a beautiful house.’ He said, as if he’d just remembered that last bit of information. ‘I had all the things you’re meant to want in life. But all that changed 9 years ago, on March 2nd, 2012.’ He added, reliving the story as he told it to strange gentleman.

He told the man all that’d happened to him; how he’d gone from a successful businessman – much like the one seated next to him – to a homeless mess, begging under an overpass.

Once the story was complete, the man pulled out a medium sized box from inside his scuffed jacket.

‘I’ve been keeping this safe, and now I have a favour to ask.’ He said, pushing the box into Rolland’s chest, and firmly holding it there as he relayed his message.

‘I did all I had to do with it, and now it’s time to pass it onto you. In the morning – and only then – look inside to find the address you’ll need to take this too. Once you get there, you’ll receive the reward I mentioned earlier.’

He released the box and Rolland gripped it tightly, unsure how else to react to what he was being told.

‘Okay Rolland, I have to go now, those thugs should be long gone by now. Oh, and if I were you, I’d spend the rest of the night somewhere far away from these guys.’ He added, nodding towards the group huddled in the corner, ‘they’ll be up soon, and this might be the last place you want to have something of great value.’

Before Rolland could ask any questions, or comprehend his new mission further, the businessman stood up, gave another nod, and walked out of the alley, turning the corner and disappearing into the night.

What could be in this box that’s so valuable …and why did he leave it with me? Rolland thought, hugging the mysterious box a little tighter.

‘What you got there Rolly!’ One man shouted, drawing all the attention to Rolland and his new box.

‘Not- Nothing here.’ Rolland attempted.

The ruse didn’t work.

‘Show us then …I mean if it’s nothing, you won’t mind us all looking?’ The persistent man urged, whipping the string of drool from his face and marching over towards Rolland, five friends close behind him.

Rolland knew this wasn’t the time to freeze and sprung to his feet, still hugging the box, and ran as hard as he could.

The men followed, throwing empty beer bottles and shouting obscenities as they gained on him.

Just run until you can’t run no more. Rolland thought, knowing that his beaten body wasn’t going to keep up this pace for much longer.

When suddenly, as if someone had been watching over him, a stray police car was driving in the opposite direction and saw it all happening.

They turned on their lights and sirens and pulled in to block off the angry mob. Rolland managed to get away.

He ducked into one side street and turned down a few more just to make sure neither cops nor mob would find him.

He sat next to the larger bin, and tucked his legs in, hoping he’d be safe there for the night.

‘Hey!’ Someone shouted, waking Rolland up from his nap.

He jumped up, holding his hand out to guard against the sun and making sure he still had his box, before running away from the gas station clerk that’d just finished his shift.

When he was a few streets away, he sat down next to a tree amongst the morning hustle of people on their way to work. He opened the box slowly, unsure what to expect, and almost dropped it when he saw what was inside.

‘This must be …20 thousand dollars here.’ He softly mumbled, noticing two envelopes neatly tucked next to the bundle of money, one of them with “address” written on it, and the other with “on arrival – for Rolland.”

He observed both, and noticed that under them, there was a little black book. He flipped through it, but there was nothing on the pages.

He took out a few hundred-dollar bills and then made his way to the main road, discarding his torn jacket, and dusting himself off as best he could before standing on the side of the road and hoping to flag down a passing taxi.

After many failed attempts, one finally stopped, a young gentleman, with dull coloured clothes and an unforgettable moustache.

‘Where to sir?’ He asked in a thick middle eastern accent.

‘To here.’ Rolland replied, handing the man the envelope.

‘Very professional brother.’ The cab driver quipped, opening the envelope, and nodding as he thought about the best route to get them there.

Rolland sat back and sighed, shocked and excited about what awaited him at the address, and how he’d finally be able to turn his life around.

And all thanks to helping someone else. He thought, reminding himself to never forget the lesson he’d learnt this day.

‘Help others and you’ll help yourself.’ He whispered to himself, even smiling as the cab driver turned down one street and then onto another.

Before long, the cab came to a stop and the driver asked for the fare.

Once he’d paid, the driver turned to Rolland the empty envelope and a pen.

‘Please, you give me your autograph. You must be someone important to have your addresses in sealed envelope.’ He said, grinning at Rolland.

The driver could clearly see that Rolland was not a person of importance, but he was going out of his way to make Rolland feel more human.

‘I was once homeless brother, but through God, all things can be well once again.’ The driver encouraged, adding, ‘oh, and keep the pen, I hope it brings you luck.’

Rolland smiled and signed the paper.

‘Thank you.’ He smiled, ‘and I hope you also find luck on your path.’ He added, putting a handful of hundreds in it and handing it back, hoping he’d be able to bring this man joy at the end of his shift.

‘Ahh brother, from your mouth to God’s ears.’ The driver replied, raising his hands and chuckling.

Rolland got out, waving the man away before turning around and gasping loudly.

‘It’s my house…’ He said, confused.

He walked to the side, afraid of being spotted by whoever lived there now, and opened the box, hoping the other letter would help him make more sense of it all.

He took the letter out of its envelope and began reading.

“Rolland, I’m you. However, I won’t confuse you any further just yet. To start you on your journey, we’ll begin with something easy. Open the little black book, and using a pen, write the date you’d like to travel back to, once done, close the book and walk through your front door. I hope our paths cross again. Good luck.’

Rolland, even more, confused now, looked at the pen in his hand and softly chuckled to himself.

‘At this stage, what’s the worst that can happen.’ He thought, taking the little black book out, and jotting down the date as he walked up to his front door.

When he reached it, he peered in from the side window, when the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and opened the door, and as he entered, taking one last look at the page in the little black book which read: March 1st 2012.