Good Hands

Michael is a soft-spoken half African American and Caucasian kid that looks no more than eighteen but is in his mid-twenties and well dressed for his age. His hair is well trimmed and is his most prominent feature. Everything else about him seems to be plain. Michael walks through the door of his small studio apartment a few miles away from Harvard University, where he is attending. As little as it may be, it's currently his home, and home is how it feels. Dark with soft washes of light coming from small lamps throughout his apartment. This is how he likes it. Quite chirps of local news are playing from a small flat screen on an end table next to Michaels's bed which also serves as his sofa and dining chair.

"Bill, Bill, Junk, Trash, Bill."

"Hmm?"

Mixed in with the rabble of bills and junk Michael finds an envelope and a rather fancy-looking one with a wax seal. From a Margaret, Undley addressed to a Michael Sherf. He opens it as carefully as he can not break the wax seal. It breaks. Inside he finds two pieces of paper. The first one he notices is a check for twenty thousand dollars, also addressed to him.

"Dear Mr. Sherf,

You are cordially invited to accompany us for the duration of this coming weekend at no expense to you to document the life of one Ms. Margeret Undley, who of which is currently in hospice at the Undley estate. She has taken notice of you through the local Massachusetts paper in which you are published. If you wish to accept this invitation, there is a contact number attached that will be available to use at your convenience.

Warm Regards,

Daniel P. Undley.

Second Head of Undley Estates"

"Jesus"

Michael sits for a moment. He wonders if this is an elaborate scam to take him for personal information or the little bit of spendable money he has.

Soley, out of curiosity, dials the number at the bottom of the invitation, and a man answers.

"Undley Estates William Hem speaking. Is this Mr. Sherf?"

Michael replies shakily and hesitant.

"Yes, this is him."

"Would you like to accept the invitation?"

"Yes"

"Excellent. A car will be by tomorrow morning at five prompt."

"Thanks?"

"Good evening Mr. Sherf."

The phone clicks and goes silent. Michael sits there for a moment and realizes that it might not be a scam after all but still has his doubts.

"Damn!"

Michael realizes that it's currently Friday night and about to one in the morning. He throws an overnight bag together from a pile of possibly dirty clothes that he has scattered around the floor by his bed.

He lays his head down on the pillow and wonders if a car is coming to pick him up in a few hours or if it's just been a long week, and he imagined it this whole time. But every time he has that thought, he reaches over to the nightstand and looks at the check made out to him.

"Jesus, that's a lot of money, but I still won't make a dent in my student loans."

He chuckles to himself as he starts to drift off to sleep.

A loud phone ringing jolts Michael from his bed. He stumbles around, looking for the ringing noise's location, and finds it under an old pizza box.

"Hello"

"Driver for Mr. Sherf."

"I'll be right down."

Michael takes a deep breath and a quick smell check of himself.

"Ewff"

He sprays himself with some cheap corner store body pray and heads out the door.

During the ride, Michael can't help but think about how foolish he's being. Like what if he's being transported to some human trafficking location where he would be sold into slave labor or worse.

The intrusive thoughts of what could happen to him fade as the car pulls up to the property. Giant trees line the driveway. Even the gravel road they advance over has a distinct class amidst the sound the pebbles make on the car's bottom. The trees fade, and what's left is the Undley Estate.

"Here we are, sir. Just head up the stairs, and you will be greeted at the door."

Michael heads for the door.

"Hello, Mr. Sherf. My name Mr. Undley."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise"

"So I think I might need some clarification on what exactly it is that I'm doing here, Mr. Undley."

"Likewise, Mr. Sherf"

"Please call me Michael."

"Michael, it is. Now I'm curious about your lineage Mr. Sherf. I'm not sure if I've seen a last name such as that before."

"Well, I was adopted when I was still a baby, so, to be honest, I'm not too sure."

"Hmm, I see. Well, I'm going to be honest here, Mr. Sherf..."

Michael interrupts

"Just Michael is fine, Mr. Undley."

"Well, Michael, my sister Margeret is sick. She has been for a while, and it seems things have taken a turn, and she's currently bedridden."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I am too... Anywho, for some reason, she has mustered up enough strength to ask for you to spend the night and peruse the estate to find something to write about possibly. As pointless as it sounds, she thinks there might be something of interest to a young writer such as yourself within these walls."

"Well, I'm not quite a writer. The story they published in the paper was just a school assignment, and I got lucky, I guess."

"Hmmm, well, it's my dying sister's wish, so I will permit you to scurry around the property. Please don't touch anything, You... YOUNG kids tend to steal, and even though my sister requires your presence on the property, I'm still not too keen on your kin... you kids playing around here.

Michael starts to get a sense of what kind of person Mr. Undley is. He's older and comes from extreme wealth, so ignorance is coursing through his veins.

"I understand, Mr. Undley."

"Now ill be upfront with you, Michael. I do not care whether you do any writing. Treat this weekend more like a tour around a museum and a night in a hotel. My sister will never see what you write anyhow."

"I understand, Mr. Undley."

"And as for the money, treat it like one of those scratch-off ticket wins that you people like to play. Even though you still have to work for those, haha."

Mr. Undley chuckles to himself and must not have noticed how absurdly racist he's being.

"And do please use it on something useful. Like food for your many children?"

"I don't have kids, sir."

Mr. Undley's slight smirk turns stone.

"Shocking"

His fake smirk returns

"Now, before I forget, here."

He hands Michael a small black journal.

"What's this?"

Michael asks as he does a quick flip through with his thumb.

"It's one of Margaret's journals. She had one on her since I can remember. She asked that I give it to you. I'll be on my way Mr. Sherf. The first door at the top of the stairs is your room for the night, and food will be prepared in the dining room down the hall from there should you need it."

"And for Ms. Undley?"

"Her room is here next to the main entrance. So for when the time comes, it would be smooth come and go. She has allowed you permission to visit her as you wish."

"Thanks"

"Hmph... There will be a driver outside for whenever it is you wish to leave. And please make yourself at home, Mr. Sherf."

Mr. Undley walks off.

Michael starts off wandering the halls and opening every door he sees. Most of them are just filled with fancy chairs and tables that look pristine but most likely haven't been sat in or used in years. He finds it oddly quiet for how large and how many people must take to maintain the estate.

Michael opens a tall door, and inside is an extensive home library and reminds him of the small black book.

The first page reads.

May 7 1970

My eighteenth birthday. Father got me a cake. Mother made me a dress, but I don't like the color although I told her I liked it just fine.

Mother arranged a meeting with the Shantley family, and I am to be wed to their oldest once he's of age. I'm not too keen on him. He looks like he might have been struck on the head by a horse when he was young.

Michael continues to read on through the small black journal. He's enthralled in words. It's like a look into the past of a wealthy teenage girl with angst and rebellious nature. But his enjoyment was short-lived as he reached the last entry.

Michael looks through the library in a hunt for more small black books when he hears a door close.

He investigates and finds himself out in the hallway and sees an older African American man sweeping the end of the hall.

Michael waves.

The man sweeping smiles, nods and walks away.

How strange Michael thought

Michael decides to head back to see if maybe Ms. Undley has some more in her room.

He walks through the door to Ms. Undley's room and sees medical machines. Michael walks slow and soft, almost as if not to wake her. He looks through the desk. Nothing, no trace of any more of those black books.

Then Michael hears a wheeze. He turns to Margaret, and she seems to be trying to move. He walks over to her with concern.

Margaret opens her eyes and looks at Michael. She smiles. Michael is slightly uncomfortable by this but greets her with a smile.

She slowly moves her hand towards his, and he holds it.

Inside her hand is a key.

She continues to smile at him while her eyes start to close again.

Michael checks the machines and to see if she's still breathing, and she is.

He walks out of the room and runs into the man sweeping the floor by the library.

"Ohhh, sorry about that"

"Library."

The man whispers.

"Is that what this is for?"

The man doesn't respond and walks off, sweeping.

Michael returns to the library and finds a cupboard that's locked. He slides the key in and turns it. Inside were thousands of those small black books, each with different dates. Margaret seemed to have been documenting her day-to-day life since she was just old enough to write.

Michael sat in that library for the rest of the night, reading through her small black journals. Story's about her first love that leads to her first heartbreak, her promiscuous years, the first time she broke a bone. An entire life documented in these small black books.

Michael starts to get tired and starts cleaning up his mess when a photo falls out of one of the books. The picture is of her and a young African American man holding a newborn baby. The back of the image says Margaret, James & Michael 93.

The man is back and walks up to Michael and hugs him.

Michael returns to Margaret's room and holds her hand.

"Thank you."

Michael says with tears in his eyes.

Margaret holds his hand and smiles until she falls asleep again.

Michael felt a weight leave his shoulders as Margaret fell asleep the final time. All those years wondering who his parents were until the point he forgot about them as if his birth parents are the ones that took him in and helped him succeed. He realizes his real parents are love locked like a foul Shakespeare play due to the wealth of ignorance.

Michael reads the page the photo fell from.

Jan 6 1993

James says he met with the Sherfs today and our baby's going home, and he will be in good hands.