My Little Black Book

It all started with that little black notebook. I'd received it in the mail on my birthday. No sender was listed and the enclosed note simply read "Happy Birthday!" I flipped through the empty pages and wondered who sent it. The notebook itself was clearly high quality. It had an elastic closure and an attached bookmark with lined pages. Whoever sent it even personalized it with my name at the bottom. I didn't need a notebook though, so I tossed it on a shelf and planned to keep it there.

The next day I needed paper for my grocery list and couldn't find any. I spotted the notebook and grabbed it, opening it to the first page and quickly jotting down the list. The notebook was small enough to easily slide into my purse as I quickly left my apartment.

I met up with my best friend, Angie, for lunch. As we ate, I remembered another item for my list and pulled the black notebook out of my purse. Angie watched silently for a moment before she snickered.

"Why don't you use your phone for that?"

Shrugging, I quickly wrote bread at the bottom of my list. "I hate using my phone for stuff like this. I have to turn it on, enter my passcode, find the app and then type out everything on that tiny flat keyboard. Writing it down is faster."

She chuckled. "If you say so." Snatching the book from me, she flips through the pages. "You've barely used it."

I shrug and take a bite of my burger, wiping my greasy fingers on the napkin. "Haven't needed to until now."

"Where did you get it?" She flips to the last page and her brows rise.

I'm about to explain but notice her lips moving, as if she's reading something. "What?"

Turning the book around so I can see the last page, she points to a series of numbers. "What are these?"

The six numbers were written with a black sharpie on the last line of the otherwise blank page. Someone had actually sent me a used notebook? I take the book from Angie and flip a few pages from the back, but I can't find any other scribblings. "That's strange."

"Stranger than a grown woman who doesn't know how to use her phone?"

I roll my eyes at her and look again at that last page. "Dang, Angie, plenty of people use notebooks, and this is a nice one."

My friend shrugs. "That looks like a lottery number."

As I stare at the numbers, I realize she's right. It does look like a lottery number.

"Ooh ooh, you have to buy one!" She excitedly announces.

"Buy one of what?"

"A lottery ticket, silly." Angie looks across the street and points. "They should sell them."

I follow her gaze to see a gas station. "I don't want to waste my money."

"Oh, it's only a dollar." She grabs my hand and pulls me from my chair. It's either follow or be dragged, so I willingly let her lead me across the street and into the convience store.

"But our lunches," I protest.

"They'll be fine." Angie doesn't release my hand until we're standing in front of the lottery stand. She pulls a playslip out of its tray and puts it on the little counter. I watch silently as she consults my little black notebook and colors in the numbers with the provided pencil. I follow as she walks to the counter and hands the cashier the playslip. She then steps back and gestures to me.

I glare at her as I fish a couple bucks out of my purse and hand them over. The cashier runs the slip through the lottery machine before handing me the printed ticket. I slide it between the sheets halfway through the notebook and then close it, securing the cover with the elastic strap. "Happy now?"

Angie giggles with a nod. "Yep, now let's go back and make sure our food is still there."

When I'm back home after shopping, I put the notebook back on the shelf and then unpack my groceries. I watch a little TV and then make myself some dinner. I then go online for a bit before bed. I never once even think about that lottery ticket until Angie calls me the next morning.

I miss the call but notice she's tried three times and sent me several texts. I pull up the messages and have to read them several times before comprehending what she's talking about. She wants me to check the lottery ticket against last night's winning numbers.

A shiver runs down my spine as I pick up the little black notebook and slide the elastic off the cover. I flip through the pages but can't find the ticket. Shaking it while holding both covers doesn't help either. Finally, I give up and take the notebook with me as I head to my computer. I pull up a browser and search for the lottery numbers. When I find the winning numbers, I open the book to the last page and compare them. As I realize all the numbers match, I gasp. "How is that possible?"

I flip through the pages again but still can't find the ticket. Now that I know it's a winner, I'm frantic to find it. I'm half tempted to start tearing pages out of the notebook but then remember it was in my purse for hours. I run to the living room and grab it, turning it upside down so that the contents will fall to the floor. I sift through everything but still can't find it. Tears fill my eyes as I contemplate the tragedy of actually winning the lottery but losing the ticket. "No, it has to be here."

I frantically go through everything again and again, before I slump to the floor in defeat. I'm sweating, and my hair is hanging in my eyes. As I sit there, I wonder again about who sent me that little black book. How did that person know the winning lottery numbers? I guess I'll never know. Probably a good thing though, since I lost that winning ticket.

I sigh and reach for the notebook. The attached bookmark is about halfway through the pages. I slide a fingernail between the two pages marked and open the book. There, stuck to the bookmark, is the lottery ticket.