Dead Man's Last Wish

The flight to Minnesota was short, but felt long. I never expected having to fly back home to attend a funeral for a grandfather who refused to acknowledge that I even existed. Hiding out in the funeral parlor's extra-small bathroom, I stared at my reflection, anxiously adjusting my tie and fixing my hair. It was all just too much. Mother had insisted I attend, stating that, “Grandpa George would want you here.” Yeah, I doubt that.

Finally managing to get myself situated to face the rest of the family, I exited only to come face-to-face with Grandma Jean. I groaned internally as I smiled sadly at her, “I’m so sorry, grandma Jean.” I suppose I could have said something more but I already felt awkward being here. She smiled a wrinkled smile and patted me on the shoulder, not even responding. Shrugging off the interaction, I headed back to the Chapel to stand next to my mother, who looked at me with such sadness in her eyes, I instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

The funeral went on without a hitch, my mother giving an emotional eulogy about her father, before everyone slowly began to trickle out. I was just about to explain to my mother that I, too, needed to leave before being beckoned by grandma Jean. I glanced around, attempting to see if there was someone else who she could possibly mean to call. After realizing that, in fact, she did mean me, I sidled over to her, crouching down slightly to level with her smaller stature.

“Your grandfather wanted you to have this, he made sure to put it in his will.” Her small voice stated, her shaky old hands holding something up to me. I looked down, seeing a small, black leather book in her hands, slightly bulged, the words “Little Black Book” printed neatly in gold and an elastic band holding it closed. I looked up at her, a small smile on my face as I took the book from her, “Thanks. I’m gonna miss him.” I lied. A knowing smile graced her lips as she nodded, walking away.

The book felt heavy in my hands as I meandered back towards my mother. I was fidgeting with the edges when she noticed me, about to say something until her gaze flickered down to the book. Her eyes widened slightly before she schooled her expression back to neutral, “I see your grandmother gave you th-the book finally.” She stuttered, seeming a bit off when talking about it. I ignore the minor speech impediment and explained that I had a flight early in the morning and I needed to head out. Mother nodded her head sadly, giving me a hug and thanking me for being there. I told her I’d be back for the holidays and took my leave, calling a cab to take me to the hotel I booked for the evening.

The little black book was shoved into a coat pocket, weighing down the entire ride. Everyone had acted so weird about this book; I can’t imagine anything important being in here for someone like me. After ten minutes, we finally arrived at the hotel. I tipped the driver a little extra and exited to deal with check-in. Once I was in the suite, I set the book down on the small desk they provided and sat in front of it. I stared at it for what felt like hours. Why the hell was I nervous about opening a damn book! I took a look at the clock, 7:39 p.m. I had sat here, contemplating opening this for two hours. Without further hesitation, I hastily shoved the cover open. A thick envelope on top of a neatly folded letter stared back at me. That explains why it was so awkwardly shaped, I thought simply. Before dealing with the envelope, I decided to take a look at the letter. It was addressed to me…from my grandfather.

Dearest one,

You are not like the others. Be something more.

Grandpa George.

I scoffed, almost laughing at myself, “How cryptic of you, grandpa.” I tossed the small note into the trash and stared at the envelope. With such a short letter, I was almost scared to open it and see what he thought I deserved. As I pulled it open, I gasped loudly and dropped it back to the table. My heartbeat picked up as I looked around me, nervously. After a taking a moment to calm down, I picked it back up and dumped the contents onto the desk. I stared down at the multiple hundred-dollar and twenty-dollar bills that had spilled onto the desk. Slowly, I counted and counted.

And counted.

And counted.

Twenty-thousand dollars, I thought, that man gave me twenty-thousand dollars for what?! Another look around, this was a lot of money to have out in the open in a middle-class hotel like the one I was staying in. Trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat, I took another look at the little black book that was left in my possession as well. Flipping through the pages, however, something didn’t seem right.

Names of members in our family with monetary amounts next to them, a red strike-through over names of people I only heard of in passing. On the very last page, was my name, the only name not crossed out. It was only twenty-thousand dollars, did everyone in this book also get the same amount of money? What did my grandfather do to get this kind of money? Did he rob family members? My mind was reeling, my palms were getting sweaty. I couldn’t fathom why I’d be so nervous but all of a sudden, I felt like someone was watching me, waiting for me to make a decision. I thought about the ways I could spend this money, how it could help me move out of the one-bedroom apartment, how I could buy a new car. Then I thought about how this money could help my mother, who just lost her father.

You are not like the others.

Maybe that’s why their names were crossed out. Without second guessing, I gathered the cash together and placed it back in the envelope and wrote out a quick note to her, sealing the envelope.

Dear mom,

Do something more.

Love always,

Your son.

I dropped the envelope off in the mailbox outside the hotel and headed back up to pack my belongings for the following morning. As I was packing, I noticed the little black book was missing. I searched everywhere for it but it was as if it never existed. Figuring I probably packed it without thinking, I went to sleep, feeling a weight lifted off my chest. The next morning, as I was boarding for my flight, I got a text from an unknown number.

Dearest one, thank you for being more.

I stared at it, my skin raising in goose-flesh as someone behind me cleared their throats. I mumbled a quick apology and boarded the plane, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach that that book was more than just a little black book.