Inheritance

It’s been eight years since my father died and as I stand here by this by this beautiful loch, the memories of it all dance across my mind, as fresh and real as the grass beneath my feet. It’s been eight years since he passed and eight years since he left me alone in an attic picking up the pieces that would change my life forever. I stood there in the empty eerie silence and began to pack up what remained of my father’s life. The boxes quickly began to pile up, until all that remained was one last shelf of books and an old ornate writing desk. My father loved to read, he would get lost in the worlds created in the pages of his books, he would always tell me of the adventures we could go on just by turning a page. Lost in the memories and sadness of his passing, I sat down to pack the last shelf. Amongst the books on this shelf was a small black notebook, hidden behind some larger books. At first glance there was nothing special about it and as I casually leafed through it, I realised a few of the pages didn’t make any sense, but in my haste to finish and get out I tossed it into the draw of the old writing desk and forgot about it. Once I finished packing the rest of the boxes and I headed downstairs and arranged to have a few bits of furniture, including the old writing desk to be delivered to my small Melbourne apartment.

Two years passed and one late Sunday afternoon I found myself hunting through the drawers of that old writing desk looking for a pen, so I could sit down and finish the crossword I had started earlier that morning. As I rifled through the stack of bills I had been stockpiling in the desk drawers, I came across the little black notebook. Turning the pages, I came to the part of the book which contained the passages I was previously unable to read, but as I stared at them I realised the pages didn’t make sense because they had been written in some sort of code. I finally found the pen I had been looking for, grabbed a piece of paper and took the notebook back to the living room. For the next four hours I tried everything I could think of to crack the code, but I quickly came to realise I was no closer to cracking it then when I had started. I was sure that my father had left me a message of some sort, and I was determined to know what it was. I put the book down and decided to try again in the morning with a fresh mind, and it worked. Coffee in hand and a clear mind I sat down once again to work on the code and discovered that the reason I couldn’t crack it before was because the coded message was actually a coded message within a coded message. I managed to crack the first and realised it was telling me I needed my father’s other books to crack the rest. Slowly but surely, I managed to crack the first three letters and by nights end I had cracked the whole thing. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was reading and then I realised the “words” were actually number names and the numbers equated to the coordinates of a bank. A bank according to google maps, that resided in Somerset, England.

Why would my father leave me the coordinates to a bank in another country? How would I get there? I’d have to sell some belongings just to afford the ticket, Would the trip be worth it? My head swam with questions and I found myself needing to sit lie down. I must’ve passed out or fallen asleep, because when I came to it was early morning and the sunlight was seeping through the blinds greeting me. Whatever it was, sleep or unconsciousness it helped me make a decision, this was my dad’s final message to me and not matter what it cost, I would follow and find out why. So, I packed my suitcase, sold what I could at the local pawn broker and bought a one-way ticket to the U.K. There were a few numbers at the end of the code, and I spent the seventeen-hour plane ride working out what they were, but all I came up with was that it definitely wasn’t a phone number. Giving in I folded up the piece of paper with my doodles and placed it amongst the pages of the little black notebook. I managed to sell enough at the pawn brokers to afford a bed at a cheap backpackers, once settled there I looked up the number of the bank and made an appointment with the manager for the following afternoon.

When I arrived at the bank, a lovely young lady kindly pointed me in the direction of the managers desk and told me the manager would meet with me there, so I quickly headed over ready to get some answers. The manager greeted me with a solid handshake before diving right into why I was there. I explained the situation and gave him my father’s name as well as my own, he then asked me a series of security questions to make sure I was who I said I was. I answered his questions and once he was satisfied, he then informed me that my father did hold an account there but without the account number we couldn’t proceed any further. Irritated I explained to him I had no way of getting it as my father was dead and all he had left me was the banks details, no account number. The manager was polite and empathised but said his hands were crossed unless I could produce the account number. Overwhelmed with anger and frustration at how complicated this all was and the run around my father had left me I stood up to leave. In a huff I thanked the manager for nothing, shoved my hands in my pockets and began to storm out of the bank. I had just reached the door when I felt the notebook between my fingers and a thought popped into my head. I raced back to the managers desk and pulled out my doodles from the plane ride over. I handed it to the manager and asked if the numbers on the paper were for my father’s account. To my delight the managers face split into wide grin, and he nodded his head, turning on his heels he told me to follow him. This I did and he led me to the back of the bank to a storage room, where there was a wall full of boxes, he selected first a row and then a box which he pulled out, unlocked and put it on the table in front of me, then he excused himself and went back to his office.

I opened the box and pulled out an envelope with a letter inside from my father. The letter advised that if I were reading it then my father would already be gone. The letter said my father loved me and hoped I had enjoyed the adventure. Followed by some instructions stating that the contents of the box were to be used wisely, for enjoyment only and to find adventure outside of his books. My father wrote that he didn’t want me to be sad, he wanted me to live life to its fullest and that this would be his final goodbye. Putting the letter back in the box I found a slip of paper in the place the letter had been. Opening it up I found it was a cheque for $20,000 dollars. My eyes filled with tears, the trip had been worth it and I knew exactly what I would spend the $20,000 dollars on, the adventure of a lifetime.

Eight years ago, my life changed, eight years ago my father gave me the greatest gift and eight years later I’ve finally fulfilled our dreams. The adventures I dream of are no longer those found in the pages of books, they are memories.

The End.