Page Eleven

Nights like this are not common. The cold and wet mist hung on the trees like an old man’s beard in an ancient Northwest Forest. The little black book was chilled through her leather skin while her once-crisp vanilla pages made the crispiest sound were now sopping with gritty road water.

She lay in a ditch, on the side of a canyon, after being thrown out a car window. The canyon was under construction. Highway crews lived here during the day. Discarded cones and signs, heavy machinery, and discarded cigarette butts, leaving traces of their disruption and design.

The book wondered how long she might stay here. Who would pick her up next and cautiously explore her pages? The book, unassuming in appearance, had a very long and important history. She was the sacred guardian of dreams and longing, holder of whispers of desire and deed, keeper of deals gone bad and promises that would change the world. She held sanctuary for words, liberating the limits of mankind. For what lay in her pages was a promise of prosperous fortune. The recipient only needs to answer the question written on the 11th page of the book, “what can I give?”

Two nights before, the book was warm in the front seat of a maroon 1983 Ford Mercury. The front struts were failing and the old boat surfed the road like an old chuckwagon without the benefit of fast horses. For as uncomfortable of a ride, the company was even more miserable.

The Book had been stolen by Marga, a sour woman believing she was entitled to fortune. Three nights prior under the soft rhythm of her daughter and granddaughter’s breathing, Marga stole the little black book from their room.

Marga. Once soft and kind now caustic and cracked. Bent and broken, Marga wore bother and bitter on her lips like a dollar store lipstick. Thick and sticky. Life had wronged her. Love had escaped her. Joy was for weaklings.

Marga’s daughter worked on the road crew in the canyon.

Ty was a road crew flagger, for 10 years, now. A single mom with a High School education, she had been dealt a hard-hand. If nothing other than having a woman, like Marga as a mother wasn’t enough. Marga was pious and judgmental. She was consistently quick to shine the light on other people’s inadequacies, her daughter, Ty, being the favorite target.

Ty loved her mother, well, because she was her mother. She felt her mother’s shame and her fear of loving and living. She knew the choices Marga made were made out of lack and not out of love.

Ty was determined to not repeat the cycle with her daughter. The pattern would be broken come hell or high water.

The book's pages remained empty after a century, all except the 11th page. Ty had received the little black book from her favorite high school Literary teacher as a graduation present. Her teacher told her nothing of this book except that it was “important and not to be taken for granted”. Ty felt confused at the time, because the pages were empty. It was more like a journal. The pages were so creamy and the leather so soft, she could never bring herself to write in it, it was too beautiful and needed to be coveted. And there it sat for the next four years on her bedside table. Ty had told her mother she thought the book was enchanted, maybe by a witch or a medicine woman. back then her 18 -year-old brain craved the excitement of the stories in her own head, anything that did not resemble her everyday. Knowing her teacher, she knew the book was important. She was just happy to have such a gift. The book knew Ty’s stories and felt her longing. She could feel her genuine kindness and warmth. The Book hoped Ty would be the next one.

Marga felt something from the book when she held it in her long skinny hands. Greed. In the nefarious hallows of her mind, Marga decided whatever gifts this book contained, they would be hers.

10 hour days in the hot sun and freezing wind gave ample time to dream of fortune. What Ty would give to get a place of her own for herself and her daughter Naya. A washer and dryer would be nice and a new car, one that her cousin didn’t have to put back together with baling wire and duck tape once a month. Traveling? traveling would be nice. She new other people needed more than she did and considering the circumstances of her life, she was grateful for what she had. Her job was consistent with good benefits, Naya was happy and a regular goofy four-year -old ,she was happy to have grilled cheese for lunch and explore her magical kingdoms with her loyal side kick, Rosie, the 3 -year-old rescue pup. Ty got Naya, Rosie, out of “mom-guilt” for working so much. Naya’s Dad was in the picture. He was a good dad and Ty wished that she loved him like he wanted her to. But, he got it. It just wasn’t there.

He could watch Naya and bring her to his Auto shop when Ty was called to cover extra shifts. It was a lot but she could use the extra money and Naya did not seem worse for wear because of it. And where would she be without Ms. May, her neighbor who babysat Naya every day for the past three years, since she landed the Road crew job. Miss May would definitely need some love her way, maybe a new TV? One that didn’t need foil on the antenna and had 56 stations. She could go crazy with her soap opera and her “fix-it” shows.

Rolling down the highway, as much as the Mercury could roll, Marga screeched to a muddy slide by the side of the Road to read the book that was lying at her side. The headlights shined into the concrete barrier that was protecting the newly surfaced road from the 30 ft. drop below into the thirsty creek.

Her Jergened hands greedily grabbed the book preparing to find the answer, or chant or direction-anything that would give her what she deserved. What was hers. What should rightfully be bestowed upon her because she was, a white. American. woman. from Illinois. All of the foreigners were ruining everything and taking everything that she should have. She paid her taxes. She collected unemployment. She was owed! “Dammit, I am owed!” the voice in her head roared.

The book shuddered under her touch and but was calmed by the fact the page 11 would not be seen. For you can not be, what you do not know. “What can you, give”? was the question to the Universe’s riddle that this little black book had protected for centuries. The book would know from the heart who answered correctly. Most importantly, who lived the answer.

Frustration flooded out of her mouth like a leaking faucet alongside her desperation to see an answer.” It has to be in here, she screamed, but there are no words!” “what kinda crappy joke is this?” she bellowed as she hurled the book out of the open window and onto the soggy asphalt below. Dirt and sludge sprayed the little black book as the tires from the 1983 Mercury barely missed the book’s softened spine. The book was relieved to be released from such misery.

Ty woke up earlier than usual, she padded out of bed to put on the coffee. She didn’t sleep well the night before she was sure she felt someone in her room, but for the life of her could not open her eyes. Her mind was a clutter with thoughts and worries, like most days. Ms. May had been watching one of her shows and was telling her about the positive benefits of keeping a journal. She had tried hard not to glaze over as she was working to get Naya’s boots and coat on. She knew Ms. May meant well and after all she was such a help to her, but some days- she just used too many words. Maybe she was right. She had a journal that her high school teacher gave to her. Maybe it was time to start organizing her thoughts. It could, maybe, help.

She started for her room to get the journal on her bed stand. She was sure it was there, she had not moved it in 4 years. It wasn’t there. “What on earth” she wondered, it is not here.Trying to pull memories from her dusty mind, retracing where she might have moved it, she finally gave up and conceded that maybe Naya had taken it and used it for coloring, after all it was blank.

Morning proceeded as it always does, dropping off Naya to her dad’s auto shop and driving the 45 miles to the canyon site. Before driving away, as always she gently held Naya and kissed her two cheeks and forehead. “Watchya gonna give me today?” Naya asked, eager for a treat at the end of the day. Somedays there was no money for a treat. Today was one of those days. “How about myself?” Ty said, kissing her daughter one more time.”I give you myself” she said again. “I’ll take it!”, Naya giggled. “you make my heart warm, mom”.

“As do you my love”,Ty responded with the certainty of a Mother who knows no matter what, with a child’s love - all is well.

Walking to her post, Stop sign in-hand she noticed something by the concrete barrier- it was a little black book. As she got closer, she saw it was HER little black book. Dazed as to how her book got there, Ty picked it up and placed it inside her heavy coat pocket. The traffic would start soon and she had no time to ponder the scenario.

Warm and snug against Ty’s heart, the book heard the answer that Ty had given Naya. “I give you myself”. She felt her love and certainty. And she knew Naya had felt it to the core of her being.

The book’s magic, upon feeling the correct answer, began to flow and ignite. Ty was the one. Page 11 had received it’s answer. “what can you give”, asked the book. “I give myself” came the answer.

After another long day, Ty was relieved to see that her Mom was not home.Ty and Naya decide that it was a night for Spaghetti. It was cold and the temperature did not creep above 21 degrees the entire day. Naya smothered Rosie with kisses as Ty flipped through the mail, always holding her breath, hoping the pink slips of the latest collection agency that was dogging her, were not in this batch. A bright green envelope caught her eye and she recognized the name. It was the National Clearing Corporation Sweepstakes contest that she had been foolishly entering for the last four years. Who wouldn’t want to win that? a $750,000.00 giveaway. Ok, ok, 1 in 1million win- but, you can’t win if you don’t play- was Ty’s mantra for the last four years. Opening the envelope, expecting more contest forms and coupons, she was surprised at the lack of bulk in the envelope. Pulling out the slip of paper, Ty could not believe her eyes. Holding in her hand was a check for. $750,000.00dollars.

She turned the check over to check for the FDIC endorsement. It was there. It was real.

Heart racing and tears streaming Ty could not believe what was happening.It was real.

Reaching to unzip her coat, she remembered the book, in her breast pocket. It was not there.

The soft little black book with the worn leather and soft spine had disappeared.