Little Black Book.

I want to ask you, what do you do when things are simply provided? Do you, a, accept and stay behind the precarious line of not asking the questions you want to, or b, give into what is your first reaction, questioning why and how, never stopping to realize that you can simply just accept and things will be so much easier. And one more question, why is our first reaction to make things harder for ourselves? Maybe because we as humans have always had to fight. Never a dull moment. We simply can’t turn the other way with what we have. It isn’t enough.

I am not going to start by talking about my grandfather. You need context, or else you won’t be able to enjoy the story, you will be too busy asking questions, even silently in your head. I was broke. I was barely holding things together with what I had. But it never seemed to worry me. I was never worried. I somehow just knew or rather assumed the universe would provide. This got me into trouble obviously but it never seemed to catch up to me. When you didn’t have any fear what kept you from going a little higher on the rickety ladder? One more step. What kept you from asking the wrong questions or pushing people too far? I knew that I was on borrowed time with just about everything in my life, and yet these instincts didn’t kick in. I didn’t run any faster. I was pretty much alone. The only person I really had was my grandfather. And what came next, didn’t feel like the universe providing, it felt more like a sacrifice. Maybe the universe never provided, it simply used your words against you, and took one thing first before giving an inch. My beloved grandfather passed away, and I fell into the inevitable plot line. There were rare moments in people’s lives that felt exactly like a story. It had the too perfect plot line with all the trimmings. The beginning, which gave the story context. The problem, which would be overcome. And if your story really was one of those too good to be true stories, it would have a twist ending that set it up for a possible sequel. But my story had something else. A question that would boggle your mind rancid, until you had no choice, but accept and look the other way. So here was the perfect plot line. My grandfather died, and of course he had this mystery money that was stashed away some place hidden, and it was left to me. His only grandchild. The will was delivered to me just two days after he died. I knew that this was odd, seeing as it usually took much longer to sort out one of late’s affairs, so yes I pondered this for a long while. But what was even more ponder worthy was the fact that I was just two day away from an eviction notice. The amount of money that he had left me was twenty, thousand dollars. I couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity and yet absolute perfection of this. I of course felt guilty smiling so soon after my grandfather’s death but my break in sorrow didn’t last long. I, being the unsettled and restless human being that I am, was overcome with questions. I just couldn't shake this feeling. One would think that this would keep me up at night but it didn’t. In fact sleep was my only break. And in fact, I was peacefully getting my break from thinking when I woke up to the smoke alarm screaming at the top of it’s lungs as my apartment went up in flames. I am not sure if I could accurately describe this feeling but let me try. The smoke filled everything and I had to fight to do what was my simple reaction. Second nature, breathing. I hesitated for a minute having to contemplate how to get out of my bed. My instincts seemed to really enjoy going off to their vacation home whenever I needed them most. I lifted the sheets off of me as if they weighed more than I did and I swung my legs over the edge of the bed as if they weighed twice that. I somehow made it out of the apartment along with everybody else in the building. Yes I guess you could say that we were just lucky, but I didn’t have any space between my other thoughts to ponder that too. The fire department got there within minutes and were able to minimize the damage. The other tenants were able to move back in within days. I however lost everything. I would have to stay at a motel indefinitely. Everything I had was gone. My furniture, my belongings were all gone. Thankfully I had kept my money from my grandfather in a safety deposit box at the bank rather than keeping it the way he did, on hand in paper form. But it wouldn’t make a dent in what I had to replace. Was it catching up to me? No not yet, not when there was a corner to turn just up ahead. The first night that I was at the motel, I got a phone call. From the same people that had delivered me my grandfather’s money. They told me that my grandfather had left me a vacation home. Spacious, remote, and completely kept secret from everyone including me. For the first time ever I thought about the question I was about to ask. Then I said into the phone, “ why are you telling me this now? Why did this just get sorted out now?” “Because this was the order your grandfather asked things to be given in”, The man said in his cool tone. I packed my things and started off to my new home. I stopped by the bank to collect my money. All twenty thousand of it. I raced off to the cabin and it felt more than ever that I was running away from those problems that just couldn’t catch up to me. It was needless to say that this seemed more than ever like the universe was providing. The plot was thickening with evidence for it’s point. It seemed like I was past the conflict but I knew better. The conflict wasn’t his death, or the fire. It was these questions that bounced around my head, something that I could never escape. My trivial problems chased after me, and I chased after answers in a futile attempt to finally have the whole truth. In my cabin, I looked around. It smelt piney, but not in the suffocating sort of way, more like it felt as though there wasn’t much between my and the actual outdoors. I fell into a chair and relaxed my muscles. Suddenly I wondered if I should just relax. Stop asking so many questions. Was it worth it, or were the happiest people happy because they had the secret. Turn the other way, let the universe provide. The answer was no, not even close. I searched the house for nothing in particular. I just looked around the way you would in a movie scene, opening drawers, cabinets, anything I would open. Ironically my stomach turned when I opened the refrigerator door. It was fully stocked with fresh food. It was honestly the most appetizing scene I could think of, and yet I was sick to my stomach when I realized the timeline of all of these events. My grandfather had died just three and a half days ago. He had bought all of this food for me, as if, no he did know he was going to die. Needless to say I spent the next two weeks investigating his death directly. I combed through every piece of the puzzle personally, by myself. To say I grasped at straws was an understatement. I tweezed at hairs. I prayed that I would find anything. I begged the universe, and it listened. I wasn’t afraid of giving up, I was afraid of never being able to. But the universe worked on it’s own time. And in this instance it sure did take it’s sweet time. But when it was ready it delivered. One day I ventured over to my grandfather’s study like I had so many times before, and tried to open the one ominous locked drawer that I never could, and today the lock broke. All things live on borrowed time they say. And within this beautiful drawer that I looked at as if for the first time again, there lay a small enough to make you want to pick it up, black notebook. But like all things in life, it came with a warning label. It was his handwriting. It read, “ inside this book are all the answers you yearn to acquire. You may not have known me as well as you think you did but that just proves that I know you better than you think I did. If you want answers to these questions then open the book and read. But I am telling you now it will not satisfy. You will want more and the universe will not keep providing. Take my advice and accept”. I only had to read it once. I put the book down. And I left it right on the middle of the desk, closed where I would look at it everyday for the rest of my life. And I did. I wouldn’t say I lived in blissful ignorance, more accurately I accepted in satisfactory unknowing. I was never much of a writer but I wrote this story in the black book that you are reading now, side to side with my grandfather’s. Is that enough context for you? The first paragraph of this story is from my grandfather’s book, which I read two days before I will die, writing this but one.