One in a Million

I sometimes don’t even believe it happened to me. A seemingly impossible, one in a million chance, a fantasy that you only ever hear about on the news or in an article online. It always sounds too good to be true. How could one person be so lucky, while so many others have to watch to the wayside? "It could never happen to me" I'd say to myself. "Life just doesn’t work out that way." Then I snap back into it. This is real. I now am one of those people you hear about, Im now one of the lucky ones, a "one in a million" where some crazy turn of events decided to change their whole life forever. And to think, it all started with a little black book.

She never told me why it was so special to her. She would carry it with her everywhere, jotting down ideas, recipes, quotes she loved, everything. I’d like to think she wrote about me from to time, until one day, I decided to ask. “Grandma, what do you write in your notebook?” “Oh, everything!” she replied joyously. “If I’m happy, I write. If I’m ever sad or have a bad day, I write. Most often though, I write when something is just too good to keep in my mind. I just gotta jot it down somewhere so it doesn’t get forgotten.” “Do you ever write secrets?" I asked “Oh, only the best secrets... secrets that only few will ever know.” She paused for a moment. "You know, I keep far more than just secrets in here, more than words could ever tell.” She looked at me seriously for a moment. “Not every page is going to have something special to say. Not every page with be magical, but when you do find that one page, it just may change your life one day”. It was things like these that my grandmother would keep to herself. I’d ask her to explain, countless more times, but all she would ever say in reply, was a soft and subtle “One day my love. One day”

When she passed away, all I could remember was how her hands looked. They were so frail from years upon years of writing in that little black book of hers. I wondered if it was worth it. I wondered if the paper cuts, writers bumps, and hours of fighting through the pain of her arthritis were worth whatever she could be writing in that book. When it was finally time to go through all of her belongings, my aunts and uncles all spoke about her will, inheritance, and how everything would work. My cousins all talked about furniture, family heirlooms, and her beloved painting collection. I had my eyes however on just one thing.

It took a couple of weeks, but after what I felt like a lifetime, I decided to sit myself down and finally open it. What was once one of her most prized positions, was now mine to keep. I wondered if her book would bring me as much comfort and inspiration as it did her. Her words kept ringing in my head. “When you do find that one page, it just may change your life one day”. I didn’t have a single clue what she could have been talking about. Was she just trying to tell me that not every day was special? That some days, there could be nothing special at all? That out of a million of those ‘not so specially’ days, there could be just one that suddenly changes everything? I flipped through the pages. I could smell the ink, and the old worn out pages of where she had poured her thoughts out in the past. There seemed to be so much history with each turn. With each passing page, I felt closer to her in those moments than I ever did when she was still here. A personal diary, a daily time capsule of someone’s entire life, written just as they deemed fit. How could you think for so long, you know so much about a person, then realize after hearing their truest, and most personal thoughts, you really know so little?

I continued to sift through the pages, when I came across one that stood out amongst the others. It felt the slightest bit heavier, and just a little more special than the rest. As I came across the page, it took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. "Its just an old piece of paper" I thought. There was cursive at the top, and the edges were worn and tattered. As I read the top of the page, I couldn't quite grasp it. It’s as if time stood still. All I could see, was what seemed like an old and unfamiliar document, with strange writing and an even stronger smell to match. Then it hit me. I decided to read it out loud. “United states of America. 1858 $5,000” At first I didn’t believe it. Could she have pulled a prank? Was she utterly delusional and fooled into thinking this was a real bond, and worth keeping in her journal for all these years? That’s when it hit me. “It just may change your life one day”

The next day. I headed straight to the bank. To my surprise, my grandmother had not only been telling the truth, but the bond she left was far more life changing than anyone or even she could have ever imagined. I suppose they’re right when they say things get better with age, since the over 150 year old bond ended up being appraised at so much more. "$20,000" the man exclaimed. I stared in disbelief. In those last few moments, as I heard the teller explain what I had discovered, I was at a loss for words. I remember stepping out of the building, blinded by the sunlight. I was now one of those people. I was now one of those one in a million.

As I drove home, I contemplated how my life would change and how it would stay the same. I pulled up to my house and gazed at the front yard. I could hear the neighbors dog barking next door. I saw the broken screen on my front door that still had to be replaced. All these mundane things were just part of my day to day life. Suddenly, things seemed so different. I suppose my grandmother was right. Not every page is going to be special, but when you do find that one page, it just may change your life one day. And it all started, with a little black book.