The Opportunity Inheritance

Nicole held the golden fountain pen her father had given her on her 18th birthday in her right hand. She ran her thumb across the cover of her journal enjoying the texture as an attempt to calm her mind into a meditative state as she waited for the words to come to her mind and be bled onto its pages. It had become apparent to her that if she spent all night researching lucid dreaming, the actual sleep may never come. She thought to herself “how am I supposed to keep a dream journal when I can never remember my dreams?” as she opened her brand-new black Moleskine journal. She decided to jot down what she remembered from her research to get her creative juices going.

She rested her head on her satchel bag and closed her eyes. There was a quiet thud in the distance as the door in between the train car closed and a man’s voice began saying “Excuse me, do you have any spare food or change?”. Mustering all the energy she had, she lifted her head. As the distinct smell of urine grew stronger, she prepared the $2 change from her purchase of the notebook the day before and her emergency granola bar. Just as she was ready to hand off her donation, the man received something from a passenger in a very fine tailored suit sitting in the seat across the aisle. The man didn’t even look up from his phone as he handed him a single dollar bill. Satisfied with what he received; the man walked speedily to the next car. “Sir!” Nicole said, getting up from her seat. The man had turned around abruptly, accepted the change and granola, curtsied his head with a nod and said a quick “God bless you, young lady!” then took off to the next car as the train announcement blurted “This is Belmont, doors closing.”

As more people flooded the train Nicole turned and walked back to her seat when she felt something underneath her shoe. “Ope! My bad!” she said as she looked down only to notice a quizzical look from the suited man, who was quickly drawn back to his device. She had thought maybe she had stepped on the man’s nice dress shoes but as it turned out, it was actually her own notebook that must have fallen off the top of her bag when she stood up. Feeling embarrassed for apologizing for her own klutziness, she sat back in her seat putting her notebook back in her bag and laid her head back down. A stalky gentleman now sat beside her, and she closed her eyes again. The humming of the train had become one solid sound.

“This is Southport, doors closing.” Announced the train speaker, which felt slightly louder to her, maybe because all other sounds had faded to the back of her mind but this was her stop and the doors were closing. She slid thru the doors just in time and filed in with the crowd descending down the steps from the platform.

It was warm for fall in the Midwest. The sun was beating down but the cool breeze still rustled the trees and wafted with the smell of freshly fallen leaves. Nicole was very tired. It was as if her brain had to focus on walking, and she could not feel her legs propel her forward.

As the bell above Nicole’s head rang, her manager Carlos motioned his hands up at her as if he were asking where she had been and to put an apron on immediately. Carlos fell to expediting drinks—a juggling act he was getting a bit too used to. Nicole quickly grabbed an apron and tied it around her as she managed the words, “Good morning, what would you like to drink?”.

After the morning rush of caffeine fiends had died down, Carlos approached Nicole

“You know,” he said, “that’s the 3rd time this week. I can’t keep covering for you.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night; I missed the train.”

“That’s okay, after ma, some nights I don’t sleep at all. Go have your morning coffee and let’s start doing inventory after the afternoon rush.”

Nicole finished wiping down the espresso machine and after a stare at her distorted reflection in the stainless steel, she poured herself some coffee. She hung up her apron, grabbed her bag and sat down in a booth. Gulping down her first mouthful of caffeine she felt her eyes widen and a rush of energy run through her. She reached her hand in her bag and felt for the cover of her little black dream journal, prepared to add more notes on her break.

To her surprise, the notes she had taken on the train were gone. Written on the inside cover of the little black book was “This notebook belongs to: Vincent Siciliano”. On the very first page was a phone number and todays date along with a time. Nicole sat and sipped on her coffee and thought to herself, “I guess I’ll do two random acts of kindness today.” She approached the coffee shop phone and dialed the number on the page. The call was picked up but nobody said hello.

“Hello? I’m trying to reach a Vincent Siciliano about a notebook.”

“Notebook eh?” said the man on the line “Yeah two o’clock. Back of the yards.”

The call ended and a dial tone hummed.

Nicole heard the bell ring above the door, and another, indicating the start of the afternoon rush. She quickly stuck her hand in her bag and felt around. She had felt another little notebook in her satchel and had an epiphany that the man on the train earlier this morning was Mr. Siciliano. He must have dropped his little black book getting his wallet out to give the man a dollar. She finally found her pen and was able to jot down “back of the yards” as she held the notebook pressed against the wall with her right hand. She threw the little black book in her bag before she tied her apron and Carlos emerged from behind the employees only door.

As the two expedited the final two orders of the afternoon rush Carlos began to ask Nicole which part of the shop, she wanted to complete the inventory for.

“About that,” she said. “I actually heard that he’s not doing so good today and I was going to ask if you minded if I skipped out early?”

“Oh no, I’m sorry—you know what, its slower than usual today. I got the inventory. Just please, promise me, you’ll be on time tomorrow?”

“I promise.”

“Alright,” said Carlos, “Go be there, I’ll clock you out later so Gary isn’t pissed.”

“You’re truly the best!” Nicole yelled, half way out the door pushing with her back and all her things in her hands.

She hurried to the platform, almost missing her train. She found a seat on the train and headed toward the back of the yards and toward adventure.

Not entirely sure of where she was going, she pulled the little black book out once again and searched the phone number in a search engine. It was linked to a warehouse in the back of the yards neighborhood.

She had arrived at the warehouse. The door was locked. There was a call box with many buttons, none of them marked. She was just about to press them all when a voice said “Name?”

“Yeah hi,” she said “I have a notebook for Vincent Siciliano.”

The door buzzed open, she stepped inside.

A man with salt and pepper hair ascended down a grated staircase.

“You gotta press da button. Who are you?”

“I have Vincent’s notebook.” She said.

“Say no more,” the man said “I’ll meet you ‘round back.”

She went to the back where a garage door raised up. She saw the man from the front door look both ways hurrying toward her with a suitcase.

“Alright bookie, tellim he gets the other half when the deed is done.” he whispered, as he handed her a briefcase and sped into the building hitting a button that closed the door behind him and disappearing before she could even speak.

Peaking into the briefcase she could see stacks of $20 bills wrapped with rubber bands.

She didn’t understand what had happened until she was on the train. The man called her a bookie. He must have thought she was being cryptic about facilitating some transaction, one that she didn’t want to know details about. Nicole was so tired she didn’t know how she ended up at home in her bed but the second she hit the pillow she was out.

There was a beeping noise and Nicole sprung up from her bed. She saw the briefcase sitting by her door. She opened it and counted one stack and then counted the stacks. There was a total of $20,000. She thought of all the things she could do with it. She was going to be alone in the world soon and she could really use it. She could go back to school, pursue her dream to write or make mortgage payments in attempt to keep her father’s home. She remembered her promise to Carlos that she wouldn’t be late. If she caught the same train that Vincent was on yesterday, she would surely be late, but maybe, he would take an earlier train.

She waited at the same spot on the platform for her train, suitcase in hand and got in the same car and sat in the same area. She took an inventory of the people on the car. None of them looked like Vincent. Just then she heard the door slam from between cars and a familiar voice started asking for change. Southport was next. She never knew if she’d find Vincent, and she knew that a stack of the money could change the man’s quality of life. He locked eyes with her and his face dropped in fear. “He’s looking for that, you know. He come ‘round this mornin’.”

Frozen in awe, Nicole let out a “thanks” and forced herself to swiftly get off the train and get to work as fast as she could. She heard a church bell ring and sprinted into work. That morning her head jolted up in fear every time the bell rang. Carlos emerged from the stockroom and said “Gary is pissed,” he said “Some guy keeps prank calling saying we called him yesterday and to return what’s his.” Fearing for her life, she wanted nothing more than to return the money.

The bell above the door rang and Nicole’s head snapped. Her heart sank into her chest. This couldn’t be real. Her father walked, perfectly healthy, into the shop.

“Dad?”

“It’s me.” He said, smiling.

“But you’re sick.”

“Feelin’ fine. I gotta tell you something. I want you to listen and then write this down.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not yours yet, but you have every opportunity at your fingertips, just apply yourself.”

Nicole hurried to her bag and grabbed one of the little black books and her fountain pen. She opened it up and saw her notes:

-Always write immediately after waking.

-Use a nice notebook and pen that you enjoy writing with.

-Do it every day.

-Keep a totem to test when you’re dreaming.

Doodled in large font at the end of the page was: Are you awake in a dream?

When she looked up, she wasn’t in the coffee shop anymore. She was in the hospital. There was a nurse unplugging her father’s monitor.

“I’m sorry” she said “he’s passed.”

The ink bled over the tear drops and ripped the pages of her notebook as she struggled through loss and wrote what she remembered of her dreams and someone who believed in them.

“You have every opportunity at your fingertips.”