Tale as Old as Money

“Congratulations, if you have found this journal it means you pay attention to the little things in life. In this journal is 20k for you to chase your dream. I have worked all my life to earn this money, and fulfilled every possible fantasy I could. The only conditions are that you return the journal after writing what you plan to do with the money, and to write five things that you are grateful for along with a way to reach you. If your story touches me, I will put you as the sole dependent on my will. Good luck to all.”

I closed the red journal and studied it in shock. This couldn’t be happening,yet a check for twenty thousand dollars was now mine. I studied the ink on the pages, flipping through trying to make sense of it, yet there were actual stories followed by numbers, email addresses, social media handles, and some people even left their addresses. Cathy went on about how she opened up a spa, George on how he paid off his parents’ rent and his alike, and Kate about how she donated ten thousand to charity. After doing some research I found the businesses made, books published, and even a picture of the boat on Aaron’s page. Without second thought I began to write what I planned to do with the money, but I couldn’t help it; I had to know more.

“I’m moved by what you’re doing, and I hope you don’t find this too forward, but I have to speak with you. I have many questions for you that I need answered. Winner or not, please contact me”.

I left my number and email address, but signed off with my middle name to be safe. I placed the red journal back where I had found it, and took my spot on a nearby bench; I had to see who it belonged to. I watched all kinds of people come by, a new theory came with each one; maybe this mysterious jogger was the owner, or this young lady that comes everyday, or maybe even the little boy who plays soccer was pulling this, but no, there was actual proof. It must be someone older. My mind kept going back to a man named Allen, the old man who goes on evening strolls. His walk did seem a little off recently, maybe he was getting ready for his passing. After realizing my shift had already started I cut my search short, but planned to return and confront Allen.

“I need you to stay longer, two callouts” my manager demanded.

“I can't, I have plans tonight,” I pleaded, “I promise I’ll stay another day”.

“You came in late, the least you could do is wait for us to get set for the night.”

I hurried to the park after I got out only to see the silhouette of Allen walking back toward the place he comes every evening. I checked the spot under the tree for the red journal, and it was gone. Who knew Allen was so wealthy? The humbleness of his appearance made it hard to pin such a success. He even wore the same gray hat every day. I decided to wait for him to reach out to me instead of bombarding him about it publicly.

Days go by with no word about it. Maybe Allen didn’t have social media, or his computer was down so he couldn’t email me. I was scheduled to close the next two nights, so on my next day off I had to catch him on his evening stroll. Then suddenly a notification came across my screen: an email from Lucile A.

“If you’ve received this, it is because you’ve asked a personal question about the man who gave you 20k. If you still have these interests please meet me at the coffee shop closest to this park on the corner at 3:30pm this Thursday. Please wear a hat and a red shirt.”

His assistant, or maybe his wife, contacted me for him. I had to work that Thursday, and I was one more slip up away from being fired. Oh well, this was beyond worth it. I spent the next day working as hard as I could to hopefully soften the blow for when I was going to skip. I closed the shop, and prepared for the next day.

Ding.Text message from Manager Philbill: “Wya”

Ding. “Are you even coming in? If you don’t show up I’m going to have to fire you.”

I turned the notifications off as I entered the coffee shop in search of Allen. As I scammed the shop over and over my hopes fell, yet I noticed a pair of eyes fell on me each time. A woman who seemed no older than thirty was watching me, and then raised her hand to me.

“You, come over here,” she beckoned. “You’re Nathaniel?”

“Yes, I’m sorry but do I know you?” I asked as I got to her table.

“Why yes,” she said with a smile, “I’m the one who gave you twenty thousand dollars,” and her smile turned to a smirk, “Please sit”.

I sat down confused as to why she was taking credit, but decided not to voice my concerns.

“The man who wrote the email is no longer with us,” she stated, and my heart dropped.

“I also found a journal, except the one I found was black. It wasn’t somewhere as simple as the park, it was strategically placed so it could be found by college students. He wanted someone young with potential to take his money and do good with it. He did go through with his word, and he ended up choosing me to put on his will, but not before we had met. If you are wondering, yes, I copied his introduction to get genuine reactions like he got out of my group. He was the most kind and gentle man, but behind his eyes I saw years of pain. I didn’t want that to happen to me too, so when he passed I put the money off to the side and tried to not think about it or say anything about it. It was eating at me, it made me feel like a mother. So I decided to get a journal I had got from my grandmother as a child that I never got around to using.”

She looked at me and waited for a reaction. I had so many mixed feelings and questions. This seemed wrong on...many levels.

“So why lie?” I asked bluntly, “Why make people think that he is still alive?”

“The reason I used his words was so I could spread the same message he was trying to. He wanted to prove that people only focused on money, just like he did, and didn’t pay attention to the little things in life, like getting a journal from a loved one that was made in the country your past relatives came from.”

“I’m sorry, I'm so confused,” I said, sounding frustrated.

“Basically,” she said cutting me off, “I was just like you, you know? I was asking questions and he saw that I cared about more than just the money, he saw what I was grateful for and decided I had the right idea. When we met he explained to me how he wished everyone could hear his story to avoid making the same mistakes he did. We agreed to use his original narrative to reach people.”

“I just don’t see how you are reaching people,” I said, and she could see I was becoming skeptical, “how is pretending to be an old man teaching anyone anything? It is only making them care more about the money they could win from being put on his will, an-and who says anyone else would even care to ask a ‘personal’ question”.

“Listen, listen. He had gotten the journal from his mother, who inspired him to chase all of his dreams, and he did. He followed all of them, and spent all of his time doing it. He had the ability to separate himself from human pleasures, and was able to have a razor focus on whatever he was doing. So much so that he never had time to use the journal, he never had the time for anything at all but work. When he became older and realized that he had no one, no wife, no kids, and when his parents passed he had no more relatives that he knew of. He had reached every goal, made all the money but at what cost? Look regardless of if a question was asked, I reached out to everyone with a message made by him explaining everything I just explained to you. What did you do with your twenty thousand?” She asked.

“What do you mean? I didn’t spend it yet...I was thinking about finishing college with it though” I said trying to come up with an answer.

I realized that I was so focused on trying to find out why I got it, I never considered it to be real, it was just such a large amount to me.

“You have plans for it, but most people do not. They write things down, but don’t always go through. Those that did feel empty without it, some people are scared to lose it, and others gave theirs up. Money changes a person, that is why he started this.”

I sat in silence and took it all in. I had one more question.

“Why did he choose you?” I asked.

She paused the same, and looked into my eyes.

“Because he believed that I spent the money on things that mattered. He explained to me that he wished he didn’t work so hard, and that he started a family instead. When all of his family was gone he had no one. He got his journal from his mother, but never used it because he was too busy, so he used it to hear the stories of others instead, those who he deemed to be more fortunate than himself. Listen, like I said earlier, the money makes me uneasy. If you don’t believe any of this I’ll let you have it. You won’t have to work another day of your life I swear.”

My solemn look turned into a confused glare.

“Why would you give it to me instead of just doing that yourself?” I questioned.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, “Oh my goodness you don’t listen. He wrote a letter about the deep sorrows that came from working his life away instead of living it, he can do a much better job of explaining this than me. Would you like to read it?”

I went home late that evening and flopped on my couch. I now knew what I needed to do. I turned my notifications back on and texted my manager pleading for my job back. I went to my desk and began to go over how I could split the money for a family trip or two, and as I looked I came across a gray journal. I remember getting this journal from my favorite teacher senior year, but I figured I'd never really use it, or so I thought.