Ask Me Anything...

When an individual departs from your life, you find consolidation in the happy times, and lament upon the sad. Most of us brew both together in order to eventually mend whatever void may have opened… However, we’re often left storming our minds with questions-- legions of “what if”s, “why”s, and “how”s that may torment us for long periods of time. These questions illuminate themselves once a person is gone, and test our understanding of that individual. Few things can be more unsettling, than the realization that you may not know your parents, spouse, or even your own children as much as you may have thought...

Last August, as I was almost finished packing for my first semester at college, my father had pulled me aside.

He offered me a seat down by our kitchen table. Accents of worry and stress lined his face, and all of his fingers locked together, in a way that made him appear timid and juvenile. I had assumed this irregular image was a temporary freak-out over me moving away, as parents often express.

As we both took our seats, his eyes swiftly met my own. I hadn’t realized until that moment how bloodshot they were, with a thin film of morning eye fluid encasing them. At this point, my legs started getting jumpy. I got unexpectedly nervous, as this didn’t seem like a normal “goodbye” chat.

A faint smile inched across his face as he spoke softly, “Make sure you give me five stars before you go.” My body relaxed as we both burst out laughing. Despite his look, he was really just the same old clown I had always known…

“C’mon Dad! This’ll always be home… I’ll probably see you guys again in a few months.” I rebounded, adding notes of concern and reassurance, almost feeling like the parent in the room.

“I know, I know! It’s just… Look, in a few moments, you’ll begin something huge. You didn’t become an adult last March when you turned 18, but right now, you’re stepping out of the nest, about to mold who you’re going to be for the rest of your life.” Despite his jovial attitude, I knew he had been looking forward to this talk for a long time, it didn’t sound scripted, but was definitely well-revised.

“Dad, there’s no way I’m going to change like that when the door closes.” I sneered, knowing fully well what he had meant.

“Oh, but how about after you realize there aren’t any more parent-teacher conferences that I know terrify you? Or maybe when you learn you don’t have to beg me to stay out late with friends?” He chuckled.

I took his point and looked towards the floor, my lips reducing my grin to a sheepish smile.

He continued, “Alex, I’m not going to try and convince you to ‘behave yourself’, as I know what happens in that filthy place, even to the best of us. But all I ask…” My father then shifted in his seat and leaned forward. I could’ve sworn that the air in the room had dropped 5 degrees.

“is that you ask questions.”

“Questions?” I asked.

“Questions.” He confirmed. “You see, some say that after God created our world, the Devil spun it around.”

“Dad, what does the Devil have to do with me going to college?” I asked, truly puzzled at my father’s sudden change in mood, and random biblical mention.

“What I’m trying to get at here, Alex, is that this world isn’t simple. Things are going to be thrown at you, left and right, and you often won’t immediately know how to handle them. Many things will be motivated to make things impossible for you, but if you ask the right questions, I’m sure nothing can stop you.” He said assertively.

“Alright Dad, I’ll be sure to… Question things.” I replied. I decided not to press the matter, figuring that the past hour of heavy lifting maybe got to him. Shake and nod…

“But one thing you should never question is my love for you, son. Your mother would be so proud to see how far you’ve come!” He rasped, getting up and extending his arms. I fell into his embrace, a soothing warmth streamed down my cheeks, and no more needed to be said. We finished loading the U-Haul within the next half-hour, and I was on my way to the promised land. But this would be the last time I had spoken to my father…

The next few months were, well… Awesome. I made tons of new friends, classes were a breeze, and I met a girl in my history class, Wendy. It was truly the poster-child of a college utopia story. Until I got the call…

Just before Christmas break, I learned that my father had passed from a stroke while exiting his car. All the euphoria of the past few months had been extinguished in an instant, and I promptly returned home. My entire break was spent with my two siblings, Charlie and Becka. We grieved for weeks. Lots of crying, some laughing, but memories were shared the most.

On the final day of my break, there was a man who showed up to our door, claiming to be our father’s lawyer. We invited him in, and he set upon the table what appeared to be a folder, containing one piece of paper inside, and a small red box. He first removed the paper. and mentioned it was our father’s will to us three.

My father mentioned the desire to construct a will multiple times to me, but I would often shrug it off as irrelevant, considering he was only 53 when he had passed.

My sister had been given our home, my brother was given all of his bagel business, and I was given… The red box. I think we were all confused when we learned of my inheritance. Not that there was anything to be ungrateful about, but it was just… Weird. I thought it was a final joke at first.

After the lawyer had given Charlie and Becka his contact information, he had politely left. I was exhausted, and we all said goodnight after that, taking the red box with me up to my former room, which was empty, bar the mattress.

I had lain there for hours, staring at the ceiling, not caring about the contents of that stupid red box. But eventually, I learned that time and curiosity are a convincing pair, and leaned over to get a look inside…

Inside the box was nothing other than a small leather-bound black book with no title, clearly a journal of some variety. I carefully lifted it out of the box. Clipped onto it was a black pen. I tepidly turned to the first page, which displayed nothing other than the words “Ask Me Anything” in bold text.

Infuriated I hurled the book at the wall opposite my bed.

“Is this what you meant?!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“‘Ask questions’, really?! What a sick joke! Here’s one for you, why did you leave us?!” I exclaimed, rage possessing my vocal cords. My brother and sister bolted into the room, and consoled me. I had calmed down after explaining the talk I had with our father, and what was in the book. Charlie suggested I humor it, and write something in it before bed.

After they had left, I haughtily picked up the book, and aggressively wrote “Who am I?” on the front page. I then tossed the book onto the floor and passed out.

I was up as soon as the sun began saying its “hello”s, and bid farewell to my siblings, tucking the book into my satchel before boarding the bus back to the university.

About halfway through, I curiously took the book out again, and opened to the first page. My mouth slowly crawled open, as right under my question were the emboldened words: “You are my friend, Alex.”

I quickly called my brother, asking him if he tampered with the book in any way. He defensively denied any interaction with it, and I explained the ordeal. He gave me a courtesy laugh, and joked about it being our father’s ghost. Annoyed, I hung up, and was back in my dorm within three hours.

I mean, “What if something really replied to me?” I thought, sitting on my bed. But what could do such a thing? If it were a human, surely it wouldn’t be breaking into my house just to write something down…

Over the next few weeks, I became obsessed with this little book. I learned that if I asked it things such as, “What will Wendy wear today?” or even “How many red cars will pass by me today?” it would always respond with complete accuracy. Responses took exactly 5 seconds to appear on the pages, and the ink was dried immediately, such that there were never any smudges…

Sixteen days into the semester, that being yesterday, I had a realization. Whatever force was answering my questions clearly has some sort of supernatural ability. I mean, there are things it knows, or can probably find out that nobody else can. So why am I limiting myself to slight thrills, or “aha” moments? I realized then, that I could ask my way through life, and conquer it, just as my father had desired.

I opened an online poker account that night, and started playing hands in Texas Hold’em lobbies. At the start of each round, I would quickly ask what to do, and my trusty booklet would respond, each time minimizing losses or maximizing gains. Within two hours, I had amassed roughly $20,000 in winnings. A whole new world of possibilities had come under sunlight, and I drifted off to sleep in my chair with my mind racing…

It is now 7:05 PM, I sit alone in my chair, my fingers softly glide across the beautiful black leather cover of the book.

I don’t understand much about my father, come to think of it. My mother passed when I was only eight years old, my father had said it was from a car accident, yet her body was pristine in her casket on her funeral day… My father ran a slow bagel business, yet had enough money for a massive house and expensive gifts for us each year during our birthdays and Christmas. I’m beginning to put two and two together as to how exactly he achieved this, but I still don’t know where he found this book, or what it is.

I have my question.

I timidly open the book to the 37th page, the now-closest one that remains without ink. I write it down: “Who are you?”

I feel the room get colder, by at least 10 degrees all of a sudden. As 5 seconds pass their mark, I see the letters populate the page, this time… In a dark red ink.

“I am the One who will spin your world.” Lays imprinted onto the page.

I feel afraid. In fact, I feel more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. I know what it’s claiming to be. The pen falls from my frozen fingers and onto the floor. It clacks on the ground for a moment, and then lays still, as my heart races forward.

I nervously reclaim the pen, and write my final question.

“What do you want?” I scribble onto the bottom half of the page.

“Ask only for what you do not already know.” Leaks onto the page, this time as soon as my pen left the paper.

I know what it wants, I feel its hunger in my now freezing room… I don’t know what my next step will be. I have a “partner” that can answer anything at a request, yet I remain with all of these impregnable questions...