Ignorance Is Bliss

This lawyer's office is dusty. I guess it makes sense, seeing as how the guy is, like, 80.

He's too busy reading out a letter to even notice my judgmental stare. He has wiry grey hair and his complexion is so pale that I can make out the bluish veins in his face. His reading glasses lay low on his long, pointy nose. Even though he's talking, his lips look pursed. Not to mention chapped.

"Judith?" He interrupts my discernment.

His voice seems to echo throughout the janitors-closet-turned-office.

"I'm listening." I give him a small smile.

"To sum up his letter, your grandfather has left you a large portion of his savings."

"How large?" I ask, an eyebrow raised.

This is the first I've heard of my grandpa's savings.

To be fair, this is the first I've heard of him in years. I wouldn't describe us as close, or even acquainted.

I watch as the lawyer, I think his name was Willard, slides a check across the desk and leans back into his chair. It squeaks as he does so, echoing throughout the room.

I hesitantly pick up the check, prepared to be disappointed.

It has what appears to be coffee stains on it, and the ink is slightly smudged. Not so smudged that I can't make out the numbers.

I gulp, "Oh, wow. Are you sure he actually has this money?"

"I wouldn't have reached out if I wasn't sure. The day before his accident, your grandfather liquidated all of his assets. This is only a small portion of his fortune."

"Twenty thousand dollars? Why?"

"Well… he just needs you to take care of something for him. Weren't you listening to the letter?"

"Yeah, of course. What is it?"

He sighs a bit, rolls his eyes, and opens one of the drawers to his desk.

He sets a small, black book onto the desk.

"He gave specific terms for you to have this money. According to your grandfather, this book is very valuable. It's value will grow with time."

A book? He left me a book? What value could this possibly hold for him to give it to his grandchild he hasn't seen in years.

I stare at the book for a moment, "It doesn't look very special to me."

"Well alongside thousands of dollars, I'm sure that perspective changes."

"Okay, what do I need to sign?"

As soon as I walk into my apartment, I toss my purse onto the counter and dig out the little black book.

"What value could this old thing possibly have?" I think to myself.

I wipe the dust off of the cover of the book to discover a small emblem on the bottom right corner.

I can't quite make it out at first, but as I look closer, running my finger-

"Ow!" I pull my hand back quickly, watching as a bit of blood begins to drop from my finger tip.

I grumble a bit as I wipe my finger onto my t-shirt.

I turn my attention back to the book, looking at the silver emblem.

It's a bit worn, but I can make out an hourglass. I stare for a moment before opening the book.

The pages are completely blank. This is what he wanted me to have? Some old book? I thought there'd be at least a name in it somewhere.

What a waste of time.

I throw the book aside, grab my phone, and make my way to the couch.

I pull the check out of my pocket, smiling a bit as I begin to fantasize about quitting my job, moving far away, living in a paid off house and becoming an artist like I'd always dreamed but could never afford.

Then again, it's only a few grand. What does that even become when I move away? Euros or something?

My phone begins to ring and I, miserably, answer it.

"Hi, Jude? It's Nancy. Just wanted to call and confirm our appointment for today at 2."

"Hey, Dr. Lee. yeah I'll be there. What's the address?" I ask, heading back into the kitchen to grab a pen and paper.

I rush to open up the black notebook as the doctor begins listing off the address.

I stop for a moment and stare at the book on the counter. I don't understand what I'm seeing.

The same book that was empty moments ago is now full of writing.

I flip to the next page, and the next, and the next. The writing goes on and on, covering every single page of the book, that has seemingly gotten even smaller than it was before.

After hanging up the phone without a word, I lean onto the counter and begin to read the sloppy cursive that's been written into my grandfather's book.

I'm not crazy, right? None of this was here before, or was it?

The writing seems to be about me. It begins with me being born, growing up. It documents various thoughts and events. Then, further into the book, it begins to talk about things I can remember. My first boyfriend, my graduation, first job and so on. Until eventually it comes to talk about me receiving a little black book and a large inheritance after a family member's passing.

This book is about me. It has so many details about my life that only I could know. It has things about myself I've never even said out loud.

I urge myself to continue reading even as the sun begins to go down and the apartment gets darker. I spend hours reading my "future".

College, emigration, love at first sight. Nearly at the end of the book, I read about future me getting ready for a date with their partner, under the impression he might propose and with her own news to break to him. She's getting in the car, buckling up, adjusting her mirrors and fixing her makeup. She's on the way to him, almost there and-

"Where's the rest of it?" I find myself half way through a page, cut off abruptly with no explanation.

I begin to flip backwards through the book, then forward again, expecting that it would somehow fix the missing pages.

Unless the pages aren't missing and that's the end of the story. The end of my story.

No, that can't be. According to the book I wouldn't even make it to my thirties.

Not that I believe some stupid book anyway. It's just a book, it can't decide everything for me. This is clearly some kind of sick joke.

I throw the book in the trash and go to bed, suppressing every thought about the end of my story that I can.

I go on for days, then weeks, then months trying to go against what the book predicted.

It's impossible. Even something as simple as picking a different color pen or taking a different way to work always backfires. The pen has no ink or the roads are closed.

Even worse, at the grocery store I reach into my purse one day to find the book back in my possession. I check, hoping it's changed, but my unfortunate demise is still the end of the story.

Life has been predicted, and the prediction was right. I can't stray from the path that's been written for me no matter how hard I try.

I finally give in to the fact that the book is my life. It isn't a prank, it isn't a joke. I don't know what it is exactly, maybe some kind of supernatural phenomenon. All I know is I can't beat it, whatever it is. So I spend the next several years going along with it.

I achieve success, love, a strong career… and as the day of my death approaches, I have a will written. I leave all of my belongings except for one to the love of my life.

Of all people, my grandfather chose me to inherit this book. Every day that I spent with it, I understood more about him and the book, about what I had to do.

I make sure my cousin, Diana, is written into the will to receive my little black book. I think by the time it comes into her possession, my entire life will have disappeared from it, much like what I can only assume happened to my grandfather's life.

One day I find myself staring in the mirror, fixing up my hair and wiping the running mascara from my face. I glance at myself one last time before walking solemnly to the car and setting my GPS up.

Tonight, I am going on a date with the man I've been seeing for a couple of years. We are going on a date to a new restaurant that opened up on the other side of town. I think he's going to propose.