743

Most would say that a global pandemic has completely destroyed life as we know it. Me, however, actually takes glee in the fact that my human interactions have been severely limited. I am an introvert. And by an introvert, I mean completely and utterly uncomfortable in social situations. Prior to the world chaos, the thought of a work gathering sent me to the bathroom with stomach cramps and not a little case of the runs. But now, I can sit happily at home, laptop at my small kitchen table, and work without not having anyone slide over to my cubicle to 'chat' about nothing. Most would find a one-room apartment prison-like--I find freedom.

I use this freedom to dance in my bunny slippers at one in the afternoon. And if I want to watch cartoons and eat sugary cereal while updating spreadsheets, there is no one to judge. Well, no one except Harold. Harold judges. In fact, if I am late in feeding Harold he is quick to point out his disappointment. Mostly by providing an early morning hairball in my previously mentioned bunny slippers. While Harold is a cat by birth, he identifies as a 5000-year-old Egyptian King. He expects to be served as such and has little to no room for anything else. Except licking himself at inopportune times such as when I had to attend a rare web meeting with my boss. And, yet when I tried to later explain that to Harold that this was inappropriate behavior, he tilted simply swished his tail as if to say, 'You wish you were this flexible'. Judgemental feline! I blame Harold for what would happen the following day. Because it was Harold's judgment that led me out into the world.

It was Monday. And as all Mondays are mandated to have at least one thing go wrong, mine did early. Before I could start my day of updates and checklists, Harold made me acutely aware that he was ready to be served breakfast. I went to the small cupboard where I kept his tasty treats and cat food only to find that it was empty, save for a small bag of treats. That can't be right. Didn't I just go to the store last week? Did I forget? Why didn't I just subscribe to a delivery service? Because money was tight and I was always leary of money automatically being taken from my bank account. And, I did like my local grocery store. At my feet, Harold clearly did not care about my financial constraints. In fact, he looked quite put off in a way I had only seen on serial killers' faces on those late-night murder documentaries. Crap. I had to go out.

Thankfully, Harold seemed to be placated with my promises of high-quality cat food and a few treats as I threw on my only clean pair of sweatpants. Luckily the weather called for mostly sunny skies and breezy weather. I gathered my requisite facial mask, shopping bag, wallet, light jacket, and stepped out into the world.

While my apartment is not on par with the newer modern models a few streets over, it was located next to a small public park. Walking paths were aptly placed around a small pond that was home to a small family of ducks. And, more importantly, one of the paths took me across the park to the street to my local grocery store. Less chance of human interaction.

As I walked the path along the pond, I noticed I had not encountered one person. Normally, I would be thrilled but instead, I felt disquieted. But, then again, global pandemic. I am sure that most were closeted at home and not taking any risks. But as my mind usually does, it wondered. What if I was the last person on the planet? After all, except for that one web meeting last week, I had not had any contact with another human. Of course, I heard them moving around in my apartment building and on the street. Didn't I?

As I felt the beginnings of panic, my foot tripped on something and I went stumbling forward. Luckily a tree stopped what was surely heading toward an emergency room visit. What the heck? I looked down to find the insidious cause of my misstep to find a little black book right in the middle of the walking path. I looked around. Did someone drop it? Was someone in a hurry and it slid from their bag? Should I just leave it? What if it rained? Okay, I need to pick it up and look to see if there is a name. Maybe I can contact someone. But then I would have to talk to them. But, what if it was important. Crap. Harold would definitely be judging me.

So, I picked it up. It did not look new. It was crinkled and well-word as if someone held it in great reverence. Its covers smooth as if someone ran their hand over it again and again. Slowly I opened to the first page. Nothing. The front and back covers. Nothing. It was empty. For good measure, I fanned the pages. Nothing. No, wait. Almost a third of the way through on the middle of the page was something. I looked closer. 743. A number. Not the number of pages--the book was small and compact. What could it mean? Someone's room number? Their credit score? Lovers? I laughed out loud. Well, I suppose I could drop it off at the grocery store in case someone came looking for it. I put it in my shopping bag and started to walk. After all, his Highness was waiting.

The wind was picking up as I made the final turn on the walking path. That is when the bench caught my eye, or rather the small oxidized plaque gracing its back. No name. Just a number. 743. Huh. What a coincidence. Curiosity got the better of me and I strayed over to the bench. And found a wooden box. Not just a wooden box, but a beautifully carved box of dark walnut. Beautiful etchings of forest creatures graced the top of the box. There was no lock. And with no one around, I couldn't not open it. I had to! Heck, even my cat would approve.

It opened as if on a silk hinge. And, I slammed it closed. No. Did I actually see what I thought? I opened it slower while looking around to see if anyone had suddenly appeared. Money. Lots of money. I sat down firmly next to the box. I peered in the box again. Next to the money, an envelope. At this point, I had lost all sense of self-preservation and immediately opened the envelope. In a script so beautiful it was difficult to read, it simply stated:

All humans have a choice. Be the one who gives or be the one who takes. You much choose which one you are and which gives you the greater reward. The box now belongs to you.

There must be a hidden camera--a reality show or some social influencer wanting me to take the bait. Right? It had to be a trick. I should just walk away because this was all kinds of messed up. But, money. Had to be at least $20,000. I could use this money. Sure, I could help others with it. But, student loans. Rent. Bills. Cat food.

I picked up the box and put the envelope in my jacket pocket. I reasoned this money could be such a help in the coming months. After all, they did say that it was mine. How crazy would I be to pass a box full of money!

I was ready to run home, the box under my arm when I remembered. Harold. My cat. My constant and devoted cat who despite my aversion to all other people loved me unconditionally. Crap. I still needed cat food. I would make it quick. In and out of the grocery store. I could even buy double the amount of cat food!

The small grocery store double doors squeaked as I made my way through the front. Al, the owner, stood behind the counter and threw up a wave. The mask only barely covered his enormous face. His leathery brown skin glistened from hard work and an air conditioner that was always one summer away from giving up the ghost. While a big man with large hands, he daintily handed grocery goods over to little old ladies half his size with the art of a concert pianist. If there was one human on this earth I did not mind having more than one word with, it was Al. I always got the feeling that he got me-and my aversion to others.

The box under one arm, I headed to the pet aisle, grabbed Harold's favorite, and back to the counter to check out. He smiled with his eyes and simply stated, "you know you can order this online". I shook my head, yes, and then felt I needed to say something. "I like coming here to get it." He smiled sadly, "Well, I am afraid I will be closing up shop soon. Just can't keep up with this pandemic and everything". Closing up. For good? "But, I thought there was help," I asked. Al smiled again, "not enough and not soon enough. I love this place, but right now I need about $20,000 to stay afloat. But don't you worry, everything will be alright. I hear that internet ordering is really easy. That will be $7.43 total."

What? "I am sorry, what?" Al, looked at me and said a little louder over the mask, "Your total for the cat food is $7.43." Oh.

The world tilted but my equilibrium did not. I did not like people. I did not like to be outside. I did not like to talk. But, I did. I liked Al. He never judged. Not once. Even when I mumbled. Even when I was hurried to get back to my safety zone. And, he was always here. He opened his doors in rain, shine, or pandemic.

So, I paid my $7.43, put the box on the counter, and walked away. As he was putting my money in the till, he turned and said, "you forgot your box". I turned and smiled a rare smile, "no, the box is yours. See you next time, Al".

I didn't turn around to see his reaction. I walked back home with my cat food to feed my best friend. I figured I would be back in a week anyway.