The Little Black Book

Money is a fickle thing when you think about it. The green beast known as the dollar is something that controls more aspects of our lives than most of us realize. It pays for the food you eat, the water you drink, the roof over your head, our happiness, and that overpriced coffee you argued was an earned treat for yourself.

Staring at a hand-written note clutched in my hand, I thought about all the things that money controlled. Life. It controlled life, not just mine, but all our lives.

It felt as if someone had been spying through my two-story high window as I lay awake every night, tallying all the overdue bills I had lying on my table, mocking me daily as I got up and drank my store-bought coffee.

And now, by some stroke of luck, I had woken up to a light knock on my door, where a brown wrinkled package was placed. My name was even spelled correctly in chicken scratch writing, when no one ever spells it right.

Dear Lorelei,

I leave this package enclosed with twenty thousand dollars and a little black book. There is a stipulation to this money, however. My message is clear. Good things come to those who do good. You are to log every single purchase you make with the twenty thousand dollars in this little black book. Inside the book you will see everything that those before you have purchased. Once all the money has been spent, you are to drop the book off at the Harrison Library, just three blocks from your house, slipping it into the book return box. Those before you have failed to realize my message. Good things come to those who do good. If you do not adhere to this, you will have bad luck for the rest of your life.

Congratulations.

A wide range of emotions washed through me; excitement and gratitude at the sight of cash that could solve all my current woes.

So, the question was, where did this leave me? How did someone do good with twenty thousand dollars?

Thumbing through the worn pages of the little black book, I was not surprised by the entries I found. When people hear the phrase ‘do good’, charities, donations, and such typically come to the forefront of our minds.

People listed paying off debt, buying their kids the toy they always wanted, and paying for someone else’s debt. The truth was, it was difficult to make heads or tails of what ‘do good’ entailed and how it affected the people before me. It wasn’t as if the book came with a guide. Besides that, there weren’t any notes from previous people about how they ended up.

Feeling anxiousness and doubt becoming best friends in my gut, I questioned if I should just seal up the envelope and return it all to the library. I could wash my hands and be done with it all.

Then again, how could someone pass up twenty thousand dollars?

After spending an hour dashing between my windows, checking for stalkers, and weighing the pros and cons, I had made my decision. I was going to spend the money and partake in the game. If bad luck was as terrible as it got, then it was worth the risk. It could be worse things.

Snatching the pile of bills off the table, I got to work. With possibly too wide of a smile, I paid off all my overdue bills, making sure to do my due diligence and mark everything down in the book.

Walking down the brightly lit street, the blooming flowers seemed brighter and heck, even the air smelled fresher. Having that weight off my shoulders was soul-freeing.

As I had weighed the pros and cons of the situation earlier, I decided that paying people back their money was doing good for them as much as it was for me. They had to pay bills too.

Sitting on a quaint honey-colored wooden bench at the end of a park, I listened as the birds even sang sweeter songs. Gazing down at the book, I tried to determine the next best ‘do good’ option. Almost every single person had donated to something, except one person who went on a spending spree, and apparently bought everything they had ever wanted.

Looking at the numerous pages, I felt sad that I would never know any of these people. Seeing their purchases, I had already learned so much about each of them, yet not one page had a name.

If someone received this next and I happened to maintain my decently balanced luck, I would hope they could come to me with questions. So, I scrawled my name on the top of my page with the neatest handwriting I could manage.

Pulling out my tiny, outdated phone, I searched the internet for places to donate to. Children’s organization? I mean, they are the future, but everyone donates to them. Animal rescue? Yes, but no. That felt like a go-to donation and had been on the list several times already.

A beach-themed color scheme illuminated my phone when I clicked on donations for elderly care. The charity was to pay for senior citizens who could not afford full-time care at a senior home. That felt like a charitable cause, and possibly an unlikely pick for many people. And I was just in luck as they were right in the city, just four blocks from my house.

After a short trip, I found myself standing in a very non-beach themed room, the only color remotely beachy being the tan everything about it.

When the tan gentlemen with bright blue eyes graciously accepted my donation of ten thousand dollars, I felt all those warm and fuzzy feelings they talk about. I even asked to take a tour of the dismal place, hoping they would take some of my donations to brighten it up, even just a coat of paint.

Lying down on my bed that night, I had never felt better about life. The life I had been so keen to be angry with because of the greedy dollar. Yet here I was doing good with it. So much good that I even drew a smiley face after the senior home donation.

Popping out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I whistled as I poured myself some coffee. It was Sunday morning, and I had nowhere in the world I needed to be. What could be better than that?

Snuggling into the couch with my cat-shaped mug, I turned on the television and was greeted with the sight of the tan gentlemen with bright blue eyes from the senior home. The difference was, instead of the wide, white smile, I was looking at his mug shot on the news.

“We just received a report that Mr. Conner had been pocketing thousands of dollars over the past six years. He was arrested yesterday around five in the evening on his way to the airport. You can count on Channel Six to keep you informed,” the newscaster rattled off.

Five in the evening? I had seen him at four and given him ten thousand dollars! I thought.

A tremble of panic started to rise within me. I immediately felt sick from the fact that my supposed good deed had now most definitely caused me bad luck for eternity.

To mend the situation, I quickly dressed and left for the police station.

Mumbling angry names toward myself, I locked the door and turned to start my walk of shame.

“Help! Please, someone, help me!” someone called frantically.

Sprinting towards the source of the noise, I ran up two flights of stairs to find a small old woman lying at the bottom of the next staircase.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” I asked, scanning her for the worst injury.

A sob escaped her, nearly ripping me in half with how anguished she sounded. “I asked the building manager to fix this railing twice. It barely holds any weight. I tripped and fell down the stairs. I think something’s broken.”

After dialing 911, I gave our location and a quick explanation of the situation.

The woman continued to sob, other tenants now spilling into the hallway in response.

“Ma’am, is there anything I can do for you?” I asked in a low voice.

Her now blood-shot eyes peered up at me. “No. It’s time I stopped living on my own. Who was I kidding? I’m ninety-eight now.”

“Wow, that’s quite impressive!”

A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “It is, isn’t it?”

Two EMT workers shuffled up behind me now, their voices giving them away on the floor below us. As I stepped aside, silent tears rolled down the woman’s face, her composure back for the most part.

“How much is this going to cost?” she asked.

“We need to get you to the hospital, are you ready for us to lift you?” the first EMT asked.

“Excuse me, how much is this going to cost?”

The EMT paused, a look of confusion on his face. “Around two thousand plus the hospital bill.”

Blinking quickly to clear the now flowing tears, she nodded silently.

“Can I ride with her? I was the one who found her,” I asked.

The EMT looked between us, the woman nodding in approval.

On the narrow city street, the ambulance swerved left and right through traffic causing the woman to wince.

“Why did you ask how much it would cost?” I asked.

Slowly turning her head towards me, she smiled a sad smile. “I barely have enough money to pay the rent. A hospital bill will clean me out.”

Tears now sprung in my own eyes, feeling her pain as I had worn the same shoes just a day ago. Ready to be out on the street if bills hadn’t been paid.

Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the remaining five thousand dollars and handed it to her.

Eyes wide with shock, she shook her head vigorously. “No, I can’t. Please keep that. Why do you keep so much money on you?”

Swiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sniffled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

After convincing the woman to take the money, I arranged to take care of her dog until someone came to get him.

Scribbling out my smiley face next to the senior home donation, I wrote my final payment, listing it as: to the ninety-eight-year-old woman upstairs. I also wrote my city so that whoever received this book next could find me.

Standing in front of the Harrison Library book drop-off, I felt sad and fulfilled at the same time. Whoever had dropped this into my life must be watching me somewhere, and because of that, I hoped they could see the good I had tried to do.

Lying down to go to sleep that night, I felt restless as the weight of uncertainty set in, not knowing how all this would affect me afterward. Especially when I remembered I had to go retrieve a dog upstairs, whom I had promised to watch over.

In the morning, just outside my door, there was a crisp white envelope with the same chicken scratch scrawl written on it.

Sucking in a deep breath, I opened it to see just a sliver of paper, the text, rather small:

Good things come to those who do good. :)